The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smoke of a thousand
burning banners. Emperor Kaelen, blade still humming with the last echoes of a spell, stood amidst the ruins of what was once his grandest legion. His armor, once gleaming gold and crimson, was now scarred and dull, a grim testament to the battle that had raged for days. Before him, silhouetted against the dying embers of his empire, stood Valerius, his nemesis, a figure of cruel elegance, whose very presence seemed to drain the light from the world.
"Is this all, Kaelen?" Valerius's voice, a silken whisper that carried over the groans of the fallen, was laced with an unbearable triumph. "The great Sun Emperor, brought to his knees by a mere shadow."
Kaelen coughed, a ragged sound that brought more blood to his lips. He clutched his side, where Valerius's cursed blade had found its mark. The wound pulsed with a cold, unnatural fire, stealing his strength, his magic, his very life force. He had fought with the fury of a cornered lion, unleashed spells that could shatter mountains, but Valerius, always one step ahead, always with a darker trick up his sleeve, had prevailed.
"This is not... the end," Kaelen rasped, defiance flickering in his eyes, even as his vision blurred. He refused to give Valerius the satisfaction of seeing him break. He had ruled for decades, united kingdoms, and brought an age of prosperity. To fall now, to him... it was an unbearable humiliation.
Valerius merely smiled, a chilling, predatory curve of his lips. "Oh, but it is, Kaelen. For you, at least. The Age of the Sun is over. Now, the shadows will reign." With a final, contemptuous flick of his wrist, Valerius sent a surge of dark energy through
Kaelen's already failing body.
A searing pain, unlike anything he had ever known, consumed him. It felt as though his very soul was being torn from his flesh, twisted and stretched into oblivion. The world spun, a kaleidoscope of crimson and black, and then... nothing.
The blare of an alarm clock ripped him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He jolted upright, his heart pounding, a strange, unfamiliar ache in his chest. Sunlight, harsh and artificial, streamed through a window, illuminating a room he did not recognize. Walls adorned with posters of strange, brightly colored figures, a desk cluttered with peculiar devices, and a mirror reflecting a face that was undeniably his, yet utterly alien.
His hands, small and uncalloused, trembled as he touched his smooth, unblemished skin. The scars, the calluses of a lifetime of warfare, were gone. The weight of his crown, the familiar thrum of ancient magic within his veins, the echoes of a thousand battles... all vanished.
A voice, young and distinctly feminine, called from beyond the door. "Ren! You'll be late for school!"
School? The word was foreign, yet it resonated with an odd sense of familiarity, like a half-forgotten dream. He stumbled out of the bed, his legs feeling strangely light, and stared at his reflection once more. The face staring back was that of a high school student, ordinary and unremarkable.
Emperor Kaelen was dead. And Ren, whoever that was, had just woken up.