The first thing I felt was cold.
Not the gentle chill of autumn air, but the bone-deep cold that comes from lying too long on frozen ground. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by something I couldn't name. When I finally forced them open, the world above me was a canopy of dark leaves, their edges gilded by moonlight filtering through gaps in the foliage.
I blinked.
Once. Twice.
My thoughts moved like sludge, thick and slow, refusing to form coherent shapes. Where was I? What happened? The questions floated at the edges of my consciousness, just out of reach.
Then came the pain.
Sharp. Sudden. A white-hot lance through my abdomen that made me gasp and curl inward. My hand instinctively moved to my stomach, and my fingers brushed against something wet and warm beneath my shirt. Panic surged through my veins like ice water.
Blood.
There was so much blood.
I forced myself to look down, lifting the hem of my shirt with trembling fingers. The fabric was soaked through, sticking to my skin in a way that made my stomach turn. But beneath the crimson stain, my flesh was... whole. Unmarked. The skin was pale and smooth, as though nothing had ever touched it.
That couldn't be right.
I pressed my palm flat against my abdomen, searching for wounds that should have been there. Nothing. Not even a scar. Yet the blood was real, still wet against my skin, still coating my fingers in dark streaks.
What the hell?
My gaze drifted sideways, and that's when I saw it.
The dagger.
It lay beside me in the grass, its blade dark with dried blood. My blood? The sight of it sent a jolt through my system, and suddenly I was sitting up, ignoring the way my head spun and my vision blurred at the edges. The weapon was ornate, with a silver handle wrapped in black leather, the kind of thing nobles carried as much for show as for function.
Why was it here? Why was I here?
I tried to stand, but my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. My boots slipped on the damp earth, and I stumbled forward, catching myself against the rough bark of a nearby tree. The forest around me was eerily quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl.
And then I saw him.
Ten paces away, sprawled on the ground like a discarded puppet, was a body.
No. Not just any body.
A boy. Maybe sixteen, seventeen at most. He lay on his back, one arm flung out to the side, the other resting across his chest. His clothing was torn and bloodstained, and protruding from his chest, just left of center, was the hilt of a blade.
Time seemed to slow.
I staggered forward, my legs moving without conscious thought, carrying me closer even though every instinct screamed at me to run. The boy's face was turned slightly toward me, and in the moonlight, I could see his features clearly.
Long blue hair, darker than the night sky, splayed out around his head like a halo. Pale skin, almost luminous in the dim light. And his face... gods, his face was so young. Peaceful, almost, as though he'd simply fallen asleep.
But the blood told a different story.
It pooled beneath him, soaking into the earth, staining his white shirt a deep crimson. The sword in his chest was buried deep, driven in with enough force that only the hilt remained visible.
My knees hit the ground beside him.
I didn't remember falling.
My hands reached out, hovering over his body but not quite touching, as though contact would make it all real. As though this was just a nightmare I could wake from if I tried hard enough.
And then it hit me.
Not a thought. Not a realization.
A flood.
Memories crashed into my mind like a tidal wave, drowning me in sensations and emotions that weren't mine but somehow were. I gasped, clutching my head as images flashed behind my eyes, one after another after another.
---
'Why does he get everything?'
The thought echoed in my skull, bitter and raw. I—no, not I. Someone else. Kaine. This body. This life.
'Father doesn't even look at me anymore. Not since Abel awakened.'
I saw a grand manor, all marble floors and high ceilings, sunlight streaming through tall windows. A man stood at the center of the training hall, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair streaked with silver at the temples. Duke Eamon Einsworth. His jaw was carved like granite, his posture that of a man who'd spent decades on battlefields before inheriting his title. He wasn't the type to offer gentle words or warm embraces. Warriors didn't coddle.
But when he looked at Abel? There was something there. Not quite pride—Duke Eamon didn't do sentiment—but acknowledgment. Recognition. The look a master gives an apprentice who finally understands the blade.
Kaine never received that look.
'I'm older. I was born first. By three months. Three damn months. But it doesn't matter. It never mattered.'
