Aiden opened his eyes to a sky he didn't recognize. Two pale moons hung in the horizon, one silver, one faintly gold. The air smelled of earth and damp stone, mixed with a subtle tang of incense. His body felt… different. Taller, heavier, yet familiar. He sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, feeling the weight of a fine wool tunic against his skin.
His surroundings were a narrow, cobbled street lined with small houses of stone and timber. Faded banners hung from the windows, one depicting a lion biting a sword—a symbol he didn't recognize but somehow understood as noble. Voices echoed from the marketplace beyond, speaking in a language that was at once foreign and strangely natural to him.
Aiden rose, testing his limbs. Everything worked. No residual pain, no shock from the fall. Just… a heartbeat steady and strong, in a body that wasn't his own.
"Where… am I?" he whispered.
A sudden tug in his chest made him stagger forward. A memory flashed—of Earth, of the laboratory, of the spiral of light, the whisper, the pain. He blinked rapidly. It wasn't a dream.
A small figure appeared at the corner of the street: a boy about his age, wearing a green tunic with the insignia of a lesser noble family. He scowled, pointing a finger at Aiden.
"You! Baron Crossfield! You're late for the Assembly again!"
Aiden froze. Baron… Crossfield? The name struck him like a bell. He remembered reading about minor noble houses in some obscure book on dynasties. The Crumbling House… the least respected lineage of the Kingdom of Arven.
He looked down at his hands, noting the smooth skin and faint calluses that didn't belong to his Earthly life. His pulse quickened—not with fear, but with curiosity. Somehow, he was here. Somehow, he had been… reborn.
"Assembly?" he asked carefully, testing the language that flowed effortlessly from his lips.
The boy's eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb, Baron. You'll be the laughingstock again if you're not careful."
Laughter echoed faintly from the nearby windows. Aiden's lips twitched. Laughing at me already… typical.
He turned away from the boy and walked toward the central square. The city hummed with life: merchants shouting their wares, servants rushing to deliver messages, guards inspecting the streets. And above all, the looming silhouette of the Crossfield Manor—a modest stone building, adorned with faded heraldry, standing as a monument to a house whose glory had long since decayed.
Inside, the hall smelled of polished wood and dust. Portraits of stern ancestors stared down at him, their eyes judging, their expressions carved from history. He felt their scrutiny, and for a moment, a flicker of amusement crossed his mind. So this is my family now. Charming.
The grand clock in the hall struck nine, echoing through the stone corridors. Aiden's eyes fell upon a small, intricately carved crystal on the table—the family's "System Seal." The ritual would begin soon. This crystal, like countless others in the empire, would test the innate abilities of the young nobles.
Aiden reached out, hesitating. The crystal pulsed faintly, resonating in a way that made the hair on his neck stand. Not like Earth… not like anything I've known…
And then, almost imperceptibly, it whispered.
"I've been waiting."
A shiver ran down his spine. His hands hovered above the crystal. A warmth spread through his chest, not threatening, but insistent. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Around him, nobles whispered among themselves, confident in their own powers. And yet, Aiden felt something stir deep within—a force older, hungrier, and infinitely more dangerous than any System he had ever heard of.
For the first time, he smiled.
The game has begun.