The air was dry enough to crack.
That was the first thing I noticed, even as my body failed me. My lips—split. My skin—fevered. The ceiling above was just gray stone. I had stared at it for weeks. Maybe months. I didn't really count anymore. What was the point?
I tried to move. Nothing responded.
My arms had grown thin—twigs of what they once were. Muscles wasted. Ribs pressing out. I hadn't eaten in… how long? The servants had stopped bringing food after the last outburst. No one dared risk my wrath, even if all I did was scream into a pillow.
They said the prince had gone mad.
They weren't wrong.
The floor around the bed was scattered with parchment. Diagrams. Letters. Pieces of plans. Things I told myself would matter. They didn't. They were garbage. Like me.
There was no one left. No allies. No war. No kingdom. Just a name—Caelen Eldric Vaelthorne III—and a crumbling estate in a forgotten corner of the world.
I could barely feel the bed beneath me anymore. Only the cold.
And that damn sunbeam cutting through the broken shutter, landing on my face. It made my eyes sting.
Somewhere in the walls, a bird chirped. Insolent little bastard. I didn't know birds still came here. There was nothing for them to eat.
Like me.
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a rattle.
"Mother…" I whispered.
Even that cost something. My throat burned from the effort. The name echoed into silence, swallowed by stone.
Her face still haunted me. Even after all these years. Gentle eyes. That soft voice. She had kissed my forehead the night before she died. Said I'd be a great king someday.
Liar.
She left. Or someone took her. And no one told me the truth.
The court turned cold the next day. My father stopped looking me in the eye. The servants stopped bowing. Tutors stopped coming. The knights that once swore to protect me laughed behind closed doors.
I was nine.
I'd fought, at first. Screamed. Begged. Punched marble until my knuckles split.
But screaming changes nothing.
I learned to watch. To listen. To vanish inside my own skin.
I waited for someone to save me.
They sent me here instead.
Exile. At eighteen. One final insult, wrapped in parchment and sealed with the royal crest. "To oversee and govern the Black Wastes. May it build your character."
Character.
No supplies. No army. No coin. Just old ruins, cold sand, and the shame of a discarded heir.
I closed my eyes.
I was done. No more strength. No more hate. Not even sadness.
Only one last wish: that I disappear without anyone noticing.
The wind outside howled against the stone, like a wolf still hungry.
Fitting.
Then the world went dark.
And I let go.
Breath punched into my lungs like drowning in reverse.
I lurched upright with a choking gasp, head snapping forward, ribs flaring in agony. The air stank—old stone, dry rot, something metallic. My heart thundered like it was trying to escape. Hands clawed at the sheets, then froze.
These weren't mine.
Too thin. Too pale. Too weak. I stared at the fingers. They trembled, bone showing through skin.
I wasn't dead.
Where the hell was I?
Thoughts came in pieces. No name. No place. Only sensation: pressure in the skull, fire in the veins, something burning beneath my skin.
I swung my legs off the bed. The floor was cold as ice. Every joint screamed in protest.
Then came the flicker.
A glint of blue in the corner of my eye.
[Initializing…][Core Sync: 2%][Error: Unknown Host Body Detected][Soul Signature: Dual Source — Resolving…]
I blinked. The message hovered midair, transparent, framed in gentle blue light. My breath caught.
"…No fucking way," I whispered.
The letters didn't vanish. They hovered, waiting. Glitching slightly.
[Resolution Complete: Transference Successful][Welcome, Architect Soul]
That wasn't just a HUD. That was a System.
And not just any system.
It recognized me. Me. But I wasn't me. I looked down again at the skeletal hands. The aching chest. The sickly skin.
This body had been dying.
And now… I was inside it.
I stumbled forward and gripped the nearest column. My legs barely held. Dizziness hit like a wave. Every breath scraped raw. But the screen didn't go away. It just hovered there, uncaring, elegant.
