The night was heavy with silence. The moon, a pale witness to Lucius’ relentless pursuit of power, shone dimly through the frost-laced windows of the Ardentis estate. The training grounds, once filled with the sound of clashing swords and the grunts of knights, now stood eerily still. But within one of the chambers of the estate, a storm raged—one of ambition, of desperation, of suffering.

  Lucius Ardentis had abandoned all hesitation. His body ached from the brutal training sessions. His arms burned, his muscles screamed in agony, and his sword hand was blistered and raw. He had spent hours upon hours slashing, thrusting, parrying—repeating the same movements until exhaustion swallowed him whole. But exhaustion was a luxury he could not afford.

  He had made a promise to himself.

  He would become stronger. Stronger than anyone.

  When he had finally collapsed from sheer fatigue, he had only given himself a moment’s rest before dragging himself back inside. The 3rd Circle. He had to reach it. He had no choice. If he wanted to claim his destiny, if he wanted to stand above those who betrayed him, he had to shatter the limits of his own existence.

  He had already come close before. He had already touched the veil of his soul, dancing on the edge of something greater. But every time he detached, every time he drifted into the void of his past memories, he would snap back at the same moment—the moment of Elara’s execution.

  Her face.

  Her tears.

  Her trembling voice as she clutched his lifeless body, whispering, "I will bring you back."

  The image ripped him apart inside.

  Each time he attempted to endure it, to push past the anguish, he would feel his soul recoil—his very essence refusing to accept that truth. The pain was more than physical. It was deeper. Sharper. A wound that had never healed, one that festered in the dark crevices of his heart.

  But tonight, he would not turn away.

  Tonight, he would conquer his own mind.

  Lucius sat cross-legged, his breath slow and steady, his thoughts sharpened to a deadly point. He detached from his body, slipping into the ethereal plane of his own consciousness. The weightlessness took hold, and within moments, he found himself drifting once again—pulled back into the memories of his past.

  The cold, dark chamber.

  The execution hall.

  The sound of chains rattling.

  He saw himself again—Lucien Velkaris, bound in iron, kneeling before the Emperor’s court. The accusations rang out like thunder, each word hammering deeper into his soul.

  "Treason."

  "Forbidden magic."

  "A danger to the Empire."

  And then, the final betrayal. The voice that once spoke to him as a friend, now delivering his sentence.

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  "Lucien Velkaris, you are hereby sentenced to death."

  Lucius clenched his fists. Even now, in this fragmented memory, he could feel the betrayal sinking its claws into him. He could feel the phantom weight of the chains that had bound him.

  Then came Elara.

  She had fought. She had screamed. She had pleaded.

  "You’re all making a mistake! You don’t understand what you’re doing!"

  She had been ignored.

  And then, he had died.

  The memory blurred, shifting forward in time. This was where Lucius had always been pulled away before. But not tonight. Tonight, he endured.

  He watched as Elara fell to her knees beside his lifeless corpse, her hands trembling as she cradled his head.

  She refused to accept his death.

  Tears streaked down her pale face, her once brilliant mind shattered by grief. She had spent years as a researcher, pioneering new theories of magic—but none of them mattered anymore. None of it meant anything if she couldn’t bring him back.

  "This isn't over," she whispered, her fingers tightening around his robes.

  "Even if I have to break every law… Even if I have to burn this world down… I will bring you back, Lucien."

  She had done everything.

  She had used every ounce of knowledge, every forbidden spell, every dangerous ritual. For years, she tried, pouring her life into a single purpose. But Lucius… Lucius had already been reborn.

  And Elara never knew.

  She thought she had failed.

  And the Empire, the same Empire that had murdered Lucien, had branded her a criminal. The trial had been swift. They had called her a heretic, a danger to the world. And just like him, she was executed.

  Lucius' soul trembled.

  She had died for him.

  And yet, here he was—alive.

  She had given everything, and he had never even known.

  Lucius snapped back into his physical body with a jolt.

  His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred, his body drenched in sweat. His heartbeat was erratic, his veins pulsing with the raw force of mana coