The marble floor gleamed beneath the warm glow of candlelight, its silver veins twisting like frozen lightning. Rishi leaned against the edge of the ornate basin, droplets of water clinging to his black hair. His reflection in the polished bronze mirror stared back at him—black eyes, a little handsome, and yet unfamiliar even to himself.
He was no longer Rishi of his old world. He was Rishi Lux Darknorth, nephew to Duke Avish Lux Darknorth, one of the five pillars of the Veytharic Empire. A house that commanded armies, wealth, and respect across the continent of Erythion. By blood, he was close to the empire's beating heart. By fate, he was now part of the story he once only read.
And within that story was his cousin—Serenya Lux Darknorth, one of the heroines. A name that had once been ink on a page now carried the weight of destiny.
Rishi exhaled slowly, letting the memories align. So this is Aldoria.
Aldoria—the world caught between creation and destruction. Once, only aura had filled its skies, flowing through warriors and cultivators alike. But when the rifts to Niflhel tore open, mana surged into existence, staining the balance. The Velmorians came soon after, invaders of ambition and steel. Yet worse than them were the abominations that slithered through the cracks of Nifhel: eldritch horrors with eyes that defied sanity, creatures born from nightmares that words could not describe.
Over centuries, men had learned to merge aura and mana into ether, the supreme force of balance. But its method remained forbidden knowledge, guarded only by the royal family and the highest of dukes. Power had never been fair, and this empire was proof.
But Aldoria was not all darkness. The skies still carried wonders. Ancient dragons that coiled above the clouds, phoenixes whose wings blazed across dawn, and beasts of legend that defied the mundane. And in whispers, in ruins and temples, mortals still spoke of the gods—hidden, uncaring beings that had long abandoned this world to its chaos.
There are other races Elves, Dwarves and Beastkin
Rishi touched the edge of the basin, his lips curling into a faint smile. "So I'm part of this now… no, I am this."
He straightened, drying his hands with a silken towel, then stepped into his chamber. The room was vast, with windows draped in velvet, wardrobes carved from ebony, and tapestries stitched with dragons entwined in flame. He opened one of the wardrobes, eyes sweeping across the rows of garments—tunics embroidered with silver, regal cloaks, ceremonial armor polished to perfection.
"Which of these makes me look more like a duke's heir?" he muttered.
Snapping his fingers, he called, "Lira."
The door opened softly. A young maid entered, her chestnut hair neatly tied, her blue eyes lowered in respect. She moved with the careful grace of someone used to serving nobles, but her gaze does not linger a moment longer than duty demanded.
She was not like those maids who were head over heels for their so called "Young Master"
or maybe be she was... who knows?
"You called, young master?" she asked, her tone polite.
Rishi studied her. In the novel, she was little more than a background character—a fleeting shadow. But here, she was real. And perhaps, she could become more.
"Yes," he replied with a faint smile. "Help me choose. Which of these will make me look like the man I'm supposed to be, rather than a lost wanderer?"
Lira blinked, startled by the question, but then stepped closer. She scanned the garments, her fingers hesitating just above the fabric before settling on a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver threads. "This one, my lord. It carries the dignity of your house… and complements your eyes."
A soft chuckle escaped him. "Sharp eye, Lira. Very well, I'll wear this."
He lifted the tunic, feeling the fabric's weight in his hand. It was strange—this was no longer just clothing, but a symbol. A role. A mask he would wear in the empire's great stage.
His reflection in the tall mirror showed more than a duke's nephew. Behind those black eyes simmered something new: ambition, resolve, and the dangerous knowledge of what was to come.
The story is no longer bound to the book. It's mine now.
And as he dressed, Rishi Lux Darknorth—outsider, heir, and transmigrant—stepped onto the path that would one day shake Aldoria itself.