A new message blinked into place:
[Soul Bonded Host Identified: Caelen Eldric Vaelthorne III][Physiological Status: Terminal Failure — Stabilized by Mana Injection: 0.001%][Access Level: Locked][Unlimited Mana Trait: Active][Soul Contract Protocol: Inactive][...Processing Deeper Access Permissions…]
I pressed my palm to my forehead. Heat. Real. This wasn't a dream. Not some sci-fi game. Not another sim. The smells were too sharp. The pain too deep.
Who the hell was Caelen?
No answer came—only the flickering of mana-light and the distant creak of old stone settling.
I turned, slow and shaking, taking in the room.
Cracked pillars. Shattered windows covered with makeshift boards. Dried blood in the corner. Dust thick on the floor. A half-burned book rested near the fireplace—open, untouched for months.
A dead man's cage.
And now it was mine.
My heart still hammered. This wasn't reincarnation. This was something else. Someone else had lived here. Died here.
And now I wore his skin.
There was no pain like waking into someone else's failure.
Behind me, the blue light glitched once more.
[Warning: Proximity Alert — Mana Signature Detected][Category: Humanoid – Moderate Threat Level][Name: Unknown Alias — "Liri"][Status: Concealing True Race][Scanning…]
I froze.
Footsteps.
Light. Precise. Just beyond the door.
Someone was coming.
The door creaked open.
She entered like a ghost—quiet, methodical. A tray in her hands, though from the angle I could already tell it held nothing but a chipped cup and an old cloth.
She paused the moment her eyes met mine.
Not surprise. Not alarm.
Stillness.
Her gaze flicked over me with the precision of a blade—shoulders, breathing, posture, hands. Her fingers tightened slightly on the tray.
"You're awake," she said, flatly.
Her voice was calm, low, touched with something I couldn't name. Not relief. Not concern. Calculation, maybe. She didn't step forward. She didn't drop the tray. She simply watched me like a predator that wasn't hungry yet.
I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. I coughed, dry and hoarse. My knees buckled, and I caught the edge of the pillar to stay upright.
She set the tray down without a sound and crossed the room. I expected hesitation, maybe some question, but instead she reached for my arm—firm, steady fingers gripping my wrist. Her other hand moved to my chest.
Checking my pulse.
"You're not dead," she said.
"No," I rasped.
"You should be."
"I noticed."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Not in confusion—curiosity.
"You collapsed three days ago," she said. "No food. No water. No healer. The other servants assumed you'd finally expired."
"And you didn't?"
"I've seen rot cling longer than men. I waited."
I couldn't help the small bark of a laugh that escaped me—more like a cough laced with cynicism.
"Well," I muttered, "thanks for the optimism."
She studied my face. I didn't like the way she did it. Not with concern, but something colder. Her fingers were still on my wrist, but her eyes weren't watching for weakness. They were looking through me.
"You're different."
"Funny. I feel exactly like shit."
"That's not what I mean." She let go of my arm. "Your eyes are different. The way you stand. You're not the same as before."
That made the breath catch in my throat. I recovered fast, dragging myself over to the bed, slumping down like my limbs weighed double.
"People change when they almost die."
"Not like that."
I met her gaze. "Maybe I'm just faking being more interesting now. Maybe I got tired of dying quietly."
She tilted her head. "No. You've never had that kind of spine."
There was no venom in her tone. Just fact. Like she was reading a weather report.
I squinted. "You always this charming to your prince?"
She turned away to pick up the cup from the tray. "You stopped being my prince the moment you gave up."
The room fell quiet.
I watched her pour stale water from a clay pitcher into the cup. Her hands were steady. Too steady. And there was something wrong about her—subtle things: the posture too perfect, the way her eyes never really looked away even when she turned. Like a warrior trained to never let a threat out of sight.
She handed me the cup.
"You'll need strength," she said.
"For what?"
"To survive whatever you are now."
I took it. The water tasted like iron and ash.
"What's your name?" I asked, between gulps.
"You've known it for two years."
I stared at her. "Humor me."
She hesitated. "Liri."
"Just Liri?"
"For now."
The answer didn't sit right.
She moved to the window and pulled aside a heavy curtain. The late afternoon light spilled in, casting a golden line across the dusty floor. Her silhouette cut clean against it—elegant, motionless.
