Winter had not fully arrived yet, but the cold wind blowing down from the mountains cut through the village streets like a blade. The trees were nearly bare, and the air had taken on a gray stillness. That silence was the sign of a coming storm—not just in nature, but in fate itself.

Zayn sat alone on a small hill just outside the village in the early hours of the morning. His eyes were fixed on a distant point, his fingers idly digging into the dirt with a stick. But his mind wasn't there.

Everything had become clear now.The memories buried deep within his mind had fully awakened.

He had once been Vael'Tharon—the Dark Lord feared by kings, obeyed by armies, and ultimately defeated by the world's final heroes. And now, he had been reborn in the body of this red-haired, blue-eyed boy.

But this body was still small—still limited.He was far from his true power.

For now…

One day, while gathering firewood in the forest, he noticed movement in the distance. A group of men crouched among the trees, whispering in a hurried, harsh tone. Their clothes were ragged. Their eyes impatient.

Zayn approached silently.

Bandits.

He narrowed his eyes. Most would panic and run.Zayn simply observed.Then, without saying a word, he turned and calmly walked back toward the village.

That night...

The village was too quiet. Suspiciously quiet. When Zayn looked out the window, he saw shadows moving in the distance. The guards were gone—or silenced.

He slipped out of the house quietly. His family was still asleep. He merged with the night. The moonlight was faint, but his eyes saw everything. He passed swiftly through the shadows and reached the forest's edge.

There, he met familiar faces.

The bandits.

"You can't come in this way," he said coldly.

They flinched. "What the—Is that a kid?"

A faint smile curled on Zayn's lips. "You can't enter unless you use the right path."

There was a pause. Then, their leader stepped forward. "You helping us, boy?"

"No. I'm just... watching."

He told them about an old, forgotten stone sewer tunnel—unused and hidden. A perfect way into the village. The bandits slowly nodded.

"You're a smart kid. Maybe we'll take you with us."

Zayn said nothing. He just turned and vanished into the darkness.

The attack began at midnight.

Screams. Fire. Shattering glass. Blood.

Zayn watched everything from the hilltop. Flames consumed the village. People ran, screamed, begged. Some woke up screaming. Some never woke at all. The bandits swept through every street and every house—methodically and mercilessly.

There was no emotion on Zayn's face.He simply watched.

A mother was stabbed trying to shield her child.

An old man collapsed trying to shut his door.

He saw it all. But never moved.

I just watched.

At dawn, most of the bandits had been killed by the surviving villagers. Some of the adults—his father included—managed to fight back in the final moments. But it was too late. At least twenty people had died. The rest were wounded or broken.

Zayn quietly returned home. His mother shook him, crying.

"Are you okay, my baby?"

He nodded. His eyes were blank.

His father held him tightly. "Thank the gods... we found you."

Zayn said nothing.His gaze was distant, dazed.A single thought echoed in his mind:

This was only the beginning.

From that day on, Zayn changed.He no longer acted like just a child.At night, he began sneaking out, training alone in the depths of the forest.

Using sharp stones like blades, he practiced strikes.With sticks, he honed balance and footwork.He began whispering ancient spells he remembered from his past life—but the power hadn't returned yet.His body was still too weak to sustain it.

But he waited.Patiently.Silently.

Every strike, every breath, every drop of sweat...

…brought him one step closer to his true return.

END OF CHAPTER NOTE:

Zayn now remembers everything.But for now, he remains still.In the shadows, patience... is the foundation of true power.