The first thing he became aware of was the silence. Not the oppressive, lonely silence of his cramped studio apartment, but a deep, velvety quiet. It was the kind of silence that felt expensive.
The second thing was the texture beneath his fingers. Not the rough, scratchy polyester of his second-hand blanket, but something impossibly smooth and cool. Silk. His hand clenched, bunching the fabric.
A slow, deep breath filled his lungs. The air didn't smell of stale instant noodles and city smog. It was fresh, with a faint, crisp scent like morning frost and expensive perfume clinging to the pillows.
His eyes snapped open.
A canopy of deep blue velvet greeted him, embroidered with silver thread that glimmered faintly in the dim light. He stared at it, his mind a complete, perfect blank. This wasn't his ceiling. This wasn't his room. This wasn't even his world.
He lay there, not moving, as the memories of his own life flickered and died like cheap fireworks. The cold, the hunger, the string of foster homes that were more like prisons. The constant, gnawing feeling of being unwanted, a burden, a ghost in a world that had no room for him. He'd aged out of the system at eighteen, a milestone that felt less like freedom and more like being pushed off a cliff. A menial job, a shoebox apartment, a life so utterly grey and insignificant that it felt like a slow, quiet death. The only color had been in the novels he devoured, fantasy worlds where the heroes were loved and the villains got what they deserved. Last night, he'd finally finished reading one. He remembered the bitter taste of his cheap beer, the cold pizza, and then… nothing. Just a void.
And now, this.
A flood of foreign information, sharp and clear as broken glass, suddenly poured into his mind. It wasn't his memory, but it felt like it. He saw a stern, kind-faced man with a booming laugh, Duke Aetheron. He saw a woman of breathtaking beauty, her silver hair a mirror of the embroidery above him, her grey eyes sharp and loving—the Duchess, his adoptive mother. He saw two girls, one with a serene, almost cold beauty, her silver hair long and straight, her gaze like a frozen lake. The eldest, Caelia. And the other, with hair cropped shorter in a practical but stylish cut, her eyes holding a mischievous fire, a confident smirk always playing on her lips. The younger, Elyara.
He saw himself in these memories, but it wasn't him. It was the original owner of this body. A boy named Kael. He saw Kael's life: the lavish dinners, the warm smiles from his new family, the patient tutoring sessions. But underneath the surface of each memory was a current of something dark. He felt Kael's gnawing insecurity as he compared himself to his prodigy sisters. He felt the hot shame of being the 'adopted one,' the 'commoner' in a house of nobles. He felt the cold dread of being weak in a world where strength was everything. All the kindness, all the genuine love they showed him, it was all tainted by his own perceived inadequacy.
And then, the final piece clicked into place. He knew this world. He'd spent countless hours reading about it. This wasn't just any fantasy world. This was the world of "Eternal Night's Dawn." And Kael Aetheron wasn't a side character. He was the villain.
A sick feeling pooled in his gut. He knew Kael's story. Driven by his inferiority complex, he would become jealous of the attention his sisters received, especially from the novel's protagonist, a charming and gifted commoner who would enter the academy. Kael would scheme, would plot, would try to sabotage him at every turn. And in doing so, he would only push his beloved sisters closer to the hero. He would become the perfect stepping stone, the catalyst that would land both Caelia and Elyara into the protagonist's rapidly expanding harem. Kael would die in the story, alone and unmourned, a cautionary tale of what jealousy and weakness could do.
He took another slow, deep breath. The silk sheets rustled.
He was no longer the nameless, forgotten orphan. He was Kael Aetheron. And he had just been given a second chance. Not just a chance to live, but a chance to rewrite a story he knew by heart.
The protagonist wasn't even at the academy yet. There was still time. Summer break. Weeks, maybe a month or two, before the new term began. In the novel, Kael had spent this time wallowing in his own self-pity, doing nothing but let his insecurities fester. But he knew better. He knew about the treasures hidden in the world, the forgotten caches of power, the opportunities that the hero would later stumble upon.
He slowly sat up, the heavy covers sliding down his chest. He looked down at himself. He was tall, lean but not yet muscular. His face, in the dim light reflecting off a polished silver mirror across the room, was unremarkable. Not ugly, but easily forgettable. Brown hair, grey eyes like the rest of his new family, but lacking their unique luster. Average. Just like his old self.
But his mind was not average. It was sharpened by years of hardship, of needing to read people just to survive. And it was now armed with the complete knowledge of this world's future.
He looked at his own hands, clenching them into fists. The weakness Kael felt was a real problem. In this world, magical ability, or 'aspect,' was often tied to one's soul and lineage. As an adopted commoner, his own aspect was laughably weak. But the novel had mentioned a place. A forgotten ruin in the treacherous mountain range bordering the duchy. Inside, a treasure—an ancient elven artifact that could forcibly evolve a person's aspect, granting them a power far beyond their birthright. The protagonist had found it in the second year of the academy, using it to become one of the strongest mages in the kingdom.
He wouldn't let that happen. He would get there first.
A soft knock on the heavy oak door made him flinch.
"Young Master?" A muffled, respectful voice came from the other side. "The Duchess requests your presence at breakfast."
It was time. Time to meet his new family. The family that, in another life, he would have betrayed and lost. The family that, in this life, he would protect from that scheming protagonist. He swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet sinking into a plush rug.
He was no longer the forgotten orphan. He was Kael Aetheron. And his slow, methodical climb to power was about to begin.