Smoke choked the air, thick with the stench of blood and burning flesh. The battlefield was a graveyard—shattered weapons, broken armor, and lifeless bodies covering the ground.
The last stronghold had fallen. And so had everyone who tried to defend it.
I couldn't feel my legs. Or maybe I could, and I just wished I couldn't. My body was broken. Blood dripped from my mouth, warm and bitter. My sword—snapped in half—was useless in my grip.
Across from me, he stood.
The Phantom Duelist.
Everyone knew his name. A ghost on the battlefield. A killer with no face, no hesitation. Some said he wasn't human. Watching him now, I almost believed it.
He wasn't even tired. His sword was still clean—no wasted movement, no unnecessary swings. He had already won.
"You fought well," he said.
I wanted to laugh.
I lost.
The world was over.
My family, my comrades—everyone who stood by my side was gone.
"Why?" My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "Why did you kill them? They weren't part of this."
The Phantom Duelist tilted his head, then smiled.
"Why not?" he said. "Did you think war had rules? Did you think your side was special?"
My fingers twitched against the broken hilt.
"You weren't with them," I spat. "You weren't with the ones who started this war. So why help them? Why are you smiling while the world burns?"
He stepped closer, looking down at me.
"Because it's fun."
His voice was calm, like he was discussing the weather.
I wanted to tear him apart. But I could barely lift my arm.
"You should've surrendered," he said, taking another step forward.
I spat blood onto the ground. "Should've killed me faster."
He sighed, like I was wasting his time. Then he moved.
A flash of steel.
A sharp whoosh of air.
I never felt the blade.
One moment, I was looking at him. The next—
The world spun.
The sky tilted.
I saw my own body collapse before everything went black.
___
I gasped.
Air flooded my lungs. My chest was tight, like I had been drowning.
I sat up so fast my head spun. My breath came in short, uneven gasps.
I was alive.
I reached for my neck—my hands shaking. My fingers pressed against smooth skin.
No wound. No scar. No sign that a sword had cut through me.
But I still felt it.
The cold steel. The way the world slipped away in an instant.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to breathe.
Think.
The last thing I remembered—the battlefield, the Phantom Duelist, his sword cutting through my neck.
I died.
So why was I here?
I looked around. My hands—smaller, softer. My body—lighter. The wooden desk, the pile of books, the half-broken lamp I used to fix every week.
I knew this place.
I turned to the mirror—and froze.
A boy stared back at me.
Wide eyes. A face too young. Baby fat still clinging to my cheeks.
This was me.
But not the me who had died.
I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs.
This had to be a dream.
But the air felt too real. The wooden floor was too solid beneath my feet.
I turned toward the window.
Outside—everything was the same. The small backyard. The old oak tree where I used to hide when I skipped chores. The worn-out fence Dad always said he'd fix but never did.
Nothing had changed.
But I had.
A voice called from downstairs.
"Caspian! Breakfast is ready!"
I froze.
That voice.
My breath caught in my throat. My legs moved before I could think, carrying me down the stairs.
The scent of fresh bread and scrambled eggs filled the air. My chest tightened.
I stepped into the kitchen—and stopped.
She was standing by the stove, her back turned. Her dark brown hair pulled into a messy bun. The same worn-out apron she always refused to throw away.
My hands trembled.
She was alive.
Then she turned.
"Caspian?" She smiled, then frowned. "What's wrong?"
I couldn't speak. My throat tightened.
She was here.
Alive.
I moved before I could think. My arms wrapped around her, holding on like she'd disappear if I let go.
"Whoa!" She laughed softly, but I could hear the concern in her voice. "What's gotten into you?"
I clung to her, shutting my eyes.
"I missed you…" I whispered.
She hesitated. "Missed me? I was just downstairs, silly."
She didn't understand.
I forced a weak smile, blinking fast. "Yeah… I know."
Then another voice.
"Honey, is Caspian up?"
My breath caught.
I turned toward the doorway.
And there he was.
Tall, wiping his hands on a rag. His usual warm smile on his face. His shirt stained with mud, like he had been working outside.
Dad.
My legs moved before I could stop them.
I hugged him. Tightly.
"Whoa!" He chuckled. "Easy there, bud. What's gotten into you?"
I didn't answer. I just held on.
His voice softened. "Hey… you okay?"
I nodded, my face buried in his shirt.
"Bad dream," Mom said from behind me.
Dad sighed, patting my back. "Must've been some dream."
It wasn't a dream.
I had seen them die.
I had seen this house burn.
And yet… here I was.
With them.
Alive.
This was my second chance.
And I wasn't going to waste it.
The wooden chair creaked as I sat down at the breakfast table, my mind still reeling.
I kept stealing glances at them—Mom and Dad.
They were alive. Really alive.
I clenched my fists under the table.
This wasn't a dream. This wasn't some hallucination before death.
I had gone back.
But why? How?
Dad sat across from me, sipping his coffee, completely unaware of the storm raging in my head. Mom hummed as she placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of me, her usual warm smile on her face.
Everything was the same. The chipped ceramic mug Dad always used. The crooked picture frame I had made out of junk hanging by the door.
My heart felt too full and too empty at the same time.
I had watched them die.
Watched their bodies fall under the flames and steel of the Ashen Covenant.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to take a bite of food.
It tasted exactly how I remembered.
"Caspian?"
I looked up.
Mom was watching me closely, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"
I hesitated. I wanted to tell her everything. That I had died. That I had failed. That I had seen her and Dad die in front of me.
But what would that accomplish?
Nothing.
I forced a small smile. "Just… thinking about the entrance exams."
Dad grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, that's my boy. Always thinking ahead." He reached over, ruffling my hair. "Don't stress too much. You'll do fine."
I nodded, but my mind was already racing.
The military academy.
The place where everything had started.
Where I had trained. Where I had met the people I failed to save.
This was where I could change everything.
But I had two days.
Two days before the entrance exams.
Two days before I was sent to Greyfort Military Academy.
I barely passed the first time. Scraped by on strategy and combat instinct. But when it came to mana…
I was a failure.
That weakness had cost me everything.
Not this time.
I needed to fix it.
I pushed away from the table.
"I'll be outside," I said quickly.
Mom frowned. "You barely ate—"
"I'm not hungry."
Before she could protest, I grabbed my boots and stepped outside.
The backyard was the same.
The old oak tree stood tall, its branches swaying in the breeze. The wooden fence, still slightly broken, lined the yard.
I took a deep breath.
Mana.
That was my biggest weakness.
I had to fix that.
I closed my eyes, focusing.
Mana wasn't just power—it was life. It flowed through everything. The earth, the air, my body.
I needed to feel it. Control it.
I slowed my breathing.
Waited.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
A flicker.
Small. Weak. Like a dying ember struggling to stay lit.
I grabbed onto it.
Tried to pull it through my body.
It slipped through my grasp like sand.
I clenched my fists.
Damn it.
It was just like before.
Mana had always been my weakness. My reserves were small. My control was terrible.
But this time, I had two days.
Two days to fix what took me years.
I sat down, crossing my legs beneath the tree.
If I couldn't feel mana naturally, I'd force it.
Meditation.
Hours of grueling, mind-numbing meditation. That was how I learned before.
I didn't have months this time.
I needed to speed up.
Adapt.
I closed my eyes again, breathing slowly.
Mana was there. I just had to force it awake.
And I wasn't stopping until I did.