The memories painted the picture clearly. Two women. Two sons. Born in the same year, only months apart. Kaine's mother had been the Duke's first wife, a union arranged for political advantage. She'd died in childbirth, leaving behind only her infant son.
Abel's mother had been the second wife, married barely a year after the first's death. Another arrangement. Another alliance. She'd survived the birth, but died five years later to illness.
Two motherless boys, raised in the same house, carrying the same name.
Brothers, but not really.
'He's younger. Younger! And still Father chose him.'
I felt it then—the jealousy. It burned in Kaine's chest like molten iron, eating away at everything else. They'd both trained under the same instructors, learned the same techniques, pushed themselves through the same grueling exercises. Kaine had always been decent with a blade, competent with mana control.
But Abel had been better.
Not at first. Not when they were children. But as they grew, the gap widened. Abel's strikes became sharper, his movements more fluid, his mana denser and more responsive. By the time they were fourteen, it wasn't even close anymore.
And then came the awakening.
At fifteen, every person's talent manifested. Some discovered abilities related to their element, others gained enhanced physical capabilities, and a rare few awakened something extraordinary. You simply knew what it was the moment it happened, the knowledge appearing in your mind like it had always been there.
Kaine awakened first, being three months older.
His talent had been... acceptable. Enhanced reflexes and a minor affinity for wind manipulation. Useful in combat, certainly, but nothing that would make anyone take notice.
Three months later, Abel awakened.
'The whole manor felt it. The surge of power. Even the servants stopped what they were doing.'
Golden light had erupted from Abel's body, so bright it had been visible from outside the estate. His talent was monstrous. Divine-tier weapon manifestation combined with light element mastery. Within hours, word had spread throughout the kingdom.
Within days, Abel had been summoned to the capital.
Within a week, he'd been named a hero candidate. One of only five in the entire realm.
Duke Eamon had stood in the main hall when Abel returned, and for the first time in Kaine's memory, something approaching emotion had crossed his father's face.
"You bring honor to the Einsworth name," the Duke had said, his voice like grinding stone. Not flowery. Not excessive. But from a man like Eamon Einsworth, it might as well have been a declaration of love.
Kaine had been standing there too. His father hadn't even glanced in his direction.
'That was when I stopped caring.'
The months that followed were a downward spiral. Kaine abandoned his training, stopped attending lessons, and began frequenting places no noble heir should be seen. Gambling halls where merchants and lesser nobles lost their fortunes over cards and dice. Taverns in the entertainment district where the wine was cheap and the company cheaper. Substances that dulled the edges of his rage and made the world feel less suffocating, if only for a few hours.
Women came and went. Their faces blurred together in Kaine's memories. He couldn't remember their names. Wasn't sure he'd ever asked.
Duke Eamon had been furious at first. Lectures delivered in that flat, hard voice. Punishments that Kaine bore with indifference. But eventually, even that stopped. The Duke simply... stopped acknowledging his firstborn's existence.
'Fine. If I can't be the son he wants, I'll be the one he deserves.'
Kaine had thrown himself deeper into debauchery, each transgression a silent scream for attention that never came. He became a stain on the Einsworth name, a cautionary tale whispered about in noble circles. The Duke's disappointment. The wasted potential.
And through it all, Abel continued to shine.
He trained daily, honed his skills, went on subjugation missions with the other hero candidates. He was polite, respectful, everything an heir should be. He never mocked Kaine, never rubbed his success in his face. If anything, Abel had tried to reach out several times.
'That made it worse. His pity. His concern. Like I was some wounded animal he could fix.'
Then came the announcement two weeks ago.
The Saber Garden Trial.
Duke Eamon had summoned both sons to his study. The room was sparse, decorated only with weapons from past campaigns and a single desk made of dark wood. The Duke had stood with his back to them, staring out the window at the training grounds below.
"The academy begins its new term next month," he'd said, not bothering with preamble. Warriors didn't waste words. "Every noble house sends one heir at sixteen. We have two of age."
