The sound of rain.
That was the last thing Raven heard as he lay on the cold rooftop, crimson seeping from his abdomen. Thunder rolled above, distant and indifferent, while the city beneath continued its cycle of noise and filth. His gloved hand pressed against the wound, but he knew—this was it. He had been betrayed.
By the very people he had protected in the dark for so long.
His body felt heavier with each passing second, the shadowy veil that had always been his ally now curling around him like a coffin. Through blurry eyes, he looked up at the sky.
No regrets.
That was what he always told himself. But as death crept in, he found one.
I protected so many. But there was no one to protect me.
No family. No friends. Just missions. Targets. Silence.
"If I get another chance..." he whispered, blood mixing with the rain, "...I won't be alone again."
And with that vow, Raven—the Shadow of the Underworld—closed his eyes.
---
Warmth.
A strange contrast to the cold death he remembered.
Raven's consciousness stirred, heavy and disoriented, like dragging a blade through thick mud. Then came light, muffled sounds, and an overwhelming sensation of being...small?
Voices.
"Natasha, it's a boy."
"He's beautiful... look, Jake—his eyes."
Raven's—no, not Raven anymore—his new, infant body flinched. Everything felt alien. Weak. Untrained.
What… is this?
Then it hit him all at once.
He had died. But he was alive again. Reborn.
This… this is reincarnation?
His vision was blurry, but the faint shapes of two figures hovered above him. A woman with a soft voice, tears of joy in her eyes. A man with a strong build, holding him gently yet protectively.
His parents.
Real ones.
"Welcome to the world," the woman whispered, smiling as she kissed his forehead. "Arthur. Arthur Virelith."
Arthur.
His new name.
Raven—the assassin feared across empires—was now Arthur Virelith, son of Natasha and Jake Virelith.
And this time, he wasn't alone.
---
One Year Later
Arthur sat silently in his crib, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the wooden floor.
He was already walking. Already speaking a few words. But no one noticed just how observant he truly was. He liked it that way. It reminded him of missions past—watching, analyzing, learning.
But tonight was different.
Because tonight, for the first time since his rebirth, he felt it.
A flicker.
A pulse of something alive in the darkness beneath the bed.
He reached out instinctively—not with his hands, but with something else. Something deeper. Older.
The shadows responded.
They slithered, twisted, and obeyed.
Arthur didn't flinch.
Instead, a slow, confident smirk spread across his young face.
"So… you're still with me," he whispered.
He didn't know how or why, but Shadow Magic—his truest strength—had followed him into this life.
And in this world, where mana was everything, and monsters roamed the edges of civilization...
He would rise again.
Not as a tool. Not as a killer.
But as a protector.
As Arthur Virelith, the one who commands the shadows.
---