Rain poured from the heavens as thunder shattered the sky. In a single, blinding moment, lightning struck, and my life ended beneath its merciless light. The storm erased everything, leaving only darkness behind.

I thought death was the end. Yet when awareness returned, it came with a sense of falling—through time, through fate, into something unknown.

I opened my eyes as a child reborn into a ruined noble family. Cracked stone walls and silent halls surrounded me, remnants of a house that had long since lost its glory. The name I inherited carried only scorn and pity.

But this world itself was different. The air hummed with strange power, flowing through the land, the sky, and living beings alike. I could feel it respond to me, faintly at first, like an echo answering a call.

With memories of my past life and awareness of this power-filled world, I understood my rebirth had purpose. In a land governed by mysterious forces and forgotten bloodlines, I would rise from ruin, master the power that shaped this world, and rewrite the fate that lightning had once ended.

Voices reached him first—low, cautious, spoken in a dialect rougher than the common tongue. He kept his eyes closed, breathing shallow, listening.


"Alone?" another voice replied. "On that field?"


Varyan felt the tent shift as someone stepped closer. The smell of damp leather and smoke mixed with old blood. Fingers—calloused, unfamiliar—briefly pressed against his bandaged side, checking for fever, for movement, for life.


"He's awake," a woman said quietly. "Or close to it."


The tent flap was pulled back, letting in gray daylight. Several figures stood outside—natives of the region, wrapped in dark cloaks and worn armor, their faces marked by scars, age, and suspicion.


They stared at him like one would stare at a curse that hadn't decided whether to strike again.


"You were found where no one survives," an older man said, stepping forward. His gaze was sharp, unblinking. "An entire patrol slaughtered. Blood everywhere."


"What did you see?" the man pressed. "What happened there?"


Varyan's fingers tightened slightly against the fabric beneath him. His mind replayed fragments—shadows moving unnaturally, bodies torn apart, screams cut short.


Things no sane man would speak of lightly.


"I saw enough," Varyan said at last, his voice hoarse. "More than anyone should."


The woman flinched. Someone crossed themselves under their breath.


"That field is cursed," another muttered. "Nothing human could have done that."


"If you were the only one left alive," the elder said slowly, "then either the curse spared you…"


Varyan met his stare without blinking. Too tired to argue. Too honest to deny what he himself didn't yet understand.


Outside the tent, the wind passed through the trees.


For the first time since the battlefield, Varyan felt truly alone.


And whatever had saved him that night—


Chapter 7 - Mysterious People