"You're not afraid of me," I said.
"No."
"You were before?"
"Never."
I smirked. "You're either very brave, or you know something I don't."
She turned her head slightly. "Both."
We stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Then, without another word, she stepped out through the door and closed it behind her.
I set the empty cup down on the floor.
Then leaned back against the wall, heart still hammering.
Whoever she was… she wasn't a maid.
And she wasn't leaving.
The wind moaned softly through the cracks in the shutters.
I sat still on the edge of the bed for what felt like an hour, my fingertips brushing the rim of the cup she'd left behind. The warmth in my chest was unnatural. Not the water. Something deeper. Like a glow beneath the skin.
Unlimited Mana Pool.
That's what the System said.
But I felt no power. No surge. Just... heat. A tension crawling beneath the surface like a snake coiled behind my ribs, waiting.
I stood. My legs held, barely. The room tilted as I moved, but I walked anyway. Slow, limping steps toward the inner study. The air was cooler there. More still.
The door groaned open on rusted hinges. Dust spiraled in the light cutting through broken stained glass. Shelves lined the walls—most empty. A few still bore books, scrolls, and small relics that hadn't been stolen or burned.
The floor was covered in old parchment.
I crouched slowly, picked one up.
A sketch—rough, but detailed. A map. Not of the empire. Not any territory I recognized. Mountains cut in jagged ink lines, surrounded by black trees and strange runes written in the margins. Circles with slashes. Markings that felt… deliberate. Obsessive.
The old Caelen drew this.
Another page. A figure—an armored man on his knees, speared through the back. A woman behind him, arms outstretched, hair like fire. Her face was left blank.
Then another. Just the words:"He took her. No one speaks her name."Over and over.
I dropped the page.
Something about it itched in the back of my skull. Grief carved in madness. Or maybe truth no one would listen to.
I stepped over broken furniture and opened the far cabinet.
Inside: a leather-bound book, covered in soot. I opened it gently. A journal.
The handwriting was tight, jagged, frantic. So many entries, all with the same structure—dates, phrases, questions. The early pages were sane. Observations about the land. Attempts to organize a farming schedule. Notes about water rationing.
Then they turned.
"She's watching again. The one with silver eyes.""They told me I had no allies. But the walls remember.""Why does the wind sing when I bleed?"
I flipped toward the end.
A sealed envelope lay tucked between the last pages. The wax was unbroken. I stared at the seal.
A rose encircled by a crown.
My breath caught.
My fingers hovered over it—but I didn't open it.
Not yet.
My hands trembled as I slid the letter into my coat.
I turned and stepped back into the hallway.
Everything about this place whispered of abandonment. Of a man slowly unraveling beneath the weight of something no one else could see.
He wasn't just weak.
He was broken.
And now I wore his skin.
From somewhere deep in the estate, a wind pushed open a door. Dust followed, swirling around my ankles.
It carried with it a scent.
Ash. And flowers.
I shivered. Then stepped forward.
The floor moaned under my weight as I passed the threshold into the central hall.
My steps echoed back at me—too loud for such an empty place. Stone walls stretched upward, darkened with age, soot, and something older. Paintings had been torn down or vandalized. Scraps of silk banners still clung to the ceiling like forgotten ghosts.
And then the air changed.
A pulse.
Not sound. Not scent.
Pressure.
Like the world held its breath.
[System Resynchronizing…][Processing Soul Integrity…][Host Condition: Stabilized — Mana Circulation Engaged][Trait Detected: Unlimited Mana Pool – Confirmed][Soul Contract Protocol: 1% Initialization]
A low hum vibrated through my bones.
Not external. Internal. Like blood remembering how to burn.
My legs buckled again. I caught the edge of a toppled statue—a marble knight whose head had long since shattered. My breath hitched. The pulse inside my chest wasn't a heartbeat. It was deeper. Like a drum echoing from another world.
Mana.
Raw. Unfiltered.
It was flowing. Slowly. Unevenly. But it was there.
No casting. No chant. Just... existence.
I flexed my fingers.
