In October, the northern plains lay buried under thick, relentless snow, the sky a vast, unbroken sheet of white, heavy with the promise of more to come.
At the edge of the desolate wilderness, a towering city rose defiantly from the frozen earth, its silhouette stark against the pale horizon.
The city wall loomed a hundred meters high, its concrete bulk tens of meters thick, broad enough for two heavy trucks to thunder side by side across its crest.
Forged from reinforced concrete, it stood unyielding, a monument to survival. Within thousands of meters around the fortress, countless induction mines lay hidden beneath the snow, primed to detonate at the slightest disturbance.
From the wall's surface, bright and shadowed muzzles jutted outward, a dense forest of metal, their cold barrels trained on the world beyond.
Even beneath the earth, within tens of meters, concrete formed an impenetrable barrier, and a colossal alloy gate, weighing hundreds of tons, sealed the city's entrance. From the skies above to the depths below, this was a stronghold armed to the teeth, a bastion against all threats.
The city stretched across hundreds of miles, a sprawling testament to human resilience.
This was the greatest stronghold in the northern region. In the old calendar, it had been called Anchorage. After the Great Shift, it became Frosthaven, reborn as a fortified bridgehead in humanity's war against mutated beasts, the northern heart of survival for those who clung to hope.
Northview High School stood in Frosthaven's northern district, its sprawling campus home to thousands of students. Today marked the final class for the senior class, the air thick with anticipation. In three days, the graduation exam would decide their fates.
In Classroom 3, the teacher stood at the podium, his weathered face solemn as he addressed the students, his voice carrying the weight of their shared journey.
"Today is the last lesson I'll give you," he began, eyes sweeping the room. "Three days from now, you'll face the graduation exams—cultural studies in the morning, physical trials in the afternoon. That day will carve your future in stone. Results will be announced on-site, with the military and the major combat academies watching closely. Whether you win their favor, whether you rise to greatness or fade into obscurity, depends on this moment. As your mentor, I can only wish you courage and good fortune."
He gathered his belongings, gave a final nod, and left the classroom. School was over.
The students spilled out, but many lingered, reluctant to leave the campus that had shaped them. Northview held memories—of late-night study sessions, whispered dreams, and fleeting moments of youth.
They weren't ready to say goodbye. In twos and threes, they gathered, voices rising and falling, some bidding farewell, others daring to speak of the future.
"I'm so nervous," one boy confessed, his breath clouding in the frigid air. "Graduation's almost here. I don't want to go to university—I want to be a fighter. My cultural grades are solid, but my physicals? My punch is barely 150 kilos. No combat academy will even look at me."
"I hit the 200-kilo pass line," another said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "That's second-tier fighter level, but my punch speed's only 4.5 per second—not enough. What if I end up a mobilizer, stuck hauling supplies?"
"There's still hope at 4.5," a third offered, clapping his friend's shoulder. "Nail the cultural exams, hit the 0.1-second neural response mark, and you might still make an academy. The military's not a bad path either. They train plenty of fighters, you know."
"Sure, but the military's just a numbers game," the second boy countered. "The real legends come from the academies. Take Storm Academy—the best in the country. Their founder, the Thunder King, is the strongest fighter alive. I'd give anything to train under them."
"Forget Storm," the first said, shaking his head. "Even Ironclad and Apex are out of reach for most of us. In our class, maybe Alex Reed, Philip Cole, or David Holt have a shot. They're the ones carrying our hopes."
"Alex and Philip, sure," another agreed. "But David? He's in trouble. Rumor is he crossed Alex over Claire, you know, the school's star. Alex swore he'd make sure David never sets foot in an academy."
"No way," a student gasped. "Would the academies really listen to Alex?"
"It's not impossible," the other replied, lowering his voice. "Alex's family has serious influence. His father's a high-ranking official in Frosthaven's council. Unless David's performance is absolutely stellar, most academies will play it safe and side with Alex."
"That's rough," the first boy said, frowning. "David's grades are just above the pass line. He's got no room for error." He glanced around. "Wait, where is he? I saw him in class."
They spotted a figure in the distance, moving swiftly through the snow—David Holt, his silhouette sharp against the white.
David's black eyes gleamed with a fire that hadn't burned in years, his steps quick and purposeful, cutting through the snow with newfound urgency.
He couldn't remember the last time his heart had raced like this, the last time his frail body felt so alive. Though his limbs were weak, his blood surged, molten and fierce, as if every cell in his body thrummed with untapped strength.
Fate had granted him a miracle. At the end of his life, when his body had crumbled and his time had run dry, the universe had intervened.
A black hole's collapse, a storm of shattered space and reversed time, had torn his soul from the void and hurled it back to Earth, to the eve of his high school graduation.
In his past life, David had poured his soul into becoming a fighter, chasing a dream to change his fate and secure a future for his family.
But destiny had been cruel. His talent was passable, but not extraordinary. A commoner with no resources, his path through the martial world was a grueling, thankless slog, each step met with resistance, each hope ground down by hardship.
To lack all talent was one thing—better to live quietly as an ordinary man. To be a genius was another, a path to glory.
But to be like David, caught in the middle, was torment. His life became a stepping stone for others, his efforts overshadowed by those born with more. He was clever, resilient, but never enough.
By the end of the Great Shift, he still lived, but it was a hollow existence. His dreams—to prove his worth, to protect his family—had been crushed.
He survived longer than some prodigies, enduring through sheer grit, but it wasn't the life he'd wanted.
The Great Shift ended, and Earth changed again. Humanity took to the stars, colonizing distant worlds. David fought on, breaking through to the Astral Realm—a feat most could only dream of. But it was merely the prelude to another defeat.
In the interstellar expanse, he remained at the bottom, outshone by countless geniuses, his potential forever out of reach.
It wasn't until his final moments, as he failed to ascend further and his lifespan ebbed away, that David understood. He'd lived too cautiously, always choosing safety over risk. It had kept him alive, but it had cost him everything.
A fighter's path was one of defiance, of seizing the impossible. He'd chosen wrong from the start.
If he could live again, he'd grasp every opportunity, claim every resource, and fight to carve a path to the heavens. A fighter was meant to challenge fate itself—mediocrity had no place in that struggle.
That was his final thought, a bitter truth he believed came too late. But as his eyes closed, the universe roared. A black hole tore through reality, space collapsing, time unraveling in a cosmic storm. His soul, caught in the chaos, was pulled through the void.
When he opened his eyes, he was in Northview High's classroom.
David Holt, alive, with every memory of his past life intact, had returned to the moment he'd longed for most.
Stepping out of the classroom, he stood frozen, the cold air biting his skin, the familiar campus stretching before him.
The snow crunched underfoot, the voices of his classmates carried on the wind—it was real. He was back.
"My family," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, "I haven't seen you in so long. I'm here. My love—I'm here."
Every regret of his past life, every chance he'd let slip away, he would seize in this one. This time, he would not fail.