When someone has everything you want in life, doesn't that feeling of wanting it also creep up inside deep in your heart, knowing that you will never get that?
Some call it fate. Others call it unfair. But the truth is far simpler.
The world is divided into those who are born lucky and those who are not.
Consider, for example, being born into a mundane life filled with routine and mediocrity. You may come to accept that you're just another cog in an endless machine, destined to be replaced sooner or later. This is simply life. You're either born lucky or unlucky, into a family or without one. In the end, you're just another cog that will be used until it deteriorates and is eventually replaced.
This was Aleister Crowley's perspective, shaped by a lifetime of misfortune. Since the day he was born, he faced a series of unfortunate events that led him to believe that God despised him and intended for him to endure a life filled with suffering and misery.
Orphaned at a young age and shuffled through an indifferent foster system, he was eventually cast into a world that neither cared for nor acknowledged him. He learned early on that life is rarely fair.
No, he knew life wasn't fair from the beginning.
But he survived.
No one was going to save him, so he worked, ate, and slept, repeating the cycle every single day. He learned early that relationships were transactional. Families took him in only to discard him later. Friendships required something to offer in return, something he never had. He realized this from the very first day and understands that he will never truly fit in anywhere.
The only escape he had was in books.
Fantasy novels, mostly.
If life refused to give him a purpose, then at least stories did. In books, he wasn't just a nameless cog in a cruel world. He was a hero, rewriting their mistakes in his head, choosing the right paths. It was the only escape he had, and perhaps, the only thing keeping him sane.
One such story was Chronicles of the Arcane Blade.
It wasn't the best novel he'd ever read, but it had its moments.
Like almost all novels starts with a commoner protagonist rising to greatness, wielding both sword and magic, slowly gathering a harem of beautiful, devoted women. It should have been satisfying. It should have been wish-fulfillment at its finest.
But the protagonist was a fool.
Naive. Reckless. Blind to the dangers around him. He threw himself into problems he didn't understand, made enemies he had no business provoking, and trusted people who would inevitably betray him.
Aleister had wanted to reach into the pages and shake some sense into him.
"Why the hell would you let that guy live?!" Aleister muttered, gripping the book tighter. His knuckles turned white as he flipped the pages, eyes scanning the predictable outcome he already knew was coming.
Yep. There it is. The protagonist, bleeding and battered, still found it in himself to forgive the traitor standing over him with a dagger.
"Oh, sure. Let him go so he can stab you in the back later. Brilliant idea." Aleister scoffed, slamming the book shut. "Plot armor strikes again."
"If I were him…" he had often thought. "I wouldn't make the same mistakes."
The protagonist let dangerous enemies escape multiple times, allowing them to return even stronger. He overlooked clear warning signs and placed his trust in those he shouldn't have, yet somehow managed to stumble his way to victory.
"Plot armor. Gotta love it." Aleister mumbled softly, knowing this story was going to continue letting plot armor win and still let the main character learn nothing in the end.
But stories were just stories that were meant to be read and pass the time in a person's life.
Still, despite all its flaws, the novel had been a decent distraction.
Until he died.
✥✥✥✥✥✥
Pain.
That was the first thing Aleister felt. A sharp, searing pain shot through his entire body, like he was being torn apart and stitched back together at the same time.
He remembered finishing his exhausting shift at his dead-end job, another evening spent walking the same dull path home. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the stale vending machine snack from earlier that afternoon.
"Guess I'll grab something from the convenience store," he muttered to himself.
The streets were mostly empty at this hour. He reached the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, his mind drifting in a tired haze. The neon glow of the store across the street cast long, flickering shadows on the pavement.
Then, a sound.
Screeching tires.
A horn blaring.
Time slowed.
"Ahh...Truck-kun is real." Aleister thought, barely turning his head before the truck had rammed into him with force.
Pain. Searing, unbearable pain. His body crumpled like a ragdoll, bones snapping, his vision erupting into white-hot agony. The world spun, up became down, ground became sky. He couldn't even scream before he hit the pavement, blood pooling beneath him, warm and sticky.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps. "This is it, huh?"
He had always known his life would end in some miserable, unremarkable way. But somehow, knowing didn't make it any easier.
