There was no sky, no earth, no wind to brush against skin. Only a silent, oppressive darkness that stretched without end, thick and hollow, consuming all concept of space and time. In that formless void, I drifted—disembodied and lost—as if my soul had been unthreaded from existence itself.

I did not know how long I remained there. Seconds, years—perhaps lifetimes. No heartbeat echoed in my ears. No breath warmed my chest. There was only the echo of a single, irreversible truth.

I had died.

The memory surged forward, sharp and cold. A blade piercing through my back—no hesitation, no warning. It had cut not just through flesh but through trust. I remembered the weight of my own body falling to the ground, the wetness of blood soaking through cloth, and above it all, the hollow gaze of the one who had driven the sword home.

Levin.

The man I had once called most trusted companion. His betrayal wasn’t laced with hatred or guilt—it was silent, resolute, as if everything we’d fought for meant nothing to him in the end. His face lingered like a curse in my final moments.

But death, it seemed, was not the end of my story.

In that lightless void, something stirred. A distant shimmer flickered into view—a single, glowing sphere, like a drop of starlight descending into the abyss. It pulsed gently, illuminating the space around me, and with it came warmth. The feeling was faint at first, as if life itself were tiptoeing back into my bones.

Then came the pain.

A sudden heaviness returned to my limbs. Cold air rushed into my lungs. My vision blurred, shapes forming behind a curtain of white. Everything was too loud, too bright, too real.

I gasped—not as a man, but as a newborn.

“It’s a boy!” a woman’s voice rang out, thick with exhaustion and awe.

I blinked slowly, trying to comprehend what was happening. My head, now small and fragile, turned with unfamiliar effort. I was wrapped in blankets, surrounded by the scent of linen and warm wood. Soft rays of sunlight filtered through a window above me, revealing the modest interior of a cottage—a place far removed from the battlefield.

The woman’s face hovered above me. Her hair, long and dark, clung to her damp skin. Beads of sweat lined her brow, yet her amber eyes glowed with a light so fierce, so tender, it felt like she had poured her entire soul into a single glance. There was no mistaking it.

She was my mother in this new life.

Beside her stood a man with a broad frame, auburn hair swept back by time and toil. His blue eyes, steady and kind, studied me with a reverence that only a father could offer. Though his hands were rough, they trembled as he reached forward, gently cradling my tiny body.

“Welcome to the world, son,” he whispered.

I couldn’t speak, though my mind screamed with questions. Why had I been reborn? And why into this simple, quiet life?

But my body was no longer one I could command at will. My vision dimmed, not from fear, but from exhaustion. The new vessel I had been given was fragile, still forming its connection to the world. My eyes shut, not in death, but in sleep.

It was only the beginning.

....

....

Time passed—not in great leaps, but in the steady rhythm of life. I opened my eyes again a day later to soft morning light and the warmth of a home I did not yet understand. My mother’s face greeted me, radiant and smiling, her voice humming a lullaby older than words. She called me Capell—her precious Capell.

My father, stern but affectionate, would often lean in and whisper stories of knights and swords, his eyes gleaming with pride. Though I could not speak, I understood every word. The mind I had once possessed remained intact, buried beneath this infant shell.

“Say ‘papa,’ will you?” my father coaxed next morning, tapping his chest.

I tried. The frustration of being bound by a newborn’s limitations bit into me more than I cared to admit. All I managed was a muffled gurgle.

“He’s just a new born baby, love,” my mother teased gently, placing a hand on his arm.

“Yes,” he replied with a small chuckle, “but his eyes already carry something fierce.”

They didn’t know, of course. They couldn’t possibly. That behind those eyes dwelled the soul of a man who had died with betrayal buried in his back. A man who had once wielded steel and conviction. Now, that same soul resided in a body no stronger than a sparrow’s heartbeat.

I endured it in silence—nursed when hungry, held when crying, cradled to sleep under the flickering glow of firelight. Slowly, I became part of this world, even as I remained apart from it in mind.

Then slowly my eyes shut closed. I returned in the Void again.

This time Void here shimmered with lightless stars. A silvery mist blanketed everything, forming shapes and spirals that danced like whispered thoughts. I stood—or floated, rather—in a sky without gravity, my infant body forgotten, replaced by a version of myself that felt weightless and aware.

“You’ve awakened early,” a voice said, clear and soothing.

I turned—or perhaps simply shifted—and found myself surrounded by a radiance so profound it seemed to sing without sound. Within it stood a figure, her presence at once divine and fragile. She had no solid form, only the outline of a woman cloaked in celestial light, with a thousand emotions woven into her essence.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Where am I? Did I die again? What is this place?"

"So many questions," the voice replied, amused. "I am what you might call a god, or deity—whatever term you prefer. I brought you to this world, one quite different from your own. Here, magic and aura exist, unlike your previous world with its fighting spirit and ki."

The void blazed with white light. "You're very much alive," she continued. "This is merely your consciousness."

“Why me?” I asked, not with anger, but with weary disbelief. “I wasn’t a king. I wasn’t a hero. I died betrayed and alone.”

She moved closer, her light enveloping me like a lullaby for the soul.

“You were chosen not for what you were, but for what you could still become. Your death sparked something ancient. And now, the fate of this world trembles. You are a thread in the weave of destiny that may yet restore balance.”

"This realm is threatened by other gods who seek to control it. Some have already manifested on a distant continent. I need your help."

I scoffed. "How can a mere human fight gods?"

"I and five other gods tried to stop them. We failed. I alone survived, though not for long." Her voice grew urgent. "I will grant you my power, though you cannot use it until you prove worthy. When the time comes, you'll understand more. I've left something else for you as well. Grow stronger than you were in your previous life, Nova."

The name—my old name—sent a shiver through me. "Thank you for this second chance. I won't repeat my past mistakes. I can't promise to save the world, but I'll protect those dear to me and do what I can to stop these gods. That much, I swear."

"Thank you, child," she whispered, her voice fading with the void.

My new life had begun, and this time, I had a purpose beyond mere survival. This time, I had a destiny.