What is the weight of a single choice?
Arin Devain had never found the answer. Perhaps no one had. Yet, standing at the threshold of a new life, the question haunted him more than ever.
His first life had been ordinary. A city teeming with lights, the hum of endless voices, a world built on fleeting ambitions. Mumbai was a place where dreams thrived and perished in equal measure. He had lived, he had struggled, and then—he had died. Not as a hero, not in some grand, tragic sacrifice, but in a moment so sudden that even now, he struggled to comprehend it.
Was it fair?
No. But then again, life had never been fair to begin with.
And yet, the universe had offered him a second chance. When he had opened his eyes again, it was not to the cacophony of Mumbai, but to the gilded halls of nobility.
A name had been bestowed upon him: Arin Devain. A noble heir in the Kingdom of Eldoria. A world unlike his own, bound by magic and fate, where every person awakened their past-life memories upon reaching the age of fifteen. A world where power did not come from wealth or influence alone, but from a force far more profound—the Samsāra Shakti.
A tree, ancient and eternal, existed within the soul of every being. A branch, unique to each, formed at their coming of age, shaped by both the roots of their bloodline and the experiences of their new life. It was not merely an inheritance of power—it was an inheritance of self.
And his own branch… was unlike any other.
Śapathajīvi—the Vowbound Chronicle. A power that bound his words to reality. A gift, or perhaps a curse, that allowed him to shape the world through his oaths. Yet, there was a cruel balance to it: once spoken, his vows could never be broken.
To wield it recklessly was to seal his own fate. To use it wisely was to reshape destiny itself.
But what was his purpose in this life?
He had lived once already, had seen the ways of men, the endless cycles of struggle and ambition. He could have walked this world as a noble, content in privilege, untouched by fate's cruelty.
Yet, he could not ignore her.
Lady Evelyne Valmont.
The villainess. The condemned. A woman whose name was whispered in scorn, whose fate had already been written. Betrayed, forsaken, and ultimately executed for crimes she had never truly committed.
Arin knew the story—he had read it before. And now, he was bound to her through an arranged engagement.
A single choice.
He could follow the path laid before him, let history repeat itself, remain a spectator to fate's design. Or—he could intervene. He could stand against the inevitable, against the very forces that dictated this world.
But was it truly his battle to fight? Would changing her fate alter his own? Or was he merely grasping at illusions, clinging to an ideal that did not belong to him?
Arin let out a slow breath. The answer would not come easily. But in this life, he would seek it. He would challenge it.
And if fate sought to play its game, then he would play in return.