The past month had been one of revelations. In the quiet solitude of House Devain, as he trained under his mother's unforgiving gaze and refined his understanding of his Samsāra Shakti, Arin had gradually unraveled the last threads of his past life's memories. It was a strange sensation—like finding pieces of a puzzle he hadn't realized he was assembling. The clarity brought both a sense of purpose and an overwhelming weight.
He was not just Arin Devain, the noble son of House Devain in Eldoria. He was also the soul of another world, someone who had fought, suffered, and ultimately failed in ways he could barely articulate. And now, given a second chance, he understood the burden resting on his shoulders.
Arin stood at the threshold of his carriage, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The time had come to meet Evelyne once again. A month had passed since their last encounter, and in that time, he had unraveled something even more profound than his own identity—her power.
Nyxthorn Dominion.
He had only scratched the surface when they first met, but now, with the knowledge of his past and the deeper understanding of Samsāra Shakti, he could grasp the terrifying brilliance of Evelyne's gift.
Her power was unlike anything he had encountered. It was an affinity of thorns and shadows, a dominion over the creeping tendrils of darkness that coiled like vipers, ready to strike at her command. But it was more than just control—it was an extension of her will, of her very soul.
Each thorn carried a fragment of her emotions, a silent, unspoken language of grief, defiance, and restraint. Unlike many Samsāra awakenings, which leaned into elemental forces or martial mastery, Evelyne's was a manifestation of control itself—a living force bound to her desires, but also to her pain.
The more one opposed her, the stronger her power became. The more she suffered, the deadlier it grew.
It was a shield and a weapon, a cruel and beautiful contradiction. In the stories written about her in his past life, the world had seen only the thorns—never the wounds beneath them.
Arin's grip tightened as he exhaled. They had called her a villainess, but in truth, her power was one of survival. A force that had been shaped not by ambition, but by necessity. The nobility had whispered that House Valmont was in decline, that their daughter was a cold and ruthless woman with a dangerous gift. But now, Arin understood what they refused to see:
Evelyne Valmont had not been given power—she had been forced to wield it.
And the world had feared her for it.
A small smile ghosted his lips. He could not change the past, but he could shape the present. This time, she would not stand alone. He would not let the world twist her story into a tragedy.
His vow remained unbroken.
As the carriage wheels turned, carrying him toward the inevitable reunion, Arin steeled himself. Evelyne Valmont was not someone to be approached lightly, not anymore. If he wanted to stand by her side, he needed to be ready.
For the first time since awakening in Eldoria, he was certain of one thing:
This world had underestimated her. And that was a mistake he would ensure they never made again.