Darkness. Cold, suffocating darkness.

Mikael could feel his body growing numb, his breath shallow and ragged. The once-proud prince of the Aedryn Kingdom lay on a grand yet empty bed, his once-vibrant silver hair now damp with sweat. His vision blurred as the room around him dimmed — the ornate gold and marble of his chamber a mockery of the loneliness he felt.

No family sat by his side. No friends wept for his condition.

How ironic.

He had spent his entire life perfecting himself — his mind, his combat skills, his magic — all to maintain his position as the heir to the throne. He had eliminated threats without hesitation, stained his hands with blood without remorse. And yet, when his body failed him, when an unknown disease slowly drained the life out of him… there was no one left.

No one to care.

Is this how it ends? he wondered bitterly.

The room grew colder. The pain faded into emptiness.

And then, silence.

Warmth. A gentle, comforting warmth wrapped around him like a soft embrace. It was… strange. Mikael’s last moments had been filled with pain and regret, and yet now, there was only this tender heat.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. His body felt light — small, even. His fingers twitched, and something soft brushed against his skin.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The sight that greeted him was unfamiliar. Two figures hovered above him, their features blurred, but their voices were soft and warm. He blinked up at them, his eyes adjusting, and saw the face of a woman with kind eyes and long, flowing brown hair. Beside her stood a man with a strong build and a gentle smile.

"Look at him," the woman whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "Our little Oliver…"

Oliver?

He shifted his gaze downward, and his breath caught.

Tiny hands. A small, fragile body.

He was… a baby?

Panic surged through him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by exhaustion. His mind spun with questions — Where am I? What happened? Why am I… like this? — but before he could make sense of it all, darkness claimed him once again.

The years passed in a blur.

Memories of his past life stayed with him — the training, the bloodshed, the cold isolation — but they felt distant, like echoes of a nightmare. In this new life, warmth surrounded him. His mother, Elara Mitra, was gentle and loving. His father, Darius Mitra, was a strong and respected swordsman, but kind and patient.

For the first time, Mikael — now Oliver Mitra — experienced something he never had before: love.

But even as he embraced this new life, his old self remained. His sharp mind, his hunger for knowledge, his drive to grow stronger — none of that had faded. And when he discovered this world’s unique energy known as mana, his ambitions reignited.

"Mana is the essence of life itself," his father had explained one evening. "It flows through all living things and allows us to wield magic. But controlling it requires discipline and talent."

Talent, Oliver had in abundance.

Within months, he was already manipulating mana with ease, far surpassing children his age. When his father began teaching him the sword, his instincts and past life experience made the lessons almost effortless. But it wasn’t enough.

Magic and swordsmanship alone were incomplete.

So Oliver began experimenting — combining the two disciplines, refining his control, and pushing his abilities further. By the time he reached his eighth birthday, even his father looked at him with awe.

But with power came fear.

His mind drifted back to his old life — to the cold looks of his parents, the fear and resentment of his subjects, the isolation his strength had brought him. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.

Not this time.

This time, he would become strong — not to dominate, but to protect.

And for the first time in both his lives… he wasn’t alone.