Othriel closed the door to his room, the quiet click sealing away the warmth of the dinner.
He exhaled slowly.
The dim lanternlight washed the room in soft gold.
He sat on the edge of his bed, steadying his thoughts.
He had two months until Nivara Academy.
But the first step came now.
"Open starter pack," he whispered in his mind.
A soft chime resonated through his consciousness.
[Ding!]
[Starter Pack Activated.]
Light—not physical but conceptual—unfolded in his mind.
Another chime followed.
[Ding!]
[Reward Granted: Unique Title — Supreme Primordial's Heir]
[Effect: Grants limitless growth potential beyond Atria's mortal ceiling.]
[Note: Title progression is locked until host attains godhood, due to universal law.]
Othriel blinked once.
Limitless.
Beyond Atria's ceiling.
Not metaphorical growth—actual, unrestricted progression once he reached the level where gods walked.
He slowly exhaled.
This wasn't mythic talent.
This was above talent.
A mythic talent alone, while immensely rare within Atria, still only placed someone among its highest ranks.
Most kings didn't have one.
Not even most princes.
Only a handful of powerhouses across the entire world.
Mythic meant one could dominate this world.
But this title… transcended it.
It placed him far outside the normal hierarchy.
The gap was incomparable.
Before he could process further, another chime sounded.
[Ding!]
[Reward Granted: Affinity Cultivation Manual — Codex of the End]
[Description: An ancient manual that refines and amplifies the Death affinity with extreme efficiency.]
Knowledge slid into his mind—cold, structured, vast.
Circulation paths.
Affinity harmonization.
Death-aligned breathing sequences.
A rhythm like stillness itself.
He inhaled quietly, letting the new information settle.
Another chime echoed.
[Ding!]
[Reward Granted: Sword Technique — Celestial Death's Embrace]
[Description: An unranked, origin-level sword technique molded perfectly for Death affinity.]
Movements unfurled in his mind like silk.
Silent steps.
Precise angles.
Cuts that flowed like fading time.
It wasn't a projection.
It wasn't physical.
It was pure knowledge—ancient, exact, flawless.
His muscles tingled with familiarity despite never having practiced a single motion.
The system's final chime struck.
[Ding!]
[Reward Granted: Infinite Inventory]
[Description: A pocket dimension linked to the host, capable of storing anything without limit.]
Othriel let out a slow breath.
Everything the starter pack gave him was overwhelming, yet perfectly structured.
Then a question rose—one that had lingered since the moment he awoke in this world.
"System," he asked quietly in his mind, "what happened to the original Othriel's soul?"
There was a pause.
A silence that felt intentional.
[Ding!]
[Clarification: There was no separate original soul.]
[This world was once fiction. When Eltharion made it real, he formed the body named Othriel using your soul.]
[You were Othriel from the beginning.]
Othriel froze.
A strange sense of weightlessness overtook him.
No replacement.
No stolen body.
No conflict.
Just him.
Him from the beginning.
Everything aligned—his memories, Othriel's memories, his instincts, his identity.
It all made sense now.
He let the breath he'd been holding slip out.
So this was his life.
Truly his.
He leaned back slightly, feeling a quiet steadiness settle into his chest.
Outside his window, the night stretched over the Veyndral estate.
The moonlight brushed the rooftops like silver dust.
He rose from the bed and walked to the mirror.
The reflection that looked back was his—sharper now, calmer, steadier.
He flexed his fingers once.
Knowledge hummed beneath his skin.
Codex of the End.
Celestial Death's Embrace.
Limitless growth after godhood.
He was starting from novice, but his foundation was something no one else in this world had ever possessed.
He looked toward the door.
The dungeon awaited him tomorrow.
The Trial of Attunement—the first true step.
He opened his hand.
A subtle shift in his mind activated the inventory's interface.
Empty.
Infinite.
Waiting.
He closed it again.
Everything was ready.
He moved to the window, resting his fingertips lightly on the cool frame.
The night breeze slipped through the small gap, brushing against his skin.
"Two months," he murmured softly.
He stepped back from the window, turning off the lantern, letting the room fall into quiet shadow.
Tomorrow, he would enter the dungeon.
Tomorrow, the world would begin to change.
And so would he.