My name was Alex Thompson. Twenty-eight years old, single, no pets, no real prospects. Just another cog in the corporate machine, writing code for apps that nobody would remember in five years. My days blurred together: wake up in a cramped apartment, commute through traffic, stare at dual monitors until my eyes burned, grab takeout on the way home, then collapse on the couch with a laptop and a mountain of web novels.
Reincarnation stories were my guilty pleasure. The kind where an overworked salaryman gets hit by a truck and wakes up as a powerful noble, a dragon lord, or some overpowered mage with a harem of beautiful women. Escapism at its finest. I'd laugh at the tropes, roll my eyes at the clichés, but I kept reading. Because deep down, I wished something—anything—would shake up my life.
It was a rainy Tuesday night in late autumn. I'd stayed late at the office again, fixing bugs that should've been caught weeks ago. By the time I left, the streets were slick and empty. Headphones in, scrolling through my phone for the next chapter of whatever novel I was hooked on that week. I stepped off the curb without looking.
The truck's horn blared too late.
Pain. Bright, overwhelming, then nothing.
Darkness swallowed me whole. No light at the end of the tunnel. No goddess offering three wishes. No system interface popping up with cheerful dings. Just... void.
Until there was light.
My eyes snapped open—small eyes, child's eyes—and I stared up at a ceiling so elaborate it looked like something out of a Renaissance painting. Golden filigree traced the edges of massive beams. Murals of winged serpents coiled around armored knights locked in eternal battle. Heavy brocade curtains framed tall windows, filtering soft morning sunlight that danced with floating dust motes.
This wasn't my apartment.
I tried to sit up, but my body betrayed me. My arms—short, slender, and far too smooth—pushed against silk sheets that probably cost more than my monthly rent. The bed was enormous, a four-poster monstrosity carved from dark wood and draped in deep blue velvet. My legs dangled when I swung them over the side, feet barely brushing the plush carpet.
Panic clawed at my chest.
I scrambled to a standing mirror across the room, nearly tripping over the hem of a nightshirt that hung to my knees. The reflection staring back wasn't Alex Thompson.
A boy. Nine years old, maybe ten. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and striking ice-blue eyes framed by long lashes. His hair—my hair now—was jet black, falling in soft waves, with strange white streaks at the tips, like frost kissing midnight. Beautiful in a cold, aristocratic way. The kind of face that belonged on a web novel cover.
My hands flew to my face, touching smooth cheeks, a straight nose, lips that weren't mine. This wasn't cosplay. This wasn't a dream.
Then the headache hit.
It was like a dam breaking. Memories—not mine—flooded in, sharp and fragmented. A grand estate surrounded by misty forests. Marble halls echoing with formal footsteps. A towering man with silver-streaked black hair and the same piercing blue eyes—my father?—wearing ornate armor. Tutors drilling etiquette, history, sword forms. And a gentle woman with warm smiles and a swelling belly—my mother—often resting her hand protectively over the unborn child she carried.
Lydan Voss.
The name echoed in my mind like a gong.
Lydan Voss, the only son and heir to Duke Eldric Voss of the Northern March. One of the four great ducal houses of the Kingdom of Aetheria. A world where magic flowed through ley lines, where mana cores determined destiny, where ancient beasts roamed the wilds and noble houses schemed in gilded halls.
I was reincarnated.
Actually, genuinely reincarnated into a fantasy world. Not as a slave, not as a peasant, not even as some minor baron's third son.
As the duke's first—and only—son. The sole heir.
This was insane. This was everything I'd ever fantasized about while grinding through another twelve-hour day.
But why me? There was no divine intervention, no voice explaining the rules. Just... this body, these memories, and a faint, tingling sensation in my chest, like something vast and dormant stirring awake.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Okay. Think, Alex—Lydan. You've read hundreds of these stories. First step: assess the situation.
From the original Lydan's memories, today was important. His tenth birthday had passed last month, which meant today was the mana awakening assessment. Every noble child underwent it around this age. A crystal orb would measure affinity and potential rank. High affinity meant prestige, powerful magic, a bright future. Low... well, it varied. Some houses discarded weak heirs. Others sent them to monasteries or married them off for alliances. But as the only child—with Mother expecting the next—expectations rested entirely on my shoulders.
The original Lydan's memories were oddly fuzzy about his own potential. There was anxiety there, a quiet dread. Had he been mediocre? Or was there something else?
A knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Young Master Lydan?" A gentle feminine voice. "Are you awake? Breakfast is served, and His Grace has requested your presence in the grand hall after the morning meal. The awakener from the capital arrives at noon. Her Ladyship the Duchess also wishes to see you before the ceremony—she is taking her meal in her chambers."
The maid. Clara, if the memories served. Kindly, middle-aged, one of the few servants who treated Lydan with genuine warmth.
"I'll be down soon," I called, surprised at how steady my voice sounded—high and clear, but confident. "Thank you, Clara. Please tell Mother I'll visit her shortly."
A pause. "Of course, Young Master."
I dressed quickly in the clothes laid out: a fine white shirt with silver embroidery, dark trousers, polished boots, and a deep blue coat with the Voss family crest—a silver wolf rampant on a field of black, encircled by ethereal mist. Fitting, somehow.
As I fastened the last button, I caught my reflection again. The boy in the mirror looked... noble. Composed. But inside, my mind raced.
Advantages: I had knowledge from another world. Science, strategy, history—even if magic changed the rules, principles of physics, chemistry, and human nature still applied. Politics here seemed Game of Thrones-level brutal, but with spells. I could play this smart. And with no siblings to compete against, the path to inheritance was clear—provided I proved worthy.
Disadvantages: I was a child. Physically weak, dependent on adults, and the only heir meant every eye in the duchy was on me. Servants whispered about the pressure. Father—Duke Eldric—was a war hero, stern and distant, his time consumed by border defenses. Mother, kind and protective, was in a delicate state with her pregnancy. Expectations would be crushing.
But I wasn't the original Lydan. I was Alex. I'd survived layoffs, toxic managers, and soul-crushing deadlines. I could survive this.
Descending the grand staircase, I took in the estate—Voss Keep, built into the side of a mountain, all dark stone and soaring arches. Suits of armor lined the halls, some bearing scars from real battles. Tapestries depicted victories over beast hordes and rival houses. The air smelled of polished wood, beeswax, and something faintly metallic—mana crystals, maybe?
I ate breakfast alone in the vast dining hall, the long table set for one. The silence felt heavy, but not unwelcome. It gave me time to think.
After the meal, I made my way to Mother's chambers as promised. The Duchess—Lady Seraphina Voss—was reclining on a chaise by the window, her hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly. Even heavy with child, she was strikingly beautiful: long raven hair like mine, soft features, and kind eyes that lit up when I entered.
"Lydan, my dear," she said softly, extending a hand. "Come sit with me."
I obeyed, taking her hand carefully. "How are you feeling today, Mother?"
"Better now that I see you." She smiled, though there was worry in her eyes. "Today is important. Your father believes greatly in you, as do I. Whatever the awakening reveals... you are our pride."
The words warmed something inside me—the original Lydan had cherished these moments with her. I squeezed her hand gently. "I won't let you down."
She brushed a lock of hair from my forehead. "Just be yourself, my son."
After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, I left her to rest. I had hours before the awakener arrived. Time to explore, maybe find the library. Knowledge was power, especially here.
Walking the halls alone, I felt it again—that faint tingling in my chest, like mist coiling around my heart. Ethereal. Waiting.
Whatever this world threw at me, I'd face it head-on.