Pain.
Not the quick, searing kind. The deep, frozen ache of something ancient tearing through the soul and stitching it into a new vessel.
Arin opened his eyes.
The room was unfamiliar.
High stone walls. Gold-trimmed tapestries. Mana crystals flickering gently in ornate sconces. A chandelier of floating orbs cast quiet light across a polished marble floor.
Where... am I?
He sat up slowly, breath fogging from the cold in his chest. His limbs felt foreign—smaller, thinner. A boy's body. Soft. Weak. Mana… barely a trace of it.
It was like waking up blind in a world that used to be color.
This isn't the Tower. This isn't even my world…
Then the voice came, dragging him further into the present.
"Valemore."
Arin turned.
A tall man in noble attire stood beside a desk. His posture was military, arms behind his back. Grey cloak. Piercing eyes like frozen steel.
"You will not embarrass our bloodline again," the man said flatly. "Your scores were barely sufficient to qualify for Aetherion Academy. If you fail the Awakening, I will disown you and erase your name from our house records."
Arin said nothing. The words didn't feel like they were meant for him—at least, not for the person he used to be.
A soft knock broke the silence. A maid entered and placed a folded uniform on the desk. She didn't meet Arin's gaze. The stiff way she moved said enough.
Even the servants looked down on him.
When she left, the nobleman's gaze sharpened.
"You are fortunate to even be permitted entrance to Aetherion. You bear the Valemore name but none of our strength. Your mana output is pitiful. Your elemental affinity? Undetectable. You are a shame, boy."
He turned and walked out without another word.
The door clicked shut. Arin stood frozen, staring at the robes folded neatly on the desk. His name was… Arin Valemore?
A flood of fragments returned—Arin Thale, Archmage of the Spiral Tower. The last scholar to decipher the Codex Primordial. He had fought the Outer Gods when they tore through the veil of reality. Betrayed in the final hour. Died.
But this… this isn't my world. I don't even know where I am.
Worse—he couldn't feel the Codex anymore.
The source of all his knowledge, power, and understanding—it was gone. Or so he thought.
Until he felt it. Barely a whisper. A rustle at the edge of his mind, like a single page fluttering in a storm.
No… not gone. Just... broken?
It wasn't with him anymore—not entirely.
The Codex was shattered.
And somewhere across this unfamiliar world, its fragments waited.
Arin's hands trembled—not with fear, but revelation. He didn't know this land's gods, its people, its politics. He had never heard of Aetherion Academy or this house of Valemore.
He approached the window, gazing at the looming skyline of towers and floating platforms that made up the city surrounding the academy. Spires stretched into clouds. Spellcraft buzzed in the air like a second heartbeat.
Magic was alive here.
And so was the Codex.
If I can find even one piece… maybe I can understand what happened. Maybe I can survive.
He looked at his reflection in the window—a boy with tousled black hair, a sharp jawline, and silver-gray eyes stared back. His skin was pale—paler than it should be—and there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, like sleep hadn't fully embraced him in days. He barely recognized the person he saw. Not the noble heir he once was. Not the mage he used to be—young powerless, forgotten— just... a remnant.
Good.
Let them ignore him.
Because from the shadows, he would trace the fragments back to their source. Each piece would bring a sliver of his former self back to life.
And when he was whole again… when the Codex remembered its true master…
He would show this world what it meant to wield forgotten knowledge.
He turned toward the robe on the desk, gripping the fabric like a battle banner.
"You forgot me once," he whispered. "Let's see how long it takes before you remember me."