Lirien swore, bracing herself. "Another tremor! Move, you idiot, they're getting worse!" Dimensional collapse, cracks in the sky, earthquakes. All signs of something breaking free.
Alaric's voice, his cold calculations, his blood-soaked resolve.
They had fused into me when that portal swallowed me whole fifty years ago. His life burned into my skull like a brand.
Why me? Why? His mind, shattered and sharp, cut me open every time it stirred. I hated it. Hated him. Hated this weight.
Yet it clung to me, a curse I couldn't shake. This second chance I never asked for, without her by my side, meant nothing. With my mind in pieces, I didn't care if this world fell.
I'd fall with it. After minutes of trudging through the palace's endless hallways, we reached the main stairs. They opened to the dining hall, bathed in soft golden light.
I glanced around as we descended. Lirien walked a few steps ahead of me. The hall's sheer size was mesmerizing.
Luxurious chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Walls were adorned with intricate decorations. Art pieces lined the hall, catching the light.
At the center stood a long rectangular dining table seemingly made out of polished gold and silver, embedded with gems.
It stretched nearly from one end of the hall to the other.
Three figures sat at the far end. The duke, now my father, occupied the high-backed chair of the head. It overshadowed everyone.
He seemed less human, more like a fixture of the hall. As permanent as the stone columns. His black hair was slicked back.
His black shirt and embroidered vest bore the insignia of House Arventis.
Edric Drake Arventis didn't look at me. His fork scraped slowly, deliberately.
To his left sat my mother, elegant and refined. Her soft features contrasted his. Her silver hair was coiled neatly atop her head.
Her gentle blue eyes met mine. They were filled with pity and sadness.
Across from her was my eldest sister, Vivien.
Poised as ever, her silver hair cascaded gracefully over her shoulders. She was six years older than me. As I neared the table, she smiled.
A predator's smile. Her cold gray eyes betrayed her intent.
Her silver hair and enchanting gray eyes lent her a peculiar beauty.
The table was laden with platters of roasted duck. They glistened in orange glaze. Steaming bowls of buttered potatoes sat beside golden bread rolls.
Still warm, the rolls tempted the air. Rich gravies pooled in silver boats. Their scent mingled with the sharp bite of aged cheeses.
Spiced fruits were arranged neatly, adding color. Lirien pushed me into the far chair. The bastard's place, worn and cold.
It was distant from their warmth. "He's here," she muttered, slumping beside Vivien. The duke's fork paused.
His gaze lifted, piercing, stripping me bare. "Late, Ethaniel," he said. His voice was low and flat, a blade without edge.
"Bloody, ragged, useless. A proud mark for Arventis." I stared at the table. My hands throbbed.
Blood dripped onto my lap. Claire's laugh echoed in my mind. Soft, warm, gone.
My throat burned. My eyes stung. Alaric's fragments stirred.
A mind of steel. It was the only thing keeping me from breaking entirely. I'd lost her.
Lost everything. And they sat there, judging a corpse. "Sorry," I rasped.
My voice cracked, barely audible. He didn't hear. Didn't care.
Vivien snorted. "Sorry? That's it, little brother?"
"Four years past the expected awakening period, and you're still a leech." Her tone was sharp, venomous. "Harming yourself now? Do you think that'll earn pity?"
Her smirk cut like a blade. Mother's hands clenched. White-knuckled.
Her lips stayed sealed. In a family that valued only power, she had no defense for me. The duke's gaze grew heavier.
Suffocating. I wanted to scream at these people. They wouldn't even let me grieve.
I'd lost everything I held dear.
"You will attend the academy," he said. Not a question but a command.
"Next month. Pass the trials, or forget you were ever born here." His voice was cold, unyielding. "I won't have this house shamed further."
"Order the knights to train him properly."
"Him getting into the academy might be a bit too far-fetched, father," Vivien added.
Lirien groaned. She tossed her fork aside.
"Train him properly? He's half-dead already." Her glare dared me to snap. "Is there even a chance?"
I didn't. Couldn't. Alaric's cold face flashed in my mind.
