Kael woke up to a silent room.
Not the kind of silence that invites rest, but the kind that makes thoughts louder.
Kael lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the plain stone ceiling, watching the flickering light from the rune above cast uneven shadows across the surface.
'A man without a purpose… is a dead man.'
The words for some reason wouldn't leave him alone.
They circled in his mind like vultures, persistent and patient.
'Do you think I'm this nice to everyone?'
Theo's voice. His warning. His desperation hidden beneath all that calm logic.
And if Kael was being honest with himself—truly, brutally honest—Theo was right.
He still hadn't come to terms with anything since arriving in this world.
New place. New body. New rules, new logic, new everything.
But beneath it all, he was still the same.
Empty.
He'd spent thirty years on Earth doing… nothing.
No ambition. No goals. No dreams.
Just waking up every morning, going back to sleep at night, and repeating the same hollow cycle over and over again until the days blurred together into one long, meaningless stretch of existence.
His parents were rich—filthy rich—so he'd never struggled for anything. He had everything people thought they wanted: money, comfort, access to whatever he desired.
Women threw themselves at him. People tried to get close for connections, for favors, for a taste of his family's wealth.
But he never cared.
To the outside world, it probably looked like he was just physically weak. Lazy. Avoiding responsibility.
But Kael knew better.
The truth was simpler. Crueler.
He felt nothing.
No desire to chase. No urge to build. No hunger for more.
Just an emptiness that no one could see, but that he carried with him every single day.
He'd blamed his body for years. Told himself he was just sick. Chronic fatigue. Low energy. A convenient excuse that let him sleep through life without guilt.
But now?
New world. New body.
Same emptiness.
So it was pretty clear what the problem was.
It wasn't the body.
It was his soul.
Not that he knew anything about souls.
But tonight—maybe because of Theo's words, maybe because he was tired of running from it—that truth finally bothered him.
'Honestly, I still don't understand how someone with your personality managed to live this long.'
"..."
'It was almost like your soul had just been born.'
Kael exhaled slowly, his breath misting faintly in the cool night air filtering through the cracked window.
Theo had a point.
Who lives without any goals or desires?
Babies.
Kael let out a long, tired laugh—quiet, bitter, almost inaudible.
He didn't know why he was reincarnated.
He didn't know what this world expected from him.
He didn't even know if there was a reason, or if he'd just gotten unlucky twice in a row.
But he was sure of one thing now.
He didn't want to repeat the same story again.
This world was different.
It overflowed with wonders and dangers, magic and monsters, people who burned with ambition and purpose so fierce it lit up the air around them.
A world just waiting to be explored.
He just had to find the will to stand up and walk through it.
Maybe he'd find something out there worth caring about.
Maybe not.
But...
'I guess I'll just have to try.'
The thought settled over him—not heavy, not light, just… there.
A decision.
Small. Fragile. But real.
And then—
The screen exploded into view.
It burst into existence, filling his vision with blinding golden light that made him flinch and shield his eyes.
[◆ ARCHIVE RESPONSE DETECTED ◆]
[Sub-Unknown Task Completed: "A Spark in the Void"]
[ARCHIVE ACCESS: GRANTED]
[STATUS WINDOW: UNLOCKED]
[INHERITANCE PATH: UNLOCKED]
[WORLD TASK: INITIATED]
Kael sat up slowly, his heart pounding, his breath catching in his throat.
"What the—"
The text scrolled faster now, lines of glowing script appearing and vanishing in rapid succession, too fast to read, like the system was thinking, processing, deciding.
And then it stopped.
The light dimmed.
And new text appeared—slower this time, deliberate, weighty.
[ARCHIVE MESSAGE: HISTORICAL RECORD ACCESSED]
[DISPLAYING: THE SEVEN AND THE FALL]
The air in the room shifted.
The temperature dropped. The flickering rune above his bed dimmed, its light fading until the room was bathed in darkness.
And in that darkness, images began to form.
Not on a screen.
In the air itself.
Translucent. Flickering. Like memories projected onto smoke.
Kael's breath caught.
◆ THE SEVEN AND THE FALL ◆
Long ago, when the world was younger and humanity's reach stretched across every continent, there was an age of unparalleled prosperity.
Magic flowed freely. The land was rich. The people were strong.
