The shock eventually dulled into acceptance.
Riven sat on the edge of the massive bed, violet hair falling forward as he stared at hands that did not belong to him, younger hands, stronger hands, hands scarred in places Levin's had never been, marked by a life he knew nothing about.
His mind had been racing in circles for the past hour, chasing the same impossible truth over and over until the words lost all meaning. He had died. Actually died. Felt his lungs fill with river water, felt consciousness slip away into absolute darkness, felt the finality of it all settle over him like a blanket. And then he had opened his eyes here.
In this body, this world, this impossible fantastical completely insane reality that refused to disappear no matter how many times he blinked or pinched himself or pressed his palms against his eyes until colors burst behind his lids.
Transmigration, reincarnation, isekai, whatever the proper term was for dying in one world and waking up in another wearing someone else's skin like an ill fitting suit. He had read stories like this, back when he was younger, before his parents had regulated even his entertainment down to approved educational content. Late nights huddled under covers with a tablet, consuming light novels and manga about ordinary people transported to extraordinary worlds. Fantasy made digestible through familiar protagonists who got second chances in places where magic was real and destiny could be rewritten.
Fiction. Escapism. Stories for people who wanted to believe death was not the end, that somewhere else offered opportunities this world denied.
But the silk sheets beneath his fingers felt undeniably real. The cool night air drifting through those enormous windows carried scents of jasmine and something sharper, almost metallic, that he could not identify. And the reflection in that silver framed mirror refused to change no matter how many times he looked, showing him the same impossible face with violet hair and glowing blue eyes that belonged in fantasy paintings rather than reality.
This was real. Horrifyingly impossibly undeniably real.
Which meant standing here in shocked paralysis accomplished nothing. He needed information, context, understanding of where he was, who he was supposed to be, what rules governed this new existence. He needed to know if this life would trap him the same way his previous one had or if somehow impossibly this second chance offered the freedom his first life had denied him so completely.
Riven looked toward Esme, who had finished her unnecessary tidying and now stood with perfect posture near the door. Her hands folded precisely at her waist. Her lemon green hair falling across her face in a curtain that revealed nothing. Her entire bearing radiating the careful neutrality of servants trained to be invisible until needed.
"Esme." His voice still startled him, deeper than Levin's had been, richer, with an unfamiliar accent coloring the edges of his words that made even simple sentences sound foreign in his own ears. "I need to know more. About this family, about this world, about who I'm supposed to be."
She turned slightly toward him, though her face remained hidden behind that cascade of green. "Of course, Seventh Star. However I must confess my knowledge is limited. Maids are not permitted formal education within the estate. We learn what we need for our duties, nothing more. I can tell you what I observe in my service to you, answer questions about daily routines and household structure, but for true knowledge..."
She gestured gracefully toward the door, her movement fluid and practiced. "The Astravar estate maintains an extensive library. One of the largest private collections in Desolara, or so I've heard the scholars say. You would find far more comprehensive information there than I could provide."
A library. Of course a family of this apparent status would have one. Knowledge carefully curated and controlled, catalogued and preserved behind walls that kept the worthy in and the unworthy out. Some things transcended worlds. The powerful always hoarded information the same way they hoarded wealth and influence, treating facts like currency that could be spent or withheld according to need.
"Then I'll go tomorrow." Riven moved toward the bed, exhaustion pulling at him despite the impossibility of his situation. Despite his mind still racing with questions that had no answers, his borrowed body demanded rest with an insistence that could not be ignored much longer. "Thank you, Esme."
"Seventh Star." Her voice stopped him as he reached for the covers, carrying a careful tension that made him pause and turn back toward her. "Before you visit the library tomorrow, there is something you should know."
Riven waited, tension coiling in his borrowed muscles.
"It has been two months since you turned fifteen," Esme said carefully, each word selected with obvious deliberation. "Awakening typically occurs at that age. For those of noble blood especially, it is expected within the first few weeks. You have not yet awakened, Seventh Star."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication he did not fully understand but could sense the weight of.
"If awakening does not occur naturally," she continued, her voice dropping lower, "the family must perform a forced awakening. It is a dangerous process. Painful. Not all survive it. But for a family like the Astravar, to have a child who does not awaken at all..."
