The darkness was not empty. It was heavy, viscous, and ancient.
For seven years, Kael Ravenshade had floated in this abyss, suspended between the concept of death and the stubborn refusal of his soul to let go. In this silence, two rivers of memory had merged. One was the life of Kael, the thirteen-year-old prodigy of the Imperial Academy, arrogant and brilliant. The other was something else entirely—a jagged, bloody tapestry of a life spent in war, wielding shadow and void, a life that had ended in betrayal.
The two became one. The boy and the soldier. The prodigy and the monster.
Then, there was a sound.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain against glass. The rhythm of the living world.
Kael's eyes snapped open.
There was no gasp, no panic, no frantic flailing of limbs. His awakening was as sharp and sudden as a blade drawn from a sheath. His irises, the color of a stormy sea, adjusted instantly to the dim light of the room.
He lay still. His instincts, honed from a lifetime of combat he hadn't yet lived in this body, screamed at him to assess the threat level.
Secure room. No hostile intent detected. Air smells of antiseptic, lavender, and old parchment. Temperature is cool. Humidity is high.
Kael tried to lift his hand. It felt like moving a block of lead. His muscles were withered, the skin pale and translucent, tracing the blue veins beneath like a map of a dried-up river. Atrophy. Seven years of stagnation.
"Pathetic," he whispered. The word scratched his throat like sandpaper, but his mind was clear. Crystal clear.
He closed his eyes again, not to sleep, but to look inward. He focused on the center of his chest, searching for the spark. In the Academy, they taught students to visualize a flame. But Kael didn't visualize a flame. He visualized a void.
Breath in. Hold. Cycle.
It was the Abyssal Respiration Technique, a breathing method forbidden in most academies, but one his spirit remembered perfectly.
He inhaled deeply, his chest rising with a crackle of stiff joints. The air didn't just fill his lungs; it was pulled into his blood, ignited by his will. He felt a hum in his chest—his Spirit Core. It was weak, dusty from disuse, but it was there. A Gray Core. The color of potential. The color of nothingness.
He forced the mana to circulate. It was painful, like dragging barbed wire through his veins, but Kael didn't flinch. He needed to wake the nerves. He needed to be ready.
One cycle complete. Motor functions at 10%.
He pushed the blanket aside with a trembling hand. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet touched the cold wooden floor. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity up his spine.
He was alive. He was back.
The heavy oak door to his left creaked open.
Kael stopped his breathing technique instantly, his aura vanishing into a state of Zetsu—total suppression—before he even realized he was doing it. It was a reflex. A predator hiding in the grass.
A man walked in. He was holding a basin of water and a fresh towel. He wore a velvet coat that had seen better days, the cuffs slightly frayed. His hair, once a vibrant black, was now streaked with silver at the temples. His shoulders were slumped, carrying an invisible weight that seemed to crush him toward the floor.
Rowan Ravenshade. The Father.
Rowan didn't look at the bed immediately. He placed the basin on the side table with a heavy sigh, the routine of a man who had done this a thousand times with no expectation of a result.
"The rain is heavy tonight, Kael," Rowan murmured to the room, speaking to the air. "The price of grain has gone up again. Zara is asking about you. I... I don't know what to tell her anymore."
He dipped the towel in the water and turned around.
The towel dropped from his hand. It hit the floor with a wet plap.
Rowan froze. His eyes went wide, the pupils trembling. He stared at the figure sitting on the edge of the bed. The boy who was now a man. The pale, thin figure with eyes that burned with a terrifying, calm intelligence.
"Kael?" Rowan's voice broke. It was a whisper, fragile as glass.
Kael looked at his father. He analyzed the man in a split second—the dark circles under the eyes, the slight tremor in the hands, the smell of cheap ink and stress. This man had suffered every day of these seven years.
The cold, tactical analysis in Kael's mind receded, replaced by the memory of a father who used to carry him on his shoulders.
"Father," Kael rasped. "I'm hungry."
Rowan let out a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. He rushed forward, disregarding the water on the floor, disregarding dignity. He fell to his knees in front of Kael, grabbing Kael's cold hands in his warm, shaking ones.
"You're awake," Rowan wept, pressing his forehead against Kael's hands. "By the Light, you're awake. I thought... I thought I lost you."
Tears soaked Kael's skin. He felt the heat of them.
In his past life, Kael had known fathers who were kings, generals, and tyrants. Men who killed their sons for power. Men who sold their daughters for alliances.
But this man... this man was weeping simply because his son was breathing.
Kael looked down at the top of Rowan's head. He felt a strange pang in his chest, sharper than the atrophy pain. He carefully extracted one hand from Rowan's grip and placed it awkwardly on his father's shoulder.
"I am here," Kael said softly. His voice gained a fraction more strength. "How long?"
Rowan looked up, his face wet, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated joy. "Seven years. You were thirteen when you fell. You are twenty now, my son."
Twenty. A lost youth.
"I see," Kael said. He looked out the window, where the lightning illuminated the Ravenshade estate grounds. The world had moved on without him. The game pieces had shifted. But the board remained the same.
He squeezed his father's shoulder, his grip surprisingly firm for a man who had been a corpse minutes ago.
"Stop crying, Father," Kael said, his lips curling into a faint, confident smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The Ravenshades do not weep."
Rowan laughed through his tears, nodding frantically. "Yes. Yes, you are right. No weeping. I must... I must tell the doctor. I must tell Zara!"
"Wait," Kael commanded. The authority in his voice made Rowan pause. It was the tone of an Academy instructor, or perhaps something older.
"Help me stand first," Kael said. "I want to see the rain."
Rowan stood up, wiping his face with his sleeve, looking at his son with awe. He wrapped an arm around Kael's waist, hoisting him up.
Kael stood on trembling legs, leaning heavily on his father. They walked to the window.
The reflection in the glass stared back at him. Hollow cheeks, long messy black hair, pale skin. But the eyes... the eyes were dangerous. They were the eyes of a man who had clawed his way back from hell and brought something dark back with him.
Existence Destined, Kael thought, the phrase surfacing from the depths of his merged memories. I exist. Therefore, I have a destiny.
"Welcome back, Lord Ravenshade," he whispered to his reflection.
"Did you say something?" Rowan asked, supporting him.
"Nothing, Father," Kael lied smoothly. "Just... it's good to be home."