I don't remember when the dreams started.
At first they were just flashes—shadows moving behind a bright light, voices arguing somewhere far away, like a memory that didn't belong to me. I'd wake up sweating, heart racing, with an ache behind my eyes that felt too old for a teenager.
But last night… the dream was different.
I saw myself dying.
Not as I am now, but taller, older, standing on a marble floor with six people circling me. They weren't strangers. Somehow, I knew their names, their faces, their powers. I knew exactly how each one of them would move before they moved.
And I let it happen.
When the blade pushed into my chest, I didn't feel fear—just this odd, annoying sense of boredom. Like I'd read the ending of a book too many times.
I woke up with that same feeling in my chest.
Heavy. Empty.
Like I'd lived a whole life already, then came back to start again.
But I'm not telling anyone that.
Not my mom.
Not the kids at school.
Definitely not the government, because people like me—bio-marked kids—don't get privacy. They get monitored.
And today was the day of the scan.
"Are you ready?" my mom called from the living room.
No.
But I grabbed my jacket anyway.
The Bio-Mark Screening Center smelled like disinfectant and metal. Kids my age waited in line with stiff shoulders, pretending not to be scared. A scan can ruin your life. If they find an anomaly—one of those weird power mutations—you get registered, tracked, watched.
Some kids disappear.
It got to my turn, and I tried to stay calm, but the moment the machine lowered toward my head, the nightmare from last night flashed in my eyes. The betrayal. The circle of six. The feeling of letting go. And that cold, tired smile.
Mine.
The light beeped.
The machine froze.
The technician frowned.
"That's… unusual," she said.
Great. Exactly what I didn't want to hear.
She leaned closer to the monitor, tapping buttons with shaking hands.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Her eyes lifted to me, wide and confused—almost scared.
"You shouldn't have this," she whispered. "Your bio-mark reading… it's identical to something we've only seen once in recorded history."
My stomach dropped.
She looked at me like she was staring at a ghost.
"It matches a Saint."
⸻
The moment she said it, the room blurred.
Not like a vision.
Not like magic.
More like a memory I had locked away so deep it finally clawed itself back up.
In a world ran by six saints:
The Saint of Justice.
The Saint of Mercy.
The Saint of Courage.
The Saint of Truth.
The Saint of Will.
And then lastly, myself— The Saint of Wisdom, stood at the complete pinnacle of the world, I was like a god on earth, even among the other Saints.
⸻
I'm standing on a balcony.
The wind is sharp, the kind that cuts rather than cools. Below me, the city stretches out—quiet, organized, too perfect. My soldiers patrol the streets in steady lines. People walk with their heads low. The world is stable. Efficient. Predictable.
I made it that way.
"You're scaring them," a voice says beside me.
I don't turn. I already know who it is—Saint of Mercy. Soft voice, softer heart, too soft to rule anything.
"They're alive," I answer. "That's enough."
"It's not enough," she says. "Not anymore."
I finally look at her. She's nervous, avoiding my eyes. Her hands are shaking. She's hiding something behind her back.
They all are.
I've known for weeks.
Every whispered conversation.
Every hidden meeting.
Every shift in their routines.
Nothing escapes me. Nothing ever has.
"Is this the part where you tell me you're planning something?" I ask casually.
Her eyes go wide—fear, guilt, shock all at once.
I sigh.
"Relax. If I cared, you'd already be dead."
That makes her look even more afraid, which honestly annoys me. People think fear is respect, but fear is just noise. Pointless noise.
I lean on the balcony rail, staring out at the silent city.
"I'm tired," I admit. "This world… I know every move it makes before it makes it. Every decision people think is theirs, every war that would have happened if I didn't stop it… everything is a repetition."
She swallows. "Then let us help you. Step down. Share the power. You don't have to rule alone."
I laugh. Not the dramatic villain laugh—just a small, genuine one.
"You think letting go would change anything? I'd still know every outcome. I'd still see every mistake before it happens. I'd still fix everything before it breaks."
I tap my temple.
"This is the real throne. And I'm chained to it."
She steps closer. "You sound… human."
"Maybe that's the problem," I mutter.
There's a soft scrape of metal behind me. Someone trying to be quiet. Someone untrained in killing silently.
Poor effort.
The Saint of Courage stands a few meters away, gripping a blade behind his back.
I don't look at him. I've known he'd be here. I knew the exact day they'd act, the exact words they'd use, the exact moment they'd strike.
I could stop them.
I could kill them all.
I could rewrite the future again.
But I don't want to.
For the first time in centuries, something is happening that I didn't choose. Something unpredictable. Something imperfect.
And that feels more alive than ruling the world ever did.
I close my eyes and breathe in the cold air.
"Do it," I say quietly.
the saint of Mercy gasps. "You… you knew?"
"I see everything," I whisper. "I've just never tried not seeing. Let's find out what happens next."
The blade goes in.
Quick. Clumsy.
Human.
And I smile.
Not because I forgive them.
But because for the first time in a long time—
I don't know what comes after this.
The pain hits first.