The glow shimmered faintly along the veins beneath my skin. Pale blue, subtle, almost not there. But it was real. And more terrifying than anything I'd felt in either life.
Power.
Real, bottomless power.
But without purpose, it meant nothing.
The System pinged again.
[Notice: Passive Trait Activated — Mana Saturation Resistance: MAX][Mana Overflow Stabilized][Would you like to view Skill Tree?][Y/N]
I stared at it. A soft breath escaped me. Then I said, quietly, "No."
Not yet.
The system faded, obedient.
I wasn't ready.
Footsteps echoed from behind. Not stealthy. Deliberate.
I turned slowly.
Liri stood at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed. She said nothing. Her hair was down now, loosely tied over one shoulder. No apron. No tray. Just eyes—sharp, unblinking, narrowed slightly in thought.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
"Known what?"
"That I wasn't the same man you left dying in that bed."
Her expression didn't change.
"A day," she said.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Why would I?" She stepped forward, slow. "The Caelen I knew would've begged me to fetch a physician. He would've wept for mercy. You stood on your own. You moved without fear. You looked me in the eye."
She stopped a few feet from me.
"And you didn't ask who I was."
I didn't flinch. "Would you have answered?"
A pause.
"No."
The silence stretched.
Then she said, "You're not a fool. That's new."
"Thanks."
She tilted her head slightly. "Your aura is waking."
"I noticed."
"Do you know what that means?"
"No," I said, "but I'm pretty good at pretending."
She didn't smile, but something in her eyes flickered—just briefly.
"Then pretend this," she said. "If you're going to keep breathing, you'll need to hide it better. There are things in this land that feel awakening mana from miles away."
My pulse spiked.
"And what would they want with me?"
Her gaze turned colder. "To see if you burn."
I nodded once, slowly. "Sounds charming."
"You'll need control," she said. "Soon."
"Will you teach me?"
"I haven't decided yet."
Another silence.
Then she stepped past me, brushing just close enough to make the hairs on my arm stand. She smelled faintly of herbs and steel.
At the stairs, she paused.
"I'll bring you food. Try not to die again before nightfall."
She vanished into the shadowed corridor.
I stood in the hall alone, watching the light from the broken windows shift across the floor.
The estate felt different now. Alive in the worst way. Like something beneath the stones had stirred with me.
I exhaled.
Then whispered to no one, "What the hell have I stepped into?"
The wind outside had died down.
I stood for a long time in that quiet hall, where dust moved slower than time and old banners whispered of better men. The System had gone silent again—like it knew I needed space. Or maybe it was watching. I didn't know which was worse.
I returned to the room I woke in. The dying room.
The same broken ceiling. Same stone tiles. Same crushed remnants of royalty.
But I wasn't the same corpse.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled the letter from my coat, and stared at the seal. The rose and crown. Wax faded, but still firm. Still waiting.
The last thing he ever got from his mother.
My fingers hovered. Shook.
Then I set it down beside me.
Not yet.
I didn't want to open another man's goodbye. Not until I figured out if I was going to be something other than his shadow.
My hands curled into fists. Weak. Small. But mine now.
I had nothing.
No army. No wealth. No allies.
Only this ruined land, a body half-dead, and something vast humming under my skin that I didn't understand.
But I wasn't here to save the world.
I wasn't here to forgive it, either.
I was going to survive. Grow. Bend the world to my shape before it bent me again. I didn't need to be a hero. I just had to become too powerful to discard.
I rose slowly and limped to the window.
Outside, the sun was beginning to fall. The land stretched wide and broken. Cracked earth. Empty fields. A forgotten road leading nowhere.
And at the far edge of it all, a single figure stood watching the estate.
A cloaked silhouette. Still. Unmoving.
My breath caught. I blinked—and they were gone.
Gone like smoke.
I turned from the window.
Behind me, the letter lay unopened on the bed.
From the far corridor, I heard a soft humming.
Liri.
A lullaby in a language I didn't recognize.
I closed my eyes and whispered to the stillness:
"I'm not your prince."
Then I smiled faintly, bitter as ash.
"Not yet."