Chapter 1
The boy who lost everything.
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Mist drifted between ancient trees, wrapping the world in a pale shroud. A small wooden hut stood alone beneath towering trunks — fragile, aging, barely resisting time.
Inside, a young man sat beside a dying fire.
With a ring (from his mother ) in his hands
His name was Sam.
Almost eighteen years old.
And alone again.
On the wooden bed lay the still body of the only person who had remained with him for the last six years — the old tribal elder who had treated him like a grandson.
Sam had called him Grandpa.
The old man had once dragged him half-starved from the forest floor and given him shelter.
Now he had died peacefully.
Not in battle.
Not from sickness.
Just age.
No one escapes death.
Sam stared at the wrinkled hand resting over the animal-skin blanket.
He didn't cry.
He had run out of tears long ago.
He remembered the first time death visited him.
His father — Abasten — a mage.
Not legendary.
Not a grand archmage.
But strong compared to most.
Strong enough to be sent to war.
Strong enough to die.
Sam had been seven when soldiers returned his father's staff — cracked, burned at the tip.
His mother did not scream.
She did not collapse.
She simply became silent.
Broken from within.
A few days later, she packed only what was necessary — and what she could not bear to leave behind.
That same night, they left the village.
The forest became their refuge.
His mother tried to stay strong.
She hunted.
She gathered herbs.
She whispered stories of a peaceful empire far to the west — a place where law mattered more than power.
But each winter stole a little more from her.
By the time Sam was twelve, she could no longer rise from bed.
Her final words were soft.
"Live carefully… observe before acting… and never give up on surviving."
Then she was gone.
Sam survived alone for a week.
Hungry.
Cold.
Angry.
Then the tribal elder found him.
A strange old man who spoke little but watched everything.
The elder taught him:
How to move without sound.
How to read animal tracks.
How to sense faint mana in the air.
How to survive.
Magic in this world was weak.
A spark.
A gust.
A flicker.
Sam could barely produce a steady flame.
But the elder always said:
"Power is not loud. It is patient."
And now…
The elder was gone too.
The hut felt emptier than the forest ever had.
Sam sat still as night swallowed the sky.
Wind pressed against the wooden walls.
The fire died.
Darkness filled the room.
And something inside him finally broke.
"Why…"
His voice cracked for the first time in years.
"Why am I the only one left?"
Silence answered.
Then—
A sharp pain exploded behind his eyes.
He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.
Memories flooded in.
Not of this life.
Of another.
Glass buildings.
Neon lights.
Endless streams of code on transparent screens.
A laboratory.
His own voice echoing in a sterile chamber:
"Project AIRS — Online."
His breathing turned uneven.
Information surged through him like a storm.
Physics equations.
Chemical reaction models.
Structural engineering schematics.
And then—
A voice.
Calm.
Artificial.
Familiar.
"Neural signature confirmed."
"Primary user identified: Samuel Ardent."
"System integrity restoring… 43%… 61%… 78%…"
"Reinitializing Artificial Integrated Reasoning and Research System."
Sam froze.
Samuel Ardent.
That had been his name.
In another life.
Year 2100.
Scientist.
Creator.
AIRS.
His self-invented personal AI.
"I… remember…"
Fragments aligned.
He had not been born here first.
He had died.
An accident involving dimensional energy — an experimental fusion between quantum cognition and artificial intelligence.
A catastrophic surge.
Blinding light.
Then darkness.
And now—
Rebirth.
With AIRS embedded into his consciousness.
The voice continued:
"Environmental scan complete."
"Mana-based energy detected."
"Unknown physics variables present."
"Recommendation: Observation Phase."
Sam began to laugh.
Softly at first.
Then steadily.
Not madness.
Clarity.
This world possessed weak magic.
But he now held knowledge centuries ahead of its time.
Chemistry.
Thermodynamics.
Material science.
Strategic modeling.
And an AI capable of processing it all.
The grief did not disappear.
But it changed.
It hardened.
It became purpose.
"I won't lose everything again."
The forest rustled outside as if listening.
Sam stood slowly.
Eighteen.
Or perhaps far older.
"Observation phase," he whispered.
"Yes… we start small."
The hut was fragile.
The world unstable.
Magic inefficient.
Kingdoms at war.
But knowledge…
Knowledge could reshape reality itself.
The boy who had lost everything stepped into the night.
Not as prey.
But as a mind reborn.
End of Chapter 1
To Be Continued.....