Kaine had felt his stomach drop. He knew what was coming.
"There's a tradition in the Einsworth family," the Duke continued, turning to face them. His expression was unreadable, carved from the same stone as the mountains. "A trial that's been passed down for generations. Deep in the Saber Garden Forest lies a golden fruit. The tree that bears it blooms only once every sixteen years. The fruit is said to enhance one's mana capacity significantly."
He'd paused, letting the words sink in.
"Your task is to retrieve it. The one who returns with the fruit will attend the academy."
Abel had nodded immediately, his expression determined. Kaine had said nothing.
'He doesn't expect me to win. This whole thing is just for show. A formality so he can say he gave us both a chance.'
The Duke had continued, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "The Saber Garden is dangerous. Beasts of various classes inhabit it, some capable of killing trained warriors. You'll need to rely on your training and your abilities. No guards. No assistance."
He'd finally looked at Kaine then, and for a moment, something had flickered in those cold eyes. Not hope. Maybe curiosity. As if wondering whether his firstborn would even try.
"You leave at dawn in three days. Prepare accordingly."
That had been the end of it. No encouragement. No advice. Just the mission.
'He knows I can't win. The golden fruit is just an excuse. What he really wants is for Abel to prove himself. To show that he can handle dangerous situations. That he's worthy of the Einsworth name.'
The bitterness had crystallized into something harder over those three days. Kaine had gone through the motions of preparation, gathering supplies, checking his equipment. But his mind had been elsewhere.
'If I can't win, then neither can he.'
The plan had formed slowly, like frost creeping across glass. It was ugly. Vicious. Everything Kaine had become.
'I'll kill him.'
Simple. Direct. Final.
'No one will know. We'll be alone in the forest. Beasts attack travelers all the time. I'll say we were separated. That I searched but couldn't find him. Father will be disappointed, but Abel will be gone. And I'll be the only heir left.'
The rationalization had come easy. Too easy. Maybe that should have been a warning.
They'd set out at dawn three days ago, entering the Saber Garden as the sun painted the sky in shades of amber and gold. The forest was massive, a sprawling wilderness that covered several square miles. Ancient trees towered overhead, their trunks thick enough that three men couldn't encircle them with their arms.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. No birds sang. No insects buzzed. Just the crunch of leaves under their boots and the occasional rustle of something moving through the underbrush.
Abel had been alert, his hand never straying far from his blade. He'd manifested his talent early in the journey, and golden light had shimmered around his form like protective armor.
'He's always so careful. So prepared. Perfect Abel. Perfect hero.'
They'd encountered their first beast on the second day. A direwolf, its fur matted and dark, its eyes gleaming with predatory intelligence. It had lunged at Abel, jaws snapping, but he'd dispatched it with a single strike. Clean. Efficient. The way Duke Eamon had taught them.
"Are you alright?" Abel had asked, turning to Kaine with genuine concern.
'I hate you. I hate you so much.'
"Fine," Kaine had muttered, looking away.
They'd made camp that evening near a stream. Abel had taken first watch while Kaine pretended to sleep. But sleep hadn't come. Only the plan, playing over and over in his mind like a dark melody.
'Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow.'
But tomorrow had become tonight.
They'd been searching for the golden fruit tree when Abel had suddenly stopped, his head tilting as though listening to something Kaine couldn't hear.
"Do you feel that?" Abel had asked, his voice quiet.
"Feel what?"
"Mana. There's a concentration of it to the east. Strong. That might be where the tree is."
They'd changed direction, pushing through dense foliage until they'd emerged into a small clearing. Moonlight spilled through the canopy, illuminating the space with an ethereal glow.
And there, in the center, stood a tree unlike any Kaine had ever seen.
Its trunk was silver, almost metallic, and its branches bore leaves that shimmered like emeralds. Hanging from the lowest branch was a single fruit, perfectly round and glowing with a soft golden light.
"That's it," Abel had breathed, awe evident in his voice.
He'd started forward, and that's when Kaine had moved.
'Now. Do it now.'