He never quite fit in anywhere, drifting from one foster home to another like a ghost. Care was rare. Love, a fleeting dream.
Only Sophia had been different. She treated him like a real brother, like he mattered. And for a moment, he dared to believe it.
But just as quickly as he found that warmth, it was ripped away. Another transfer, another loss. He was back to being forgotten.
The last thing he saw was the blinking red pedestrian signal.
Don't walk.
Then, nothing.
✥✥✥✥✥✥
In the darkness, Aleister swore he could see two lights that resembled eyes looking at him, but it was so dark that he could barely make them out.
Then a sharp gasp tore through the silence.
Aleister's eyes flew open, his body lurching forward as he sucked in a ragged breath. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, his entire body trembling as his mind scrambled to process what had just happened.
The pain was gone.
Instead, warmth surrounded him. Not the cold concrete floor. Not the sharp sting of broken bones. Just… warmth.
He sucked in a breath. It smelled different, clean, like polished wood and faint traces of perfume. The air wasn't thick with exhaust or the metallic scent of blood.
His fingers brushed against soft fabric. Too soft. The mattress cradled his body, unfamiliar and indulgent. The weight of heavy blankets pressed against his chest, suffocating in their unfamiliarity.
He swallowed, his throat dry. His limbs felt… smaller? Weaker? A creeping unease crawled up his spine. Something wasn't right.
"What the—?" His voice caught in his throat.
It was softer. Not like his own deeper voice.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and suddenly, knowledge that wasn't his own appeared in his mind. Memories that didn't belong to Aleister surfaced, intertwining with his own.
Leonis Von Vain.
Noble blood. Prodigy. Disgraced.
The disowned heir of House Von Vain. The forgotten older brother of Selene Von Vain, one of the sub-heroines of Chronicles of the Arcane Blade.
A character destined for a tragic end due to having Black Magic, which is forbidden to have and wield.
Aleister, or rather, Leonis, stilled.
He had died. And now… he had been reborn into the body of a doomed side character in a second-rate fantasy novel.
For a long moment, silence stretched in the lavish room.
Aleister tried to move, only to realize how small his limbs were. His fingers trembled slightly as he touched his face more softly, unfamiliar. His voice, when he muttered a curse under his breath, was higher, lacking the roughness he was used to. Then reality hit him. This wasn't just a dream. This was real.
His reflection stared back at him from a gilded mirror across the room. Dark hair, red eyes, noble features too sharp and refined to be his own. A child's face.
Not his face.
His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
"This isn't real. This can't be real."
But the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way his fingers dug into the silk sheets, the way his throat ached as he swallowed...it was real.
He sucked in a deep breath. Panic wouldn't help him now.
Then, slowly, he smirked.
"Life never gave me a chance, huh?" His voice, higher, unfamiliar, was steady now.
His grip tightened into a fist. If fate had given him another chance to live, he'll take it.
"Alright then. Let's see what I can do in this world now that I've been granted a second chance at life."
Dark hair and piercing red eyes. Noble features, sharp and refined, that would make anyone back on Earth jealous.
Leonis Von Vain, in the story, and the role of a side character, destined to die before the main story begins. His death would serve to fuel Selene Von Vain's character development and her introduction to the story was established as the heir of the Von Vain family. The protagonist would then aid Selene in her battle against her family in an effort to inspire change.
"I'm seven years old, it seems. Then it's five years until the magical selection ceremony." Aleister, no, Leonis thought to himself. As he looked at his reflection, he realized that his appearance was far off, and soon he would have to participate in the ceremony that would reveal his magic element.
Leonis knew what that meant. The ceremony wasn't just a coming-of-age tradition.
He clenched his fists as fragmented memories surfaced in the novel's depiction of his death. The ceremony where he would unveil his forbidden magic, the horrified looks on the nobles' faces, the swift decree that he be cast out.
It would be the beginning of his downfall.
"Alright then. Let's see what I can do in this world now that I've been granted a second chance at life."
But just as the thought crossed his mind, something deeper flooded his mind. In that moment, Leonis realized something chilling.
The novel had never told the full story of his character…or the truth behind Leonis Von Vain's death.