As the reality of being an extra character began to settle in, Damien forced himself to calm down.
His gaze fell on the glass vial handed to him earlier by that mysterious girl.
Well... she wasn't mysterious anymore, was she?
He knew who she was now— Seraphina Draven.
His half-sister.
The vial held a shimmering blue liquid that glowed faintly under the dim light.
It looked magical.
Well... it was magical.
A healing potion made through alchemy and infused with mana.
Without hesitation, Damien opened the vial and gulped it down.
A cold sensation spread through his body almost instantly.
Before his eyes, the bruises on his skin faded as if they were never there.
The pain in his body dulled and the bones straightened.
His body was healed—completely.
Damien sat silently on the bed, staring into the distance.
I'm dead, huh...?
A hollow laugh escaped him. It sounded bitter, even to his own ears.
Who the fuck killed me?
His fists clenched, knuckles white.
Was it just a robbery gone wrong? Or was it something planned...?
Dark thoughts filled his mind.
I can think of a few people who hated me...
But none of them had the guts to actually do something about it.
The image of a knife flashing in his mind brought a chill to his spine.
How will they react when they see my body?
Mom... Dad...
They'll be devastated.
He pictured his mom crying uncontrollably, his dad trying to stay strong—but failing.
I was their only son.
Who will take care of them now?
He could still remember his mom's warm smile, the way his dad gave him a quiet pat on the back after work.
Even when he let them down, they never stopped believing in him.
"Damien, you can do it. We believe in you."
Their voices echoed in his mind, distant yet impossibly vivid.
Tears slid down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them anymore.
Why...? Why did I have to die?
Why was I such a disappointment?
Why didn't I tell them how much I loved them...?
His shoulders trembled as he silently wept.
Hours passed.
But the sorrow didn't fade—it only deepened.
He lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Empty.
I'm dead.
I'm not Damien anymore.
The thought felt both wrong and undeniable.
He was Alden now.
Living in someone else's body, carrying someone else's memories, burdened by someone else's past.
And yet...
He was still here.
Not Damien. Not really alive.
But breathing.
Existing.
The ache in his chest grew stronger—but this time, it wasn't just grief.
It was something else.
Anger.
Resolve.
He wouldn't let his parents' grief be in vain.
He wouldn't let this second chance—this strange, borrowed life—go to waste like the last one.
He sat up slowly.
His body still ached, but the pain grounded him.
Reminded him he was still here.
A voice whispered in his mind:
"You can't change the past. But you can shape the future."
For the first time in hours, a small, bitter smile tugged at his lips.
Yeah... I can. I will.
He stood—unsteady at first, but steadier with each breath.
He caught his reflection in the mirror.
A stranger stared back—pale skin, black hair and crimson eyes.
Alden.
The name still tasted foreign.
But he didn't reject it.
I'm not Damien anymore.
From now on... I'm Alden. And I will live.
I will live a life without regret.
—
A day passed in a blur.
The grief hadn't vanished, but it was quieter now.
Manageable.
Damien—no, Alden—spent most of it in his room, eating and sleeping.
Letting his thoughts settle.
Eventually, he stood and forced himself into a cold shower.
The icy water helped clear his mind.
Helped him focus.
He tried to distract himself, and naturally, his thoughts turned to what he remembered most vividly—
The novel.
This world... was Eryndor.
The setting of Chronicles of the Unworthy Prince—his favorite story.
A fantasy world filled with magic, secrets, and ancient legacies.
Five continents ruled by five dominant races—humans, elves, dwarves, beastmen—all threatened by a common enemy:
The demons.
The demon race, banished long ago, now sought to tear open a gate to Umbra, a cursed realm sealed away with the Demon King and his generals.
In response, the other races had formed a shaky alliance.
But peace in Eryndor was always fragile.
The story began in the Vallorian Empire, a unified human kingdom ruled by the Celestrian Family.
It followed the third prince, deemed unworthy, who awakened a mysterious power and enrolled in the Academy.
It was a cliché story on the surface—until the author shattered all expectations.
The main character was constantly tested, torn down, pushed past his limits.
Just when he glimpsed hope, it was always ripped away.
There was no plot armor.
No miracles.
Damien had always waited for that one chapter—where the protagonist would rise for real.
But it never came.
The author ended the story with the protagonist's death in the final battle.
Just like that.
No glory. No redemption.
If this world follows the same path as the novel...
It's going to be destroyed.
But that was a distant concern.
Right now, Damien's—Alden's—focus was singular.
Survive the academy arc.
He knew what happened there.
And he knew Alden Draven was supposed to die in that part of the story.
Not this time.
I'm going to survive, he thought, eyes narrowing.
No matter what.