His hand had found the dagger at his belt. A gift from his mother's family, given to him when he was ten. He'd carried it every day since.
Abel had been three steps away from the tree when Kaine's blade had punched into his back.
The sound Abel made—a choked gasp of surprise and pain—would haunt Kaine forever.
'What did I—'
Abel had stumbled forward, his hand reaching for the wound, but Kaine had twisted the blade and pulled it free. Blood had sprayed, dark and thick, and Abel had fallen to his knees.
"Kaine..." Abel's voice had been so quiet. Confused. "Why...?"
'Because I hate you. Because Father chose you. Because you have everything and I have nothing.'
But Kaine hadn't said any of that. He'd just stood there, the bloody dagger in his hand, watching as his younger brother collapsed face-first into the grass.
Abel had tried to push himself up, but his strength was failing. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the earth.
'Finish it. You have to finish it.'
Kaine had knelt beside Abel's body, rolling him onto his back. His brother's eyes were still open, still aware, even as life drained from him.
"I'm sorry," Kaine had whispered. And he'd meant it. In that moment, he'd genuinely meant it.
He'd raised the dagger.
Abel's hand had caught his wrist. Weak. Trembling.
"Why...?" Abel had asked again, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
Kaine had torn his hand free and driven the blade down.
It had punched through Abel's chest with a wet thunk, piercing his heart. Abel's body had jerked once, then gone still. His eyes remained open, staring up at nothing.
And Kaine had felt... nothing.
No relief. No satisfaction. Just a hollow emptiness that stretched on forever.
'What have I done?'
The realization had hit like a physical blow. He'd killed his brother. His only sibling. The only person in the world who'd ever shown him kindness despite everything.
And for what? So he could attend an academy? So he could have his father's approval?
'I'm a monster.'
The thought had been crystal clear. Undeniable.
'I don't deserve to live.'
The dagger had still been in his hand, warm with Abel's blood. Kaine had looked at it for a long moment, then slowly turned it toward himself.
'This is what I deserve.'
He'd positioned the blade just below his ribs, angled upward toward his heart. One quick thrust. That's all it would take.
'I'm sorry, Abel. I'm so sorry.'
And then he'd driven the dagger home.
The pain had been immediate and overwhelming, a white-hot agony that had stolen his breath. He'd fallen backward, the dagger still embedded in his chest, and the world had begun to fade.
The last thing Kaine had seen was the golden fruit, still hanging from the tree, its glow illuminating the clearing where two brothers lay dying.
---
The memories released me all at once, and I gasped, sucking in air like a drowning man breaking the surface. My hands were shaking, pressed against the sides of my head as though I could physically hold back the flood of information.
But it was too late. I knew. I understood.
I wasn't Kaine Einsworth.
I was someone else. Something else. A consciousness from another world, another life, now trapped in the body of a murderer who'd taken his own life out of guilt and despair.
A transmigrator.
The word felt foreign and familiar all at once. I'd read stories like this before, back in my original world. People dying and waking up in fantasy settings, given second chances to live extraordinary lives.
But this... this wasn't some grand adventure. This was a nightmare.
I looked down at Abel's corpse, at the peaceful expression on his face, and felt my stomach twist. This boy had done nothing wrong. He'd been kind, talented, everything a hero should be.
And Kaine had murdered him out of jealousy.
'What do I do? What the hell am I supposed to do?'
I couldn't go back to the manor. They'd find Abel's body eventually, and when they did, the evidence would point to me. Kaine had been seen entering the forest with Abel. If only one returned...
'They'll execute me. Duke Eamon will execute me himself.'
The thought was terrifying, but also... strangely appropriate. Kaine deserved that fate. I just happened to be the one stuck with the consequences.
I started to stand, my legs still unsteady, when I felt it.
A presence.
Not physical. Not something I could see or hear. But something vast and ancient, pressing against my consciousness like a weight.
And then—
Ding!
The sound echoed inside my skull, sharp and clear, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
And then came the message, appearing in my mind's eye like text on a screen.
[System loading...]