Darkness. Cold. Silence.
Damon Vael's consciousness floated in a void of black nothingness. No pain. No body. Only the bitter taste of betrayal—and the memory of fire swallowing his empire.
He had died. Again.
> "The fated villain must fall so the chosen hero may rise."
The words of the Heavenly Tribunal echoed in his mind, etched into the fabric of his very soul. Every life, every cycle, he was the same: cursed to rise with immense power, only to be slain by a self-righteous hero blessed by fate.
But this time… something cracked.
Suddenly, light pierced the void—a thread, shining crimson, twisted and unnatural. It reached toward him, wrapping around his soul like a noose, yanking it through time, space, and reality itself.
He gasped.
Lungs burned with air. Limbs twitched with life. The stench of incense and dust filled his nose. His vision blurred, then cleared.
Above him, cracked wooden beams. A leaking roof. A flickering lantern.
He was alive.
Again.
---
He sat up, body drenched in sweat, shirt clinging to his chest. He wasn't in a palace of obsidian marble or a throne room of blood. No war drums. No demon generals.
Just… a straw mat on the floor.
He clenched his jaw. His fingers trembled as he looked down at his reflection in a bronze mirror beside a broken table.
A teenage face stared back.
Sharp jaw. Pale skin. Eyes like storm clouds. But instead of the silver-black crown he once bore, now only unkempt black hair and calloused hands greeted him.
> "Where… am I?"
Suddenly, information rushed into his mind—not just memories, but this life's identity.
Damon Vael, age sixteen. Adopted son of Elder Yun of the Silent Leaf Sect, a minor outer-branch sect in the lower territories of the Mortal Realm. Average aptitude. Mocked by peers. Weak.
But one thing stood out like a blade to the throat.
> "You are fated to die at the hands of the Heaven's Chosen within three years."
He wasn't supposed to remember this. No reincarnated soul retained knowledge of their Fate Thread... not unless—
> "The Thread of Heaven has snapped..." Damon whispered, awe and horror mixing in his voice.
He stood, nearly stumbling, and looked at his hands again. Threads—dozens of them—shimmered faintly in the air around him. Some golden, some silver, others black and frayed.
They were connected to people… to outcomes. Lives. Deaths.
He could see fate.
More than that… he could touch it.
---
> "So, the Heavens have made an error," Damon murmured, a cold smile curving his lips.
In his last life, they'd stripped his powers, erased his memories, and threw him into the villain's role.
But now?
Something had changed. A cosmic imbalance. A flaw in the reincarnation cycle. Perhaps a remnant of his original power—his Demonic Origin Flame—had survived and anchored him to this realm with awareness intact.
He walked to the window. Outside, the Silent Leaf Sect sprawled like a poor man's garden—wooden halls, training yards, and rusted swords. Children practiced basic sword forms with clumsy steps and loud grunts.
> "A pathetic realm. But a useful disguise."
Damon closed his eyes. His fate was still marked as Doomed Villain. That meant the Heaven's Chosen had already been born. Perhaps even trained.
He had no time to waste.
> "I must grow stronger. And I must steal their fate before they destroy me again."
---
A soft knock echoed on the door.
> "Damon?" came a gentle voice. "Are you feeling better?"
It was Mei—a servant girl from the sect kitchens. One of the few who treated this "useless adopted son" with kindness.
> "I brought you some congee…"
Damon stared at the door. In his past lives, he would've ignored such a lowly soul. But now, his eyes widened slightly.
A green thread shimmered faintly—tied to her heart, connected to his.
> "A fated supporter?" he whispered. "Even she… has a role to play."
> "Come in," he said calmly, hiding the storm behind his eyes.
She entered, placing the bowl with a shy smile. Damon gave a small nod, gaze locked on the green thread pulsing like a heartbeat.
> "Thank you, Mei," he said. "From now on… stay close to me."
She blinked. "Huh?"
> "You're going to help me rewrite the stars."
---
As night fell, Damon stood atop the outer wall of the Silent Leaf Sect, his robes fluttering in the wind. Below, the world moved unaware. Above, the stars whispered prophecy.
But this time, he would not kneel to prophecy.
He would devour it.
> "I am Damon Vael," he whispered to the sky, crimson eyes glowing faintly. "And I will no longer be your villain…"
> "I will be your end."