She trailed off, leaving the consequences unspoken but clear in the tremor that entered her voice.
Riven felt ice slide down his spine. Another expectation. Another test. Another way this new life might trap him just as completely as the old one had.
"I see," he managed, though his throat felt tight. "Thank you for telling me."
Esme bowed deeply, relief evident even in her obscured posture, and retreated toward the door. The soft click of it closing behind her left Riven alone with his racing thoughts and borrowed body and the weight of awakening pressing down on him like physical force.
He climbed into bed, violet hair splaying across pillows softer than clouds, softer than anything he had ever experienced in his previous life where even luxury had felt calculated and sterile. He stared at the painted ceiling where celestial murals depicted constellations he did not recognize, stars arranged in patterns that seemed to shift when he was not looking directly at them, until exhaustion finally claimed him despite everything.
Sleep came easier than expected. Perhaps this body recovering from near death simply demanded rest, or perhaps his mind could not process any more impossibility for one night. Either way darkness took him gently, pulled him down into dreamless sleep that felt more like mercy than unconsciousness.
Morning arrived with Esme's quiet entrance. The soft sounds of curtains being drawn and water being poured into basins. Riven woke feeling different, stronger. Not the perpetual soreness and exhaustion that had defined Levin's existence where even mornings felt like recovery from battle. This body hummed with vitality, muscles responding with eager readiness when he sat up, energy flowing through him in ways his previous form had never managed despite all the prescribed workouts and carefully monitored nutrition plans.
It felt good. Better than good. Like waking up in a body that actually wanted to be alive, that embraced consciousness rather than resenting it.
"Good morning, Seventh Star." Esme approached with a tray laden with covered dishes, steam rising from beneath silver domes that caught the morning light. "I've brought breakfast and selected appropriate attire for visiting the library."
She set the tray on a side table carved from dark wood inlaid with mother of pearl, then moved to the enormous wardrobe that dominated one wall. When she opened it Riven's breath caught in his throat at the sheer volume of clothing contained within. Noble attire, dozens of outfits in rich fabrics and complex designs. Deep blues and blacks trimmed with silver threading that caught light like captured starlight. Formal coats with high collars and intricate embroidery depicting constellations and symbols he did not understand. Everything spoke of wealth and status that made even the Cortez fortune seem modest by comparison.
Esme selected a black ensemble with violet accents that matched his hair perfectly, the coordination clearly intentional. She laid it across a chair with practiced efficiency before turning back to him. "I'll prepare your bath, Seventh Star."
The morning routine passed in a blur of sensations. Hot water that actually stayed hot instead of fluctuating wildly. Soap that smelled of cedar and night blooming flowers rather than the sterile unscented varieties his parents had insisted upon. Esme helping him dress in layers of nobility, each piece fitting perfectly as though tailored for this exact body, because of course it had been, for Riven, the real Riven, the boy whose life Levin had somehow inherited along with his face and name and family.
When he was finally dressed, Riven barely recognized himself in the mirror. The formal attire transformed him from confused transmigrator into something that looked like it belonged in this world. Like nobility born rather than borrowed. The high collar framed his face, the violet accents complemented his hair, and the overall effect was striking enough to make him wonder how the original Riven had handled this kind of attention, this level of visual impact.
Breakfast arrived on fine porcelain painted with delicate patterns. Eggs prepared with herbs he did not recognize, their flavors bright and complex in ways that made his taste buds sing. Bread still warm from ovens spread with butter and honey that tasted like sunshine distilled into physical form. Fresh fruit cut into artful arrangements, each piece bursting with sweetness that seemed impossible, too perfect to be natural.
The sweetest breakfast he had ever experienced. Nothing like the carefully measured nutritionist approved meals of his previous life where food had been fuel rather than pleasure. This was food made to be enjoyed, savored, celebrated. And Riven found himself eating slowly for the first time in years, actually tasting each bite rather than mechanically consuming required portions.
"Are you ready, Seventh Star?" Esme stood by the door, posture perfect, hands folded, face still obscured behind that curtain of lemon green hair.