Useless here, mocking me.
"He's still an Arventis," Mother whispered. Her voice was frail, trembling.
The duke's head snapped toward her. She shrank, eyes dropping. "Barely," he said, ending it.
Silence fell. Thick and choking. I grabbed a piece of bread.
Shoved it down. It was dry, sticking in my throat. They talked.
Vivien about duchy business. Lirien about an academy competition. I was air.
A ghost they'd rather erase. The hum hit again, louder. The table rattled.
Plates shifted. Vivien sighed, annoyed. The duke's jaw tightened.
"Another," he muttered. "Third this week." No one responded.
They just waited. I felt it deeper. The dimension cracking.
Alaric's fault. My prison. I gripped the table.
Nails digging in. Fighting tears and rage. I knew this system, this world.
It would force me to act eventually. As a game enthusiast and avid reader, I could guess where this was heading. A typical isekai.
The scorned bastard, changed overnight.
Past-life memories or possession. Aided by a cheat-like system.
They become the world's strongest. Defeating all. But reality wasn't that simple.
I hadn't even had time to check if this system held anything useful.
I had a good idea about what's going to happen ahead because of the game, but there was nothing stating that everything will go exactly the same or there aren't some new variables I don't know about.
Just thinking about it a little worsened my headache and nausea.
Breakfast ended soon after. The duke left, not before giving me a cold look.
Vivien trailed, her heels clanking.
Mother lingered. Her sad, useless eyes on me.
Then she slipped away.
Lirien grabbed my arm. Dragged me.
"Knights' yard," she snapped.
"They're waiting, get yourself patched up fast."
After getting some first aid from a maid, we immediately left for the courtyard.
It reeked of sweat and steel.
Stone walls enclosed the area. Banners hung limp in the gray dawn. Ten knights stood by.
Armored, swords sheathed. They watched a trainee swing at a dummy. Sir Dren, scarred and broad, leaned on a post.
His gaze flicked to me. Lips curled faintly before he checked me. "Young lord's late," he said.
His voice was dry. He nodded just enough to acknowledge my rank. "Thought you'd rest longer, my lord."
The others stayed quiet. Their eyes were hard. Smirks faint.
My noble status held their tongues. But not their scorn. I was a disgrace, sure.
But still an Arventis. They'd save their worst for whispers. Lirien shoved me forward.
"Train him properly," she said, arms crossed. "Duke's orders. Make him fit for the academy."
"Or at least not a total loss." She stepped back, watching. Dren nodded slowly.
He jerked his head at the trainee. A skinny kid, maybe seventeen. Brown hair sweat-covered.
Sharp green eyes. He stopped mid-swing. "Tomas," Dren called.
"Drop the dummy. Your mark's here." Tomas turned. Wiped his face.
He sized me up. He was awakened, young.
Talented enough to be recruited by the knights of Arventis at merely seventeen as a squire.
Perfect for their game with me. Tomas smirked. Rested his sword on his shoulder.
"Him? The weakling?" His voice was bold but wary. "Awakened four years late, and he's still dragging us down."
He glanced at Dren. "Academy? You'll die in the trials, young lord." Lucky I'm here.
"Might beat some guts into you first." Alaric's memories flared. Jagged and unasked for.
Scars from that silver hell fifty years ago. A stance, a grip. The feel of a sword in my hands.
They'd flooded me when the portal took me. His life bleeding into mine. Sharp and cold.
I hated them. Hated him. He shoved his fight into my head.
Twisted my grief into something I didn't want. Claire's face burned in my mind. Her laugh, her warmth.
Ripped away. My chest heaved. Rage and pain boiling.
I straightened. Met Tomas's glare. Blood dripped faster.
"I can hold my own," I said. Low and steady. Surprising myself.
Tomas blinked. Then he laughed. Sharp and short.
But Dren's eyes narrowed. Silent. "Hold your own?" Tomas said.
He kicked a training sword my way. Dull steel skidded to my feet.
"Prove it, young lord. Pick it up, or I'll knock you flat."