The light carried Axiros across shattered layers of reality, tearing through boundaries that should never have been crossed, searching desperately for a place where he could exist once more. Where he could live once more.
It was no longer wandering blindly, it was hunting desperately, for a vessel that could contain what remained of him. Every fragment of its radiance was focused on a single purpose: survival.
After countless failed attempts across fractured dimensions, it finally arrived at a world known as Cinderveil.
Cinderveil existed within a Nexus reality, a convergence point where multiple planes overlapped and collided.
It was a cursed realm, steeped in decay and endless conflict, where suffering had become a natural law.
The skies were perpetually stained with ash, the land scarred by ancient wars, and the very atmosphere carried traces of despair. It was not a place meant for rebirth.
Yet for the desperate light, it was salvation.
This vast, humongous world-so large that continents stretched beyond sight and seas swallowed entire civilizations, offered one crucial thing: countless living beings. Countless possibilities. Without hesitation, the light plunged into its fabric, dragging Axiros's regenerating existence along with it.
The process was far from complete.
His body was still forming. His soul was still stabilizing. His consciousness hovered between awareness and oblivion. If the light failed now, everything it had preserved would collapse once again.
So it searched.
It scanned cities and villages, forests and wastelands, temples and slums. It sought mothers in the midst of childbirth, moments where new life was entering the world-where Axiros could be seamlessly woven into existence.
But it found nothing.
No suitable births.
No stable openings.
No compatible vessels.
Fate, it seemed, was still cruel.
Time passed.
Energy dwindled.
Even the light began to weaken.
Axiros's fortune, after surviving eternity itself, remained abysmal.
And then-
Elsewhere on Cinderveil…
A battlefield burned beneath a dim, smoke-choked sky.
Ruined structures stood like broken bones. Craters scarred the ground. Charred banners fluttered weakly in the wind. The earth itself had been trampled into mud and ash by countless clashing feet.
Bodies lay scattered everywhere.
Some were torn apart. Some were pierced through. Some lay unnaturally still, eyes wide open, frozen in their final moments of terror. Blood pooled between broken stones, soaking into the soil. A sharp, metallic stench filled the air—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
It was the smell of death.
In the midst of this hellscape stood a boy.
He was no more than eight years old.
Small. Thin. Covered in dirt and dried blood that was not entirely his own.
His clothes were torn. His skin was bruised. His breath came in ragged gasps. Yet his eyes burned with a stubborn fire that had no right to exist in someone so young.
Opposite him stood a man.
Older.
Larger.
Hardened by years of battle.
His armor was dented and stained. His weapon was nicked from countless clashes. His gaze was cold, calculating, and utterly merciless.
A veteran.
A killer.
And he was facing a child.
Around them, the battlefield remained silent, as though even the dead were watching.
"Just give up. You know you can't defeat me." The veteran sighed as he spoke, holding his sword loosely in one hand. His voice carried neither pride nor anger, only exhaustion born from countless battles. He had seen too many like this boy, young lives thrown into wars they never chose. Still, the battlefield did not care for sympathy.
The boy did not reply. Instead, he rushed forward once more, pouring everything he had into his attack. His movements were desperate, reckless, driven by pure will. But his body was malnourished, fragile, and worn down by hardship. His strikes lacked strength, barely carrying any real threat. Each swing was easily deflected or avoided.
"I'm giving you a chance," the veteran said quietly as he dodged another clumsy slash. "You're just a child. You shouldn't be here." He stepped back, keeping his distance. "Leave now, and you might live longer. Stay… and you'll die alone." His words were sincere. He truly hoped the boy would listen.
But once again, the boy remained silent.
He pressed forward relentlessly. A strike aimed at the knee. Another at the neck. Then another. None of them landed. His breathing grew ragged, his steps unstable, yet he refused to stop.
"Hah…" The veteran let out a soft breath. 'I'm going to hell for this,' he thought bitterly. 'If I don't end this, I'll only waste more time'. A sad smile formed on his lips. He had already made his decision.
In a single, swift motion, he thrust his sword forward.
The blade pierced straight through the boy's chest.
