The next night, after another grueling day of training, Lucius sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, body still aching from the relentless practice. He had tried and failed countless times to separate his soul from his body, yet he knew he was getting closer. His memories were resurfacing—some sharp as a blade, others hazy and distorted.

  Tonight, he would go deeper.

  Drawing a slow breath, he focused all his will, feeling the mana flowing through his body. The familiar warmth of his two mana circles pulsed inside him, but he pushed past them, reaching for the third. His consciousness wavered for a moment before a strange sensation washed over him—his body felt weightless, detached.

  Then, his vision blurred.

  Lucius found himself standing on the cold, rain-soaked streets of a city bathed in twilight. A boy—no older than six—huddled in a filthy alleyway, his ribs showing through his torn clothing, his small hands clutching his empty stomach. He watched as people walked past, their eyes avoiding the child as if he were invisible.

  He knew this scene.

  He had lived it.

  That child was him—Lucien Velkaris.

  An orphan. A nobody.

  He remembered the endless nights of hunger, the bitter cold seeping into his bones, the hopelessness of watching the world move on without him. He had nothing, no one. Until...

  A figure appeared at the entrance of the alley.

  A man with graying hair, dressed in fine robes that fluttered in the wind. Headmaster Alden Reinhardt—the principal of the Imperial Magic Academy. His keen eyes held neither pity nor contempt, only curiosity.

  "What an unusual sight... a starving child with eyes so sharp they could cut through steel," Alden mused, stroking his beard.

  Lucien didn't respond. He had learned long ago that people either ignored you or used you. But Alden knelt before him, studying him closely.

  "Tell me, boy... what do you know of magic?"

  Lucien’s lips trembled. Magic was a force he had only heard of in passing—a power reserved for the nobility, the privileged. Something untouchable for someone like him.

  "Nothing," he admitted, expecting the man to leave.

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  Instead, Alden smiled.

  "Then you have much to learn."

  And just like that, his life changed forever.

  The scene shifted again.

  Lucius saw himself at the academy, buried under mountains of books, his fingers stained with ink. His mind, once starved for food, now hungered for knowledge.

  Unlike the noble-born students who studied for status, Lucien devoured every piece of information with relentless curiosity. Spells, ancient theories, magical formations—he absorbed them all.

  He remembered the sleepless nights of training, the countless failures, the burn of mana exhaustion. He had no talent, no powerful lineage. Only raw determination.

  And yet, he had surpassed them all.

  From a street rat to the youngest Archmage of the Empire.

  But his rise had not come without enemies.

  The scene darkened. Shadows loomed over him—whispers of treason, accusations of heresy. His genius, once celebrated, had become a threat.

  Then came the trial.

  He stood in the imperial court, bound by enchanted chains, the eyes of the nobles filled with scorn. The Emperor—his so-called benefactor—gazed down at him, impassive.

  "Lucien Velkaris, you have been found guilty of treason, conspiracy, and the practice of forbidden magic."

  "Do you deny these crimes?"

  He clenched his fists. "You know these accusations are false."

  The Emperor remained silent.

  The verdict was already decided.

  Then, a familiar voice rang out—a voice filled with anguish.

  "You can't do this! You all know he's innocent!"

  Lucius' heart clenched as he saw her.

  Elara Dainhart.

  His only true friend. A researcher, a scholar, and the only one who had never turned her back on him. She stood before the court, her normally composed face twisted with fury and grief.

  "He built the magical foundations you now use! He defended this empire with his own hands! And you repay him like this?!"

  "Enough!" Regent Aldric Valstane—the man who had once been Lucien’s closest ally—stepped forward, his expression cold. The very person who had orchestrated his downfall.

  "This is not a debate, Scholar Dainhart. The Empire cannot tolerate a mage whose power rivals the throne itself."

  Lucien felt the blade press against his neck.

  And then—

  Darkness.

  Lucius gasped as the scene shifted once more.

  A dimly lit chamber. A woman kneeling before his lifeless body.

  Elara.

  Tears streamed down her face as she clutched his cold hand, her voice trembling.

  "I will not accept this..."

  "I will not let them erase you."

  She placed a glowing crystal against his forehead, her hands shaking.

  "Even if the world curses me... even if I must break every rule... I will bring you back."

  "And this time, you will be strong enough so that no one can ever betray you again."

  Lucius' breath caught in his throat.

  "Was my reincarnation... Elara's doing?"

  The realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

  Everything—the strange pull he felt toward magic, the fragments of his past life resurfacing, the sheer unnatural force behind his rebirth—all of it pointed to one possibility.

  Elara had sacrificed everything to bring him back.

  But why?

  And at what cost?

  His vision blurred, and his soul snapped back into his body. His eyes shot open, his heart pounding.

  For the first time since waking in this new life, he felt truly afraid.