And guarding that peace were seven heroes.
The image shifted, solidifying into seven figures standing atop a mountain, silhouetted against a burning sky.
Six wore robes that shimmered with elemental power—each one a master of magic so profound they could reshape the world with a thought.
And standing among them, clad not in robes but in battered armor, was a single knight.
They carried no staff. No glowing sigils traced his movements.
Just a blade and a presence that radiated quiet, unshakable strength.
They were not born heroes. They were forged by war, by loss, by choices that demanded everything and gave nothing in return.
But together, they were unstoppable.
The scene shifted.
Battlefields. Cities burning. Monsters the size of mountains, their forms twisted and wrong, clawing their way out of rifts in reality itself.
And the seven fought.
Magic tore through the sky. The knight moved like a shadow, cutting through enemies with brutal, efficient precision.
One by one, the threats fell.
For decades, they held the line. They saved humanity. They saved the world.
But peace is fragile.
The image darkened.
Something came.
From beyond the edges of the known world. From a place where light did not reach and reality bent under its weight.
It had no name. No form. No origin.
Only hunger.
The scene shifted again.
A thing appeared on the horizon—massive, incomprehensible, its shape shifting and writhing like living shadow. Where it touched the ground, the earth died, turning to ash and dust. Where it passed, the sky bled, reality itself cracking like glass.
It devoured everything.
Kingdoms. Continents. Magic itself.
And no matter how many times the seven struck it down, it returned.
The heroes fought.
Magic exploded across the battlefield, spells so powerful they reshaped mountains and boiled seas.
The knight stood at the front, blade glowing with mana so dense it burned the air around him.
But the enemy didn't fall.
It adapted. Grew. Learned.
And then—
One of the mages fell from heavy injuries.
Then another.
The knight roared, their voice echoing across the battlefield, and charged forward alone.
He struck the enemy's core—a single, devastating blow that split the earth beneath them.
The creature screamed.
And for a moment, it faltered.
But it didn't die.
The seven realized the truth: this enemy could not be killed.
Only contained.
The scene shifted one final time.
The six mages stood in a circle, their hands raised, channeling magic so vast it tore the sky open. At the center stood the knight, armor shattered, his blade broken, body barely standing.
They were performing a ritual.
Not to destroy the enemy.
But to seal it.
And to ensure humanity would never be caught unprepared again.
They gave everything.
Their magic. Their bodies. Their very souls.
And from their sacrifice, the Archive was born.
The image showed the seven collapsing, their forms dissolving into light that spiraled upward, weaving together into a massive, glowing construct—a lattice of golden threads and spinning sigils that pulsed with life.
The Archive.
A guardian. A guide. A weapon designed to ensure that humanity would always have the strength to face what was coming.
Because the enemy was not destroyed.
Only sealed.
And seals… do not last forever.
The image faded.
The room returned to darkness.
And then—text appeared again.
[WORLD TASK INITIATED: PREVENT THE RETURN]
[TASK DESCRIPTION:]
The seal weakens. The enemy stirs. And across the world, seven have been chosen—inheritors of the wills left behind by the fallen heroes.
You are one of them.
You carry the will a hero—the one who stood at the front when all others fell. The one who bore the weight of the world on their shoulders and never faltered.
[CURRENT PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: Gain Admission to Obsidian Fang Academy]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: ???]
[TERTIARY OBJECTIVE: ???]
[FINAL OBJECTIVE: ????]
[TIME LIMIT: UNKNOWN]
[PENALTY FOR FAILURE: EXTINCTION]
The text faded.
The room fell silent once more.
Kael sat there, staring at the empty space where the images had been, his mind struggling to process what he'd just seen.
Seven heroes.
A sealed enemy.
The end of the world.
It sounded like some cliche fantasy book.
He stared at his hands.
Then at the screen.
Then he smiled—a slow, wry, exhausted smile.
"I just had to jinx it, didn't I?"
He flopped back onto his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
'Find a purpose, huh?'
He laughed—quiet, bitter, disbelieving.
"Guess I found one."
The screen blinked once, as if in agreement.
And Kael closed his eyes, another wave of exhaustion pulling at him like a weighted blanket.
'Save the world?'
Sure.
Why not.
And with that thought, he drifted off to sleep—unbothered, empty, and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders without even realizing it yet.