Riven set down his fork and stood, adjusting the formal coat that made him look like something from a fantasy painting. "Yes. Lead the way."
Esme opened the door and stepped into the hallway beyond. Riven followed and the estate revealed itself in all its overwhelming grandeur.
Corridors stretched like arteries through a palace of stone and luxury. Impossibly long hallways that seemed to go on forever, the scale of everything making Riven feel small despite his new height. Suits of armor stood at regular intervals along the walls, empty knights holding weapons in eternal vigilance. Swords and spears and halberds, each piece maintained to gleaming perfection, the metal catching torchlight and reflecting it back in dancing patterns.
Tapestries covered the walls between the armored sentinels. Massive pieces depicting battles and ceremonies in thread and dye. Scenes of combat where figures with glowing weapons fought creatures that defied description. Formal gatherings where people in elaborate dress stood before thrones and altars. Historical moments captured in fabric with such detail that Riven could make out individual expressions on faces woven centuries ago.
Guards manned each quarter, stationed at intersections and doorways. They wore matching uniforms of black and silver, the Astravar colors clearly, each bearing weapons with the casual confidence of professionals who knew how to use them. Swords at their hips, spears in their hands, their postures alert but relaxed. The stance of people who had stood watch so many times it had become second nature.
And every single one stopped when they saw Riven.
Eyes widened in recognition. Conversations cut off mid word. Whispers passed between them too quiet to hear clearly but urgent enough to be obvious. The shock registered on their faces with perfect clarity. The Seventh Star who had been on death's doorstep for weeks, who physicians had given up on multiple times, who everyone assumed would die quietly in his sleep one night, now walking on his own two feet, dressed in formal attire, recovered and alive and apparently well enough to walk the halls.
Their stares followed him like physical weight, pressing against his shoulders, making each step feel heavier than the last. Riven kept his expression neutral through sheer force of will. Years of maintaining perfect composure under his parents' scrutiny serving him well now. He followed Esme through the labyrinth of wealth and power, turning corners, climbing stairs, passing through galleries that could have housed entire museums.
How large was this estate? They walked for what felt like ten minutes, maybe more. Corridors branching off in multiple directions at each intersection. Wings of the building extending in ways that suggested the main structure was merely the center of something far more vast. Other buildings visible through windows. Courtyards and gardens and what looked like training grounds where figures moved through combat forms.
This was not just a house. It was a compound. A fortress. A small city contained within walls. The Astravar family did not just have wealth, they had an empire unto themselves.
Finally Esme stopped before a set of double doors, these ones more modest than what Riven had expected but still impressive. Dark wood carved with books and scrolls and symbols that seemed to represent knowledge itself. Silver handles shaped like quills caught the light.
"The library, Seventh Star." Esme bowed and stepped aside, clearly not intending to enter. "I will wait here for when you are finished."
Riven nodded and pushed open the doors.
The library stretched before him like a cathedral dedicated to knowledge. Three stories tall, the space rose toward a vaulted ceiling painted with more of those celestial murals. Bookshelves lined every wall, floor to ceiling, packed with volumes in every color and size imaginable. Ladders on rails allowed access to higher shelves. Reading tables scattered throughout the main floor, each one surrounded by comfortable chairs. Natural light poured through tall windows, supplemented by what looked like floating orbs of soft illumination that hovered near the ceiling.
The smell hit him immediately. Old paper and leather bindings and dust and something else, something that spoke of age and accumulated wisdom. It reminded him of the university library he had snuck into once as a teenager, before his parents discovered his unauthorized excursion and added it to their list of disappointments.
But this was different. Better. This was knowledge waiting to be claimed rather than gatekept. Information that could help him survive in this impossible world.
Riven stepped inside, his footsteps echoing softly against polished wood floors. The doors closed behind him with a whisper of sound, leaving him alone with thousands upon thousands of books.
Somewhere in these shelves lay answers. Information about awakening. About what it meant to be an Astravar. About the world he now inhabited and the body he now wore.
He had limited time to figure out how to survive whatever awakening entailed. To learn the rules of this new existence.
The library awaited, vast and silent and full of secrets.
Riven took a deep breath and began to search.