The velvet silence of early morning wrapped itself around the lavish chamber like a soft shroud. I lay sprawled across my obscenely oversized king-sized bed, buried beneath a thick blanket embroidered with golden threads that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The fabric was heavy, warm, and expensive—likely woven by some artisan servant who never received proper credit. Not that I ever asked.
For a moment, peace lingered.
Then, reality arrived in the most irritating form: sunlight.
The first rays of dawn slipped past the drawn silk curtains and pierced the wide crystal-pane windows. They landed, with perfect accuracy, directly on my face.
I groaned.
The kind of groan that comes from a soul not yet ready to deal with another day.
My eyes opened slightly—just enough to let me wince—then quickly shut again. I raised a hand to shield myself from the blinding intrusion of morning, blinking as my pupils struggled to adjust to the brightness. The sunlight felt like a slap from the gods, as if even they didn't want me to rest.
Slowly, my vision adapted. With a tired sigh, I sat up, the golden blanket falling from my shoulders. I dragged myself to the edge of the bed and stood, stretching briefly before pacing toward the enormous window on the opposite wall. The marble floor was cold under my bare feet. I stared out across the city beyond.
The sky was still painted in gentle hues of orange and pale blue—too early for anyone normal to be awake.
"Still early," I muttered, my voice rough and unused.
Today was supposed to be a significant day. One that marked two milestones in my life.
My Awakening Ceremony.
And, of course, my birthday.
Not that anyone was going to celebrate the birth of Michael Von Ashford. Not sincerely, anyway.
Still, I had a few hours left before the ritual. Enough time to do something useful for once.
I decided I'd start writing things down—record what I remembered. This world's language was vastly different from my own, but that didn't matter. I'd write in English. That way, no one around here could read it even if they tried. Safety in secrecy.
Just as I was about to call out for a servant to bring me a journal and pen, I heard a knock at the door.
Marie entered without waiting for permission. A young woman with impeccable posture and that ever-present expression of polite submission. She carried a tray of breakfast: fresh bread, cheese, fruits, and hot tea. Silverware clinked gently as she set it on the table near the window.
"Leave the tray—and bring me a journal and a pen," I said, not even bothering to look at her.
She nodded, bowed deeply, and vanished.
A minute later, she returned and placed a thick leather-bound notebook and an ink pen on the desk. With another bow, she left the room without a word.
Efficient, as always.
I took a seat and began eating first. Food always came before thought.
Only after I was full did I pull the journal toward me, open it, and begin to write.
Everything I remembered. Everything important. Everything that was coming.
As the ink flowed across the paper, forming sentences that only I could understand, a chilling realization struck me.
"Ah, shit..."
I dropped the pen and stared blankly ahead, dread tightening in my chest.
In exactly one month, my so-called "father" would be sending me away—to Celestia Forge Academy.
I slammed my palm against my forehead. Hard.
How the hell did I forget something that important?
Celestia Forge Academy... it wasn't just any academy. It was the academy. The best and most prestigious institution in the known world. Located deep within the heart of the human kingdom of Arkanor, it stood as a shining beacon of elite education and magical supremacy.
Even the dwarves and elves—races with centuries of tradition—had nothing that could compare.
Academies in this world weren't just schools. They were hunting grounds for talent. Factories that churned out the next generation of warriors, strategists, and legends.
Graduating from any Champion Academy gave you power, status, and access. You could join any guild, take any quest, and walk into any room with your head held high.
And those truly chosen by the gods—Champions—were offered privileges that regular mortals could never touch. Their names were whispered like myths. Blessed by the divine, untouchable by the ordinary.
Unfortunately, I was destined to be one of them.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I had no choice.
The Kingdom of Arkanor was ruled by the royal family bearing the same name. Their king, Alexander Von Arkanor, sat atop the throne. In the future—if things went the same way as they did in that damned book—he would place a bounty on my head.
This time, I wouldn't let it come to that.
Beyond the academies and political thrones, another power loomed in this world—the churches.
Every major god had their own church and loyal followers. Odin. Amaterasu. Zeus. Names that resonated across continents. Their churches didn't just preach; they influenced policy, commanded armies, and dictated faith. They held enough power to challenge kings.
And they often did.
Other gods had their temples, too—Poseidon, Ares, Tsukuyomi, and more.
These divine institutions were strongholds of belief and manipulation. Bastions of control.
And, of course, there were cults—opposing forces that worshipped lesser or even darker gods. Apophis. Nyx. Tartarus. Mad deities for mad followers. Dangerous, unstable lunatics who could bring chaos wherever they gathered.
I wrote all of this down in the journal, line after line, building a web of knowledge from memory alone.
Eventually, I reached the part that haunted me most.
The end.
The final arc of The Chosen One.
An all-out war against the demons… and the gods themselves.
And Leon.
They crushed us. We were annihilated.
I stared at the filled page and exhaled through my nose, long and slow.
If I wasn't at least SS-rank by then...
If I wasn't strong enough to rewrite my ending…
Then I'd be killed like an insect.
With just a flick of a finger.
I closed the journal gently.
Slid it into a drawer beside the desk.
Locked it.
I stood.
Today, the gears of destiny began turning.
And if I didn't start growing stronger now…
There wouldn't be a tomorrow.
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