Not sharp. Not dramatic.
Just… uncomfortable. Like someone pressing a hot coin into my ribs.
I look down at the blade buried in my chest and exhale slowly.
"That's disappointing," I say. "I expected something cleaner."
Saint of Courage grips the handle tighter. His jaw trembles. He's terrified of me—even now, stabbing me. His fear makes his power stronger, but his hands still shake.
"What… what is wrong with you?" he whispers.
"Lots of things," I murmur. "But boredom is the worst."
He tries to pull the blade out for another strike, but my hand moves to stop him—lightly, just two fingers on his wrist. His entire arm freezes. I could crush it if I wanted. I could break him in half.
But I don't.
"It's fine," I say. "One time is enough."
Behind him, the others step out of hiding.
Truth. Mercy. Will. Justice. All staring at me like I'm a monster choosing to die.
"Why aren't you fighting back?" Justice asks. He's sweating. They all are.
"I've seen every outcome where I survive," I answer. "They're all boring."
Truth swallows hard. "What about the outcomes where you die?"
I smile.
"That's the only part I can't see. So… I want to see it."
Mercy steps forward, tears streaming down her face. She's the only one who ever looked at me with something like pity.
"Please don't say it like that," she whispers. "You're making it worse."
I place a bloody hand on her shoulder.
"You'll understand someday."
My vision blurs. My legs give out. I sink to the ground slowly, almost peacefully.
As the world darkens, I look at all of them.
My former allies.
My betrayers.
My mistakes.
And I think one last thought:
{If I get another life… I want to start from nothing.
I want to learn the world without controlling it.
I want to see what happens when I'm not the smartest man alive.}
Then everything goes black.
The darkness doesn't last.
I become aware of noise first—crying, shouting, footsteps, machines humming. Everything sounds too close, too loud.
Then I feel warmth.
Arms.
Someone holding me.
My limbs are tiny. Weak. My breath is shaky. My vision is blurry. I can't lift my head.
I'm… small. A baby.
The moment hits me like a punch.
This isn't the afterlife.
I'm alive.
Reborn.
My mind is still mine, sharp and aware, but my body is helpless. It's a shock I never imagined. I can't stand. I can't speak. I can't even control my fingers.
A woman leans over me—tired eyes, soft smile.
"My beautiful boy," she whispers.
My mother.
Not a title, not a pawn, not a subject.
Just… my mother.
Her warmth feels unfamiliar. I've ruled nations, broken armies, stared down death itself—yet this is the first time something feels genuinely comforting.
I try to speak—instinct, habit, ego—but only air escapes my mouth. Weak, soft, useless.
And for the first time in centuries, I feel something like fear.
Not fear of death.
Fear of being powerless.
No visions.
No predictions.
No rule.
No control.
Just life.
Raw, unshaped, unpredictable life.
And strangely…
I feel something else too.
Excitement.
If I'm truly starting over…
If I'm truly free…
Then maybe fate will finally surprise me.
—
The world snaps back like a rubber band.
I gasp and grab the edge of the clinic chair, nearly falling out of it. My chest pounds like I've been punched from the inside.
The technician stares at me, wide-eyed.
"Hey—are you okay?"
No. Not even close.
Because the memory I just saw wasn't a dream. It wasn't imagination.
It was real.
My past life.
My death.
My reincarnation.
All of it slamming into me like a train.
The technician takes a step closer, voice trembling.
"You—your scan shows an anomaly identical to the Saint of Wisdom. And that's impossible. He's been dead for over a century."
I wipe the sweat from my forehead with shaking hands.
The technician kept staring at me like she was waiting for me to explode.
Or glow.
Or… I don't know, float.
Anything but sit there looking like a regular, mildly terrified teenager.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
Play dumb.
Play normal.
Play harmless.
That's the only smart move here.
"Look," I said, keeping my voice steady, "maybe the machine glitched. Happens, right?"
Her mouth twitched. "No. It doesn't."
Well, good for me.
"So what does this mean?" I asked, leaning back casually—too casually. "Am I… sick? Is that why the reading looks weird?"
If I could convince her that this was a medical issue and not a god-level reincarnation issue, I'd be safe for at least five minutes.
But she didn't buy it. Not even a little.
She stepped back from the monitor.
Her hand trembled as she pressed a red button under the desk.
A silent alarm.
Perfect.
"Sorry," she whispered. "I have to report this."
Of course she did.
Bio-mark anomalies are rare.
Bio-mark anomalies that match Saint readings?
That's practically world-shaking.
I tried to keep my face blank, but inside I could feel something cracking open—my old instincts. Calculations. Outcomes. Possibilities branching like sharp wires.
I didn't have my full power back.
But my mind?
My mind still worked the same way.
I counted the footsteps outside.
Three people.
Maybe four.
Doors locking.
Boots approaching.
Someone radioing for backup.
This was going to get messy.
So I lowered my head, pretending to be confused, pretending to be scared.
Pretending to be exactly what they wanted me to be.
A harmless kid.
And for a few seconds… they believed it.
Until the door opened.