"Pain. The first truth of this new life."

  The world came crashing back—not with light, but with a pounding ache in his skull and a fire burning in his lungs. His breath came ragged, like his body had been fighting to live for hours. And it had.

  Lucian blinked.

  No. Not Lucian.

  Kael Ardyn.

  The name echoed inside a skull that wasn’t his. Bones too small, skin too smooth, strength too far gone. He touched his chest—no wounds. Just bruises. Just weakness.

  He hadn’t died. Only fallen unconscious.

  But the boy who owned this body before him had died long before the fall. He’d died on the training ground, humiliated in front of his family. Beaten by his younger brother. The shame had been the final blow.

  Lucian sat up slowly, letting the flood of memories trickle in. Ten years old. Second-youngest of five sons in the noble House Ardyn, rulers of the southern provinces. A family of steel and strength, where power determined inheritance. In that world, Kael had been a whisper. A footnote.

  Lucian Drelborn, however, had been a storm.

  He rose shakily and caught sight of the full-length mirror near the chamber’s corner.

  He approached it slowly, bare feet cold against the stone. What stared back was a child—his new face, pale from unconsciousness, eyes dim from defeat. But behind those eyes, something burned.

  He lifted a hand.

  “You gave up.”

  “But I don’t break that easily.”

  The door creaked open behind him.

  Lucian turned.

  Standing there was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sword at his hip and a permanent sneer carved into his expression. Rivan Ardyn—the eldest brother. Twenty years old. The pride of House Ardyn. Their father’s heir apparent.

  “You’re awake,” Rivan said without emotion. “You were out for hours. Still breathing, unfortunately.”

  He looked Kael up and down like one might inspect a broken weapon not worth reforging.

  “You lost. Pathetic. Don’t embarrass the name again.” He turned, then added with a bitter edge, “Or next time, stay down.”

  The door smmed behind him.

  Lucian exhaled slowly. Not from fear.

  From control.

  “I burned kingdoms for a crown that stabbed me in the back.”

  “Now I’ll rise in a family that never even noticed me.”

  He stepped away from the mirror. Muscles trembled. This body was fragile—but it would be enough. He had shaped fire from silence before. He could do it again.

  Somewhere deep inside, a pulse of old magic stirred, heavy and coiled like a sleeping dragon.

  He closed his eyes, reaching inward.

  The mana was faint. Like tasting the memory of wine on dry lips. But it was there.

  He whispered a word—not aloud, but in the nguage of power etched into his soul.

  "IGNIS"

  A spark.

  The air grew still. The candlelight in the room bent toward his hand. Just for a second.

  Enough. He smiled.

  And from the window—a cng.

  He stepped over and looked down into the courtyard below.

  The training grounds, now nearly empty, glistened with torchlight. But someone was still there.

  An old servant, dressed in Ardyn colors, stood frozen beside a shattered pte. His hands trembled slightly. His eyes locked on Kael’s window.

  And in that moment, Kael saw him clearly.

  His smile faded.

  "NO"

  A familiar face. One that should have been ashes. Not from this life.

  From the one before.

  A man who had stood among those who betrayed him. One who had bowed before the Empire’s prince—the one who killed Lucian.

  "You."

  The old servant quickly gathered the pieces and vanished into the shadows. But not fast enough.

  Kael’s heart beat faster. Not from fear.

  From confirmation.

  “So the Empire pced you here.”

  “Watching. Measuring. Waiting.”

  He turned from the window, fire whispering beneath his skin.

  “Let them watch.”

  “This time, I’ll burn the world before they strike.”