Thiriel lay among the rubble of the throne hall, watching as his right-hand man betrayed him.
His vision blurred, yet he could still clearly distinguish the figures surrounding him: generals he had elevated from nothing, nobles he had protected with his own invincibility, and at the center of it all, Reinhar.
Surrounded by many familiar faces and feeling his life slowly slipping away, he asked his right-hand man with sorrow and disappointment.
"Reinhar… why?"
Looking at his emperor as he continued to lose blood, Reinhar smile. The expression on his face was not one of pure triumph; it was more complex, a mix of contempt and something that almost looked like… pity.
"Foolish, Thiriel. Do you really need to ask? Haven't you realized by now why you ended up like this?" Reinhar said as he stepped closer to deliver the finishing blow.
"Of course I know what those behind you are thinking. What disappoints me is that, despite everything we went through together, you would betray me—you, of all people," Thiriel said, his voice heavy with disappointment as his vision grew hazier.
"I saw what you refused to see: that your strength alone is not enough to sustain a world. Someone had to take the reins when you fell. And you were always going to fall, Thiriel. No one is invincible forever," Reinhar said coldly.
He knelt before him, the edge of his sword gleaming beneath the torchlight.
"Rest in the other world, Emperor of Strength. You can be at ease knowing that I will lead our empire to dominate this world. I will carry our banner farther than you ever could. Your death will not be the end… it will be the beginning of true conquest," Reinhar whispered before Thiriel.
He raised his sword, the blade gathering a crimson glow. The energy emanating from it made the air tremble.
Thiriel looked around one last time. Faces he had known since childhood, men and women with whom he had shared battles and dreams. Now, all of them watched him with cold indifference.
His eyes returned to Reinhar. For a moment, it seemed as if he would say something more. Instead, he simply closed his eyelids as Reinhar unleashed his attack.
The final strike came like thunder. Heat engulfed him, searing, and then… nothing. Only absolute darkness.
…
When consciousness returned, it did so in fragments.
Pain.
Cold.
Hunger.
A weakness he had not felt in a very long time.
Not knowing how much time had passed, Thiriel slowly opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. He was lying on damp, mold-covered stone, confused as he realized he was not dead, though he felt extremely weak and his senses were dulled.
He was in unfamiliar ruins. A splitting pain surged through his head as fragments of information appeared in his mind.
He was not in his palace. He was not in Eldoria.
A few minutes later, Thiriel rose with great difficulty, after sorting through the memories.
His hands… were small. Slender. His skin was covered in scratches and scabs.
"What… the hell?" he whispered to himself as he examined his body and the condition it was in.
Fragments of memories began to flood him: a miserable orphanage in the outskirts of Oakhaven, a small and frail sister, a friend named Drowen… and betrayal.
A knife in the back over a magical training manual they had found together in the ruins. The previous owner of this body had bled to death, betrayed by the only person he trusted.
Thiriel let out a laugh that turned into coughing.
"What perfect irony."
Two lives. Two betrayals. Two friends who had decided that his existence was an obstacle to their ambitions.
Thiriel struggled to his feet and left the ruins. He followed a path to a murky stream that wound through the debris. He knelt and plunged his hands into the icy water. The cold cleared his head.
He looked at his reflection: a sunken face, eyes too large for such a thin frame, long black hair tangled and unkempt. A fifteen-year-old boy who had died from betrayal only hours earlier.
His body was extremely weak.
But his mind… his mind was still that of a man who had ruled half a continent.