The room was dim, lit faintly by slivers of morning light seeping through a tall, narrow window. A young man lay sleeping in a modest bed, tangled in the deep blue sheets. His hair was medium-length, black, and wavy, brushing gently against his cheek as he stirred. His frame was lean, but not frail—defined with wiry muscles that hinted at strength beneath the surface. His eyes, when they finally opened, were a deep, piercing blue—like the ocean at midnight.
Suddenly, the man shot upright in bed, his chest rising and falling quickly as his eyes darted around the unfamiliar room.
"Where... where am I?" he muttered, confusion clouding his voice. He looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly, then ran them over his body. Everything felt real—too real to be a dream.
"It really happened," he whispered. "I died… and met that goddess…"
Still breathing heavily, he lowered his hands and shifted slightly—only to feel something bulky beneath him. Curious, he pulled back the bedcovers and found a large black bag resting beside him. On top of it lay a neatly folded piece of paper.
He picked up the paper, unfolded it carefully, and began to read aloud:
"Dear Hinata,
It's me—Elaria. In this world, I am the Goddess of Creation.
When I brought you here, I gave you a few 'buffs' to help you survive. You can use magic, and you're also moderately skilled with a sword.
That's why, inside the bag next to you, you'll find a sword, a book on magic, and a pouch of money to get you started.
Now, as for your identity in this world:
You are Liam Barclay, fourth son of Count Barclay. You're known to be intelligent, but… let's just say your family doesn't care much for you.
I can't say more for now, but I'll be watching over you from time to time.
Good luck.
—Elaria"
Liam—formerly Hinata—scratched the back of his head, brow furrowed. "This world already confuses me…"
He leaned forward and opened the black bag. Inside, he found a large, old-looking tome bound in faded leather. Next to it sat a pouch, which jingled faintly as he picked it up—coins, undoubtedly. Digging deeper, he uncovered a miniature sword, no longer than his forearm. It looked decorative, even toy-like—until he touched it.
In an instant, the blade shimmered and extended, growing rapidly until it was the size of a full longsword.
"Whoa—what the hell?!" Liam exclaimed, nearly dropping it. He threw the blade onto the bed, where it landed with a heavy thud. "Okay… definitely not a dream."
At that moment, his stomach let out a loud, grumbling protest.
"Ugh… I'm starving. I wonder if there's anything to eat," he muttered as he finally swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He was dressed simply—black trousers and nothing else. Now standing, he took his first proper look at the room.
It was humble, but functional. The bed had thick blue covers and an abundance of white pillows. A long table stretched across the foot of the bed, cluttered with maps of different regions and towns. On either side of the bed were two nightstands, each holding an unlit candle. Nearby stood twin shelves, lined with worn books and scrolls.
As Liam stepped toward the door, the scene slowly shifted…
The setting changed to a gloomy cathedral, its high vaulted ceilings lost in shadow. Only a few dim candles flickered near the altar, barely illuminating the long, empty pews.
Footsteps echoed through the space—measured and deliberate.
Out of the darkness glinted something metallic: a golden cross necklace, set with a ruby at its center, swaying gently with each step.
Its wearer emerged into view—a man in priest's robes. He had a short, scruffy beard, tired amber eyes with heavy dark circles beneath them, and messy dark brown hair combed lazily to one side.
He reached the altar and lit a fresh candle, watching the flame flicker to life.
"The war between Velmire and Rustania rages on…" the priest said, his voice low and weary.
A second voice, smoother and cloaked in shadows, echoed from the darkness within the church.
"You're right… and in this chaos, we must capitalize on our goals."
A pause.
"But first—did you do what I asked?"
The priest clasped his hands in front of him, exhaling slowly. "Yes. Liam Barclay is dead. And soon, his entire family will follow."
"Good," the voice replied—quieter now, colder. There was something in its tone… something unsettling.
The candle flickered violently for a moment, and the cathedral fell silent again.
The view shifted back to Liam, still in his room, unaware of the dark forces already conspiring in the shadows.
The camera panned down a long, dimly lit hallway. Liam's footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, his stomach rumbling louder with each step. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of ancient wood and incense. Suddenly, from one of the side corridors, a woman emerged.
She wore a flowing purple dress that shimmered slightly in the light, her arms adorned with golden cuff bracelets that glinted with every movement. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him.
"Liam!" she cried out, a wide smile spreading across her face.
Before he could react, she ran toward him and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him gently from side to side. Her joy was overwhelming.
"You're finally awake!" she exclaimed, tears brimming in her eyes.
At her touch, a surge of memories flooded Liam's mind—disjointed flashes, voices, warmth, familiarity. Somehow, despite the haze clouding his thoughts, one name surfaced clearly.
"Nyssa," he said, almost in awe. He didn't know how he remembered her, but the name felt right.
Nyssa beamed. "Father's going to want to know you're awake," she said quickly, grabbing his arm and tugging him down the corridor.
"Well, Nyssa, I'm kind of starving, so can we maybe—"
"No time!" she interrupted, already picking up speed, still clutching his hand tightly. "You can eat later—this is more important!"
They dashed through the hallway, the ornate tapestries and flickering torches blurring past. Eventually, they reached a set of massive double doors, unlike any other in the hall. The doors were made of dark, polished wood, carved with intricate symbols, and framed by a heavy stone archway. They radiated importance and power.
Nyssa banged on them urgently with the side of her fist.
"Open up!" she yelled, impatience and excitement in her voice.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and a man stepped out, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. His graying hair was tousled, and he looked like he'd been deep in study—or thought.
"Nyssa, how many times have I told you not to—" he began, but then stopped mid-sentence, eyes locking onto the figure standing beside her.
"Liam?" he whispered, voice trembling.
"He woke up!" Nyssa shouted, her joy renewed.
The man stared in shock for a heartbeat, then broke into a wide grin. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled Liam into a tight embrace.
"It's good to see you, son," he said, voice thick with emotion.
"It's... good to be back," Liam managed to say, though he struggled to breathe in the man's crushing grip.
After a few moments, Liam gently pulled away. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to head to the library."
Nyssa blinked in confusion. "Wait—didn't you say you were hungry?"
Liam hesitated, forcing a faint smile. "I was... but I think I need to catch up on some reading first."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Nyssa and their father standing at the door.
"He's acting strange," Nyssa said softly, watching him disappear around the corner.
"He's been asleep for three months," their father replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Let's just give him his space."
The scene shifted.
Now, silence ruled a large, bloodstained room. Dozens of corpses lay scattered across the floor, each clad in battered warrior armor. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and death.
Two figures stood among the carnage, both draped in black hooded robes. Their faces were hidden behind featureless, pale masks. One of them stepped forward, weaving through the fallen with unsettling calm until he reached a stone wall at the far end of the chamber.
He raised a gloved hand and pressed it against the wall. An engraving of a white rose shimmered faintly in response.
Without a word, the masked man dipped his fingers into the blood of a fallen soldier and began to write beneath the symbol.
REBIRTH
The word glowed faintly as it soaked into the stone.