The village of Thalor slumbered beneath the pale glow of twin moons, nestled in a quiet valley surrounded by whispering woods and ancient hills.
The wind moved gently through the trees, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and blooming night flowers. Stars stretched across the heavens like scattered runes—watching, waiting.
Inside a modest stone cottage at the edge of the village, the air was thick with tension and the scent of burning herbs.
The cries of a woman in labor echoed into the candlelit space, accompanied by the midwife's steady commands and the father's nervous murmurs.
"One more push," the midwife said gently, though her hands worked with precision. "You're almost there."
Leira Nightveil gritted her teeth, her entire body trembling as she gave everything she had left. Her husband, Daren, knelt beside her, holding her hand so tightly it was nearly white. Tears streamed down his cheeks, both in fear and in anticipation.
Then, after a beat of silence…
A cry.
Sharp, piercing, full of life.
The midwife let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "It's a boy," she whispered, awe in her voice.
Wrapped in a soft linen cloth, the newborn was placed gently onto Leira's chest. Her tears broke free the moment she saw him.
"Aeron," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Aeron Nightveil…"
Daren exhaled a laugh, pressing his lips to her temple. "He's perfect," he murmured.
The child's eyes opened—and in that single instant, time almost paused.
His gaze wasn't unfocused like a newborn's should be. For a moment—just a fleeting flicker—his irises shimmered with silver, as if starlight danced within them.
Then, the strange light faded, and he blinked slowly, his expression unreadable.
No one noticed. But the world did.
Far beyond the humble walls of the Nightveil cottage, the winds shifted unnaturally. Trees in the Whispering Grove tilted their branches toward the sky. The waters of the nearby stream rippled with no breeze.
And deep beneath the surface of the world… something stirred.
—
In the cradle of his mother's arms, Aeron Kuro opened his eyes—not just as a child—but as someone else.
His thoughts were fragmented, sluggish. Like echoes bouncing through a fog.
Where…? What is this…?
The last thing he remembered was pain. The glass shattering. The bullet. The cold floor of his apartment.
Dead. I died.Then… this?
His tiny body ached—not in pain, but in restriction. It felt too small, too fragile. His mind reeled, trying to piece together the storm of emotions flooding him.
"I was Aeron Kuro," he thought. "A man… twenty-three. A life I lived. Now—"
A flicker of light crossed his mind. Not memory. Something deeper.
A voice. A presence.
"Rise, Aeron Nightveil... The game has begun again."
He shuddered, if only mentally. That voice hadn't been a dream. It was truth etched into the marrow of his soul.
So much had happened in so little time.
He was alive again.
And yet… not the same.
His mother's warmth pressed around him. Her heartbeat. Her gentle breathing. It calmed the storm inside him more than he expected.
Maybe this wasn't a curse. Maybe, just maybe, it was a second chance.
The name Nightveil rang deep within him—familiar and unfamiliar all at once. As if it wasn't just a family name, but a chain connecting him to something ancient.
Somewhere in the folds of his consciousness, something pulsed—quiet and waiting.
The System.
Not yet awake. Not yet ready. But he could feel it… sleeping beneath the surface.
He breathed in. It was awkward. Shallow. But real.
This is my life now.This is where it begins.
He surrendered to the moment—not as a grown man in shock, but as a soul reborn. His fingers curled instinctively around his mother's.
She smiled down at him, brushing a thumb across his cheek. "You'll do great things, my little Aeron," she whispered.
Daren leaned over them both, voice thick with emotion. "You were born strong. I could feel it. Like… like something special followed you here."
Neither of them knew how right they were.
Outside, the stars gleamed more brightly for a moment.
A wolf in the far hills howled once, its voice strange—almost reverent.
And in the ruins of a forgotten city, hidden by illusion and time, a lone statue cracked down the middle, revealing a symbol glowing with faint blue light.
The broken throne.The thirteenth seal.
The forgotten flame had returned.
And though no one in Thalor understood it yet… the balance of the realms had already begun to shift.
Aeron Nightveil had been born.
And the world would never be the same.