The first thing Ray felt was warmth.
Not the heat of battle or the scorching fire of destruction, but the gentle warmth of being held—tightly, protectively. A heartbeat echoed near his ear, steady and strong. The scent of something floral and sweet surrounded him.
He was swaddled in blankets, small and helpless, in a world so big it dwarfed everything he'd ever known.
The woman holding him had tears in her eyes. Her long, dark hair was disheveled, her skin pale from the effort of childbirth, but her expression was radiant.
"My baby," she whispered, as if trying not to wake the heavens. "My little Ray."
Ray blinked.
They gave me the same name.
Coincidence? Fate? Or had Seventeen nudged something behind the scenes?
> "Your soul remembered who it was. So did the world. Small miracles do happen," the System whispered in the back of his mind, like a gentle echo. "Rest, little one. Grow."
He tried to move, but his body didn't respond. His limbs felt like they were wrapped in chains—tiny, weak, and soft. The System had embedded itself deep inside him, but it was dormant. The core wasn't active yet. Not fully.
I'm… a baby. A newborn. Again.
This was going to be… strange.
---
Ray's new parents were kind.
His mother, Lena, had a voice like a lullaby, and always smelled faintly of lavender. She sang to him when she thought no one was listening. She hummed when she cooked or cleaned, or when she held him after a bad dream.
His father, Grant, was tall and broad-shouldered, with a voice that rumbled like thunder but hands gentle as feathers. He carved wood in the evenings, teaching Ray—well, trying to teach him—how to hold a knife when he was barely able to sit.
And then there was his older sister—Mayla.
She was six, mischievous, and fiercely protective of her new baby brother. She drew crayon pictures of beasts and warriors and whispered to Ray about becoming strong enough to fight dragons together.
Ray couldn't help but smile every time she tried to teach him how to punch.
He felt something stir deep inside—a warmth he never had in his previous life.
No city to defend. No burning skies. No dying friends. Just… family.
Real family.
---
Their village was small, nestled between rolling hills and shadowed woods, far from the gates and armies that ruled the outer continents.
It was called Moonveil.
Most villagers were hunters, herbalists, or low-tier crafters. Their homes were carved from stone and timber, and in the distance, the Emerald Spine Forest loomed—a forest filled with mana beasts, rare herbs, and danger.
Ray's new world wasn't peaceful, exactly, but it was alive.
Beasts wandered near the village sometimes. Ray once saw a massive boar, the size of a wagon, being dragged home by a hunter's party. It had glowing red tusks and green fire leaking from its wounds. The men spoke in hushed voices about F-rank mutated mana beasts.
He listened, even when they thought he was too small to understand.
Power meant everything in this world.
Everyone had a class, awakened during a special ritual at age twelve. From that moment, a person could rise—or fall—based on what the system granted them.
Swordsman. Mage. Healer. Archer. Tamer.
Or something rarer.
There were stories of summoners who controlled elemental beasts, of necromancers who raised forgotten things from the dark. Of assassins who vanished between breaths. Of healers who could regrow limbs or cure poison with a touch.
Ray stored all of it.
Every detail.
This time, he wouldn't waste his second chance.
---
The seasons passed quickly in Moonveil.
By the time Ray turned four, he could speak fluently. Run. Climb trees. He'd "accidentally" punched Mayla in the stomach once while sparring, earning himself a week of cold glares.
His mother laughed. His father proudly carved Ray his first wooden dagger.
And then came the day Grandmother arrived.
Ray had never seen anyone like her.
She wore a long cloak of silver and green, with a crescent-moon pendant on her chest and silver threads in her dark braids. Her eyes glowed faintly with mana. When she stepped into the village, the air changed—warmer, sharper, heavier.
Even the village elder bowed.
Grandmother Asha was from a distant clan, deep in the north mountains. She wasn't just strong. She was respected. Feared, even.
She swept Ray into her arms the moment she saw him.
"Oho… so this is the one," she murmured. "The boy with eyes like stormed steel. Hmm…"
Ray held her gaze without blinking.
She smiled, as if pleased.
"I see."
And just like that, Grandmother Asha decided to stay.
---
At night, Ray lay beneath the stars, staring at the endless sky, wondering how close the gods really were. Whether they watched. Whether they whispered.
Seventeen's voice had been quiet for years.
But Ray could still feel it.
Dormant.
Waiting.
Just like him.
> "When the time comes, I will awaken," the system had said before going silent. "At age twelve. During your class awakening. Be patient, Ray. Watch. Learn. Prepare."
And so he did.