It felt endless.
Aiden drifted weightlessly, his thoughts fraying at the edges. Time had no meaning here. Just the echo of one silent plea:
"I wish I had a second chance…"
And then...
The light.
At first, it barely existed. A flicker. A whisper of warmth. But it grew. Brighter. Stronger. Warmer.
It didn't speak, but it called to him. Not with words…..but with purpose.
He reached….not with arms, for he had none…
but with his soul. His very essence. And when he touched it—
Everything changed.
The pain was gone.
The darkness shattered.
And then—
A cry.
Loud. Sharp. Real.
"Wahhh… wahhhh…"
His own voice.
His awareness surged back as he felt cold air brush his raw skin, tiny limbs trembling from the shock of life.
What in the…?
Was I… reborn?
Yes.
He was.
Aiden Ferith—once a feared general, a Martial Emperor, a man betrayed by the very kingdom he bled for—had been born again.
A second chance.
The sound of voices filled the room.
"He's strong," said a deep, commanding voice. Male. Refined. Distant. "It's crying, but staring like a lion. That's a good sign."
"He's so cute…" The woman's voice was soft, trembling with emotion. "Look at him, Rudeous. Our son…"
She sounded exhausted, but her joy was palpable.
His blurred vision adjusted. Through damp lashes, he saw two figures. The man had shoulder-length black hair and cold green eyes, sharp as blades. The woman, though pale and tired, was stunning...her silver hair falling around a gentle, elegant face. Her light-blue eyes glistened with tears.
So they're… my parents now?
New parents. New life.
The word new still felt surreal.
The woman leaned down and kissed his forehead. "My sweet boy… Logan. Welcome to the world."
Logan.
His new name.
The realization settled in his chest like fire and ice.
This wasn't a dream.
He'd truly been reborn.
Things like this were the stuff of myths—delusions of those too weak to face their end. And yet, here he was. Breathing. Alive.
Aiden Ferith, reborn as Logan.
A new name.
A new world.
A new destiny.
Time flowed differently now.
Days turned into weeks, and Logan—trapped in the fragile body of a newborn—watched the world with eyes sharpened by a lifetime of bloodshed and wisdom.
His father, Rudeous Smith, was a noble of high standing in the Kingdom of Aerundal. A seasoned warrior and a respected swordsman, the man held both influence and intimidation in equal measure.
But power often brings complexity.
Logan quickly learned that Rudeous had two wives.
The first—Lady Mirena—was the daughter of a duke. Noble to the core. Dignified. Cold. She bore Rudeous his first son, Darius, a boy already showing signs of pride and entitlement.
The second was his own mother—Alice. Polite. Kind. Intelligent. She held no political power, but her quiet strength was evident. She treated every servant with grace and held Logan with unshakable warmth.
Though clearly loved, she wasn't favored. Politics dictated hierarchy—and Logan was born into its cruel clutches.
But he didn't care about status or power.
He'd already tasted the fruit of command. He'd conquered, ruled, killed, and lost.
This time, he wanted more.
This time, he wanted peace. Love. Understanding.
And yet… something else stirred in him. Something beyond politics and bloodlines.
Magic.
It happened on a rainy day.
Logan was just four months old, crawling clumsily across the polished marble when he slipped, bruising his tiny elbow. The pain was sharp, unexpected.
Alice rushed to him, alarmed. She scooped him up gently and placed him on a soft bed, her voice cooing to calm him. Then, she placed her hand over the bruise—and something miraculous happened.
A faint green glow shimmered beneath her fingers.
Warmth surged through his arm.
And the pain was gone.
Completely gone.
Healing magic.
His breath froze. His wide eyes locked onto her hands, awe and disbelief warring in his expression.
And then—
She waved her hand again, summoning water from thin air to clean his face.
Magic. Real magic.
He was too stunned to even squeal in joy. But his mind raced.
There's no Qi here. No essence. No cultivation… just magic. Mana.
In his past life, power came from internal cultivation—refining Qi, strengthening meridians, unlocking realms.
But this new world?
It was ambient. External. Will-driven.
They're mages… not cultivators.
And they use mana.
This changed everything.
As months passed, Logan observed. Carefully. Quietly.
He watched servants using magic for mundane tasks—cleaning, healing, cooking. He noted the structure—spell circles, glyphs, words of power. He absorbed it all.
Magic was more versatile than Qi, but lacked its raw might. Mages here had knowledge—but no concept of body refinement, of forging power through discipline.
But I do.
And someday, May be I can merge the two.
He wouldn't walk the path of a general again. Not for kingdoms. Not for titles.
This time, he would walk it for himself.
One evening, cradled in Alice's arms, he heard a conversation that made him pause.
"He's growing fast," she whispered, stroking his soft hair. "Look at his eyes. He understands everything."
"He does," Rudeous replied, arms crossed, voice unusually distant. "Too fast. Reminds me of my grandfather… that sharp gaze. I wonder if the blood of the ancients stirs in him."
Logan almost laughed.
If only you knew, Father. I'm not awakening… I'm remembering.
By his first birthday, Logan could walk and mutter a few words—but he made sure to progress slowly, hiding his intellect behind childlike clumsiness.
He had no interest in becoming a political tool just yet.
Darius, now six, often ignored him. When he did notice Logan, it was with quiet disdain.
Mirena never came unless Rudeous dragged her along.
Typical noblehouse coldness.
I've seen worse.
And then one afternoon, Alice showed him something that made his heart race.
She held a small crystal orb in her palm. "This," she said softly, "is an affinity crystal. It glows when you touch it, revealing your magical nature. One day, we'll test yours."
His eyes sparkled with hidden anticipation.
He reached for it with tiny fingers, just enough to graze it.
Though Logan was just a child, she still continued explaining like reading out a fairy tale:
"Red is for fire, blue for lightning, green for healing, white for air, sky blue for water, grey for earth, purple for gravity. Most people have one or two affinities. Few are born with more."
"Your mana core's strength determines everything. Cores range from Tier 1 to Tier 6—Tier 6 being legendary. Your father is a Tier 3 fire mage, with latent air and gravity."
"But even if you have several affinities, you can only truly advance one—your deviant affinity. The others stay dormant unless unlocked through rigorous training."
Logan soaked up every word.
Affinity. Mana core. Advancement tiers.
This world was governed by different rules—but rules he could master.
He didn't know what affinities he'd have, but one thing was certain:
He would surpass them all.
This time, not for conquest…
Not for revenge…
But for those he loved.
And maybe—just maybe—
He'd make sure no one he cared for would ever die again.