Kyle lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting faint shadows across the room.
He was in the flat he shared with Aurelia, just a short distance from the academy.
It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made his thoughts echo louder in his head.
Sleep felt impossible. His mind was racing, replaying everything that had happened over the past month.
"One month," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.
"It's been almost a month since I woke up in that cathedral. Since I became… Kyle."
He turned his head slightly, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was late, but his thoughts wouldn't let him rest.
They kept circling back to the same questions, the same mysteries that had been gnawing at him since he arrived in this world.
"Why did Kyle go to those ruins?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room.
"Was it just a coincidence? Or did he know something? Did he get his blessing there?"
He frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece it all together.
From what he remembered of the novel, no gods other than Solmora were ever mentioned.
So who had blessed him? And why?
"And how did he even know about the ruins in the first place?" Kyle muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.
"Did someone tell him? Did he find some kind of clue? Or was it just… luck?"
He sighed, turning onto his side and pulling the blanket up to his chin.
The more he thought about it, the more questions he had.
And the answers—if there were any—seemed just out of reach.
His mind drifted back to Aurelia's words earlier that day.
"You left that letter in your room, saying 'I'll be back in a month.' Do you have any idea how that felt?"
Kyle's chest tightened at the memory.
The pain in her voice, the anger, the relief—it had all been so raw. And it made him wonder.
How had the original Kyle known he'd be back in a month?
Had he planned it all? Had he known what would happen to him?
"Did he know he was going to die?" Kyle whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
"Did he know I'd take his place?"
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
He didn't want to believe it, but it made a strange kind of sense.
The letter, the timing, the ruins—it all felt too deliberate to be a coincidence.
"But if he knew," Kyle continued, his voice barely above a whisper,
"Then why? Why did he do it? Why give up his life? And why… Why me?"
He didn't have an answer.
He didn't even know where to start looking for one.
All he knew was that he was here now, in this world, with this body, this blessing, and this life that wasn't really his.
"How did he die, though?" Kyle muttered, his thoughts spiraling.
"I don't think the monsters killed him. When I woke up, I was in the cathedral, and that place seemed off-limits for monsters—at least, that's what I think."
He paused, considering another possibility. "Or did he die because he couldn't handle the strain of the blessing?"
But then he shook his head, dismissing the idea.
"No, blessings don't work like that. They're supposed to empower you, not kill you."
He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples.
"My head is starting to hurt from all this. I don't even know what's real anymore. Did Kyle plan this? Did someone else? Or am I just overthinking everything?"
He flopped onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The questions swirled in his mind, each one leading to another, and another, until he felt like he was drowning in them.
He closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out, but the thoughts kept coming.
Then he remembered Aurelia's words again.
"Start from the beginning—what happened during that one month? How did you awaken your affinity? And how did you manage to take down that Silver-rank squid? I already saw what happened with the boar."
"So Kyle was really affinity-less."
Affinity-less people were rare—extremely rare.
In a world where magic and elemental affinities were the foundation of power, being born without one was like being handed a life sentence of limitations.
These individuals had a harder time ranking up than others, their progress slow and grueling compared to those blessed with natural affinities.
Without the ability to channel elemental mana, their growth was stunted, their potential capped at Silver rank—the highest a low ranker could ever hope to achieve.
For most affinity-less individuals, reaching even Bronze rank was a monumental struggle, let alone Silver.
It was a harsh reality, one that often left them marginalized and overlooked in a society that valued strength and magical prowess above all else.
Tomorrow was another day—another chance to find answers, to understand who he was, and why he was here.
And as he drifted off to sleep, the shadows on the ceiling seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet stillness of the night.
****
The battlefield stretched endlessly, a desolate wasteland littered with the remnants of a brutal war.
Thousands of corpses—human, monster, and demon alike—lay scattered across the barren land, their lifeless forms a grim testament to the carnage that had unfolded.
The ground, once fertile and alive, was now painted in shades of black and red, the blood of the fallen seeping into the earth, staining it forever.
The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of death, a haunting reminder of the price paid for this conflict.
Above, the sky burned a deep, ominous red, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding.
At its center hung a massive crack in the sky.
Amidst the sea of death, a lone figure knelt, her form trembling with grief.
She cradled the lifeless body of a man, his once vibrant features now pale and still.
A gaping hole marred his chest, the wound brutal and final.
His eyes were closed, his expression eerily peaceful, as if he had accepted his fate long before it came.
The woman clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his lifeless form, as if her embrace could somehow bring him back.
Her sobs were raw and unrestrained, each one a desperate plea for him to wake up, to come back to her.
Her tears fell freely, mingling with the blood that stained his clothes and the ground beneath them.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"You can't leave me. Not like this. Not after everything."
Her fingers brushed against his cold cheek, her touch gentle, as if afraid to hurt him further.
She leaned her forehead against his, her tears dripping onto his face.
"You promised," she choked out, her voice barely audible.
"You promised you'd come back. You said we'd see it through together."
But there was no response. No flicker of life.
No comforting words to ease her pain.
The man she held was gone, his soul claimed by the same war that had taken so many others.
The woman's cries grew louder, her grief echoing across the silent battlefield.
She rocked back and forth, clutching him tightly, as if her love alone could defy the finality of death.
But the world around her remained still, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind as it carried her sorrow into the blood-red sky.
Above, the massive crack shimmered faintly, its surface reflecting the scene below.
For a moment, it seemed to flicker, as if acknowledging the woman's pain.
But it offered no solace, no answers. It simply hung there, a silent witness to the end of a story that had once held so much promise.
And as the woman's cries faded into the stillness, the battlefield remained—a haunting reminder of the cost of war, and the lives lost in its wake.
****
A/N: If you've made it this far and are enjoying the story, I'd love for you add it to your library and tossed some Power Stones my way—think of them as creative caffeine for my brain!
Your support keeps the story alive and stops me from crying into my keyboard. (Okay, maybe not crying, but there's definitely some dramatic sighing involved.)