In a dimly lit room, a boy around sixteen years old was sleeping on the bed. He had black hair with a noticeable red streak running through it. The room was not very big; it was small and simple. Inside the room there was only a lamp, a study table, and a chair. A letter was lying on the table.
Suddenly the boy's eyes opened.
The moment he woke up, a sharp pain struck his head.
"Ah—!"
He immediately grabbed his head with both hands and slowly sat up on the bed. The pain was intense, as if something inside his mind was breaking apart. For a few seconds his vision was blurry and his thoughts were completely disorganized.
After some time, his hazy eyes slowly became clear and his mind began to calm down.
He quietly looked around the room.
His gaze moved from the lamp to the table, then to the chair, and finally around the unfamiliar walls. Nothing in the room looked familiar to him.
A confused expression slowly appeared on his face.
Then a voice escaped his mouth.
"What the fuck?"
He frowned and tried to think.
Where did I come…?
A sudden memory flashed inside his mind.
A throne room.
Blood.
A sword.
And a calm voice.
Alaric.
The boy's eyes widened slightly.
Didn't Alaric kill me?
He quickly touched his face as if trying to confirm something. His skin felt younger and smoother than before.
Where the fuck is my beard?
That realization made his confusion even worse.
Without wasting another second, he got out of the bed and hurried toward the mirror placed in the room. His steps were quick and unsteady.
When he finally stood in front of the mirror, he slowly raised his head and looked at his reflection.
The moment he saw it, he froze.
Shock appeared on his face.
Arden had never been known as a particularly handsome person, but one thing about him had always been unique.
His eyes.
They carried a rare golden color with a faint red hue inside them. In this world, people with golden eyes were extremely rare.
Now, as Arden stared at the mirror, he saw a young man standing in front of him.
The boy looked around sixteen or seventeen years old.
He had black hair with red streaks running through it. His height was around five foot ten, and his face looked far younger than the one Arden remembered.
But his eyes…
They were exactly the same as before.
Golden.
With that faint red hue hidden inside them.
Arden stared at the reflection for several seconds, unable to understand what he was seeing.
Finally, he spoke.
"What the fuck… who are you, bro?"
His voice sounded confused.
A moment later he grabbed his head again and slowly sat down.
His mind was filled with questions.
None of this made sense.
Then Arden's gaze fell on the letter lying on the table.
For a moment he simply stared at it. The envelope looked ordinary, yet something about it felt important. Slowly he stood up from the floor and walked toward the table.
His movements were still a little unsteady.
When he reached the table, he picked up the letter.
The envelope had a beautiful design printed on it. A large castle stood in the center of the design, its tall towers rising toward the sky. Above the castle were elegant words written in dark ink.
Etherlight School of Magic and Sword.
Arden frowned slightly.
The name sounded familiar, yet distant.
Without wasting more time, he broke the seal and opened the letter. He unfolded the paper and began reading.
Dear Student Cedric,
We are pleased to inform you that you have passed the entrance test of Etherlight Academy .
You have been selected for our Warrior Path Program, and your class will be Class A-2.
You are required to report to the academy at 10:00 AM on March 27, 1775.
Best of luck for your future.
From,The Principal of Etherlight
Arden slowly lowered the letter.
For a few seconds he remained completely silent.
His mind began processing the information one piece at a time.
First—
The body he was currently in belonged to someone named Cedric.
Second—
Etherlight Academy.
Even during his lifetime, it had been known as one of the most famous schools in the world. Warriors and magicians from every kingdom dreamed of studying there.
And now…
He had somehow been accepted as a student.
But that wasn't the part that truly confused him.
His eyes slowly moved back to one specific line in the letter.
March 27, 1775.
Arden stared at the number.
His eyebrows slowly tightened.
"…1775?"
His voice was quiet.
Then a sudden realization struck him.
His eyes widened.
"Wait…"
"…What the hell?"
He quickly tried to remember the year he had died.
It had been 1745.
There was no doubt about it.
But if the letter was correct…
Then that meant—
He slowly lowered himself into the chair.
"…I'm thirty years in the future?"
The words sounded absurd even to his own ears.
Nothing about this situation made sense.
He had died.
Prince Alaric had personally cut his throat in that ancient throne room.
Yet somehow—
He was alive.
Inside the body of a sixteen-year-old boy.
Thirty years in the future.
Arden pressed his hand against his forehead and grabbed his head again.
His thoughts were completely tangled.
"Just what the hell is going on…"
The quiet room gave him no answer.
Only the weak flame of the lamp flickered silently beside him.