Regret flickered in the veteran's eyes, but his hands did not tremble. On a battlefield, hesitation meant death. He could not afford mercy.
In war, lives were taken while others were built upon their remains. No single person could change that. It was a cursed world. Strength decided who would be remembered and who would be erased. Justice belonged to the survivors. Mercy was a luxury only the powerful could afford, and morality was nothing more than decoration placed upon victory.
He had learned these truths since childhood.
Yet even now, his heart still ached as he cut down a growing bud before it could bloom.
The veteran pulled his sword out in one clean motion. Blood followed the blade. He flicked it away, watching the crimson droplets scatter onto the ruined ground, before calmly sheathing his weapon.
The boy collapsed.
Blood spilled from his mouth as he gagged and coughed, choking on his own breath. Each weak gasp sent more crimson flowing from his lips. His body trembled, struggling to hold on to the last fragments of life.
And yet…
He was smiling.
'Things are in motion,' he thought faintly.
'I hope… I won't have to do it again…'
Slowly, his eyes drifted upward, staring at the cloudy sky above the battlefield.
'I hope… it will be fulfilled this time…'
As if answering his silent wish, rain began to fall.
At first, it was gentle. Then it grew heavier, washing over the bloodstained ground. The rain mixed with crimson, flowing into small streams between broken weapons and fallen bodies. It was as though the heavens themselves were mourning.
The boy's breathing stopped.
He gave up his life in silence.
The veteran remained where he stood, unmoving, as rain soaked his clothes and blurred his vision. He did not wipe his face. He did not move.
He simply stood there, surrounded by death, carrying yet another weight in his heart.
---
The light sensed an anomaly.
A young body had given up its life only moments ago, leaving behind an empty vessel drifting between existence and nothingness.
The instant this disturbance appeared within its perception, the light reacted. It rushed forward without hesitation, crossing immeasurable distance in less than the blink of an eye. Space and time meant nothing to it.
In a fraction of a moment, it arrived at the battlefield where blood still soaked into the earth and rain continued to fall from the heavens.
It hovered above the boy's lifeless body for a brief instant, as if confirming its decision.
Then, it descended.
The light went deep inside the hollow vessel, the boy's body, and gently laid Axiros's soul within it. For reasons unknown even to itself, it had judged this body to be the best possible host. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps something deeper had guided it. Regardless, the choice had been made.
The moment the soul settled, Axiros's shattered existence began to stabilize.
His being, which had nearly faded into nothingness within the void, started to regenerate. Fragments of his soul reconnected. His consciousness returned to cohesion. His essence, worn down by endless epochs of isolation, slowly rebuilt itself. In fact, it did more than simply recover. It grew stronger. More refined. More resilient than before.
It was as if every hardship he had endured had been compressed into a foundation for this rebirth.
Suddenly, a voice echoed.
It was not carried by sound. It did not travel through air. It resonated directly within Axiros's soul. It was ancient, far older than time itself, and filled with authority that surpassed comprehension.
[We will never forget the one who did this to you, nor shall you.
The one who cast you into the void.
The one who interfered with your fate and altered your predetermined reincarnation.
We will remember this transgression, and you shall too.
Vengeance will not come now, not yet. You must first grow powerful enough. Strong enough to stand where we cannot. At present, we lack the authority to alter your path, to sever the destination that fate itself has imposed on you.
So you must endure it.
Make do with the world that has been set for you, Axiros. Survive within it. Grow beyond it.
When the time comes, we will be waiting.
Until then, we wish you fortune. Survive.]
The voice faded slowly, leaving behind a heavy silence. Axiros didn't hear any of it.
The light that had wrapped itself around Axiros flickered faintly, like a dying star. Then, it collapsed inward and fused with him, sinking into the deepest and most unreachable layers of his being. It became a permanent part of him, an unseen presence that would remain for as long as he existed.
With its fusion, Axiros's regeneration surged once more.
His soul stabilized completely. His essence aligned. His consciousness anchored itself firmly to his new body. Within seconds, the final traces of damage vanished. He was whole again.
Completely restored.
Then-
"May you rest in peace, young soul," the veteran said softly as he turned away.