He waited in the darkness.
No sound. No breath. Just the slow, distant thrum of something ancient and immense.
Daniel Carter had always been good at waiting. Watching. Listening. It was what made him a good officer—no, a great one. He remembered the moment now: the cold warehouse floor, the terrified hostages, the frantic voice in his earpiece demanding action.
But Daniel had waited.
He had wanted to save everyone.
A single gunshot. A single moment of hesitation. That's all it had taken.
And now he was here.
Light broke like a wave over him. Not harsh, but steady—like dawn filtering through smoke. He blinked into existence beneath the boughs of a colossal tree whose bark shimmered like polished obsidian. The sky above was a deep navy brushed with streaks of silver, and the air tasted like rain before a storm.
Daniel sat up slowly. The ground beneath him was soft and mossy, humming faintly with mana.
His body felt different—firmer, more centred, wrapped in armour that felt both ceremonial and practical. A deep navy cloak hung from his shoulders, clasped with a carved obsidian medallion etched with the shape of a broken hourglass. His skin, once weathered by time and stress, now held a subtle sheen, his dark eyes glowing faintly beneath silver-tinged lashes.
When he rose, it was with the grace of a trained sentinel.
His reflection in a nearby stream confirmed what he already suspected.
He had been reborn as a Draeven—a stoic, noble race native to the high cliffs of northern Auron, known for their long memories, powerful sense of justice, and unwavering emotional control. The Draeven were both feared and respected for their ability to restrain immense power behind a calm demeanour—until the moment they chose to unleash it.
He stepped away from the water as a robed woman approached him, holding a staff carved with protective runes.
"You arrived in silence," she said. "Like most who pass through the ancient path. The roots must have accepted your spirit."
Daniel gave a cautious nod. "Where am I?"
"Eastern Vareth. Near the Hollow Sanctum. You are safe now."
Safe.
The word echoed in his mind like a broken promise.
He thanked her and followed as she led him along a winding trail toward a small settlement carved into the cliffs. The people there eyed him with quiet curiosity, offering food and water. He accepted both with quiet gratitude but said little. There was much he could not say.
The divine seal pressed against his throat whenever he reached for the truth of the board, the gods, and the thirteen others.
So he remained silent.
Instead, he focused inward—on the hum of power curling within him like coiled lightning. His gift had a name.
Time-Locked Fury – The ability to freeze moments in time, holding all motion and energy in suspension. But while time is still, wrath builds silently. When time resumes, all the rage, all the pressure, all the stored force explodes in a devastating release. A delayed storm.
A righteous fury made manifest, controlled until it wasn't.
Every moment of patience was a step closer to power. Every breath held the potential for fire.
The gods had twisted his deepest traits into something they could use. But Daniel had never played by anyone's rules for long. He didn't intend to start now.
He had died protecting others. He had waited too long. But this time, in Auron, he would not hesitate.
He would know when to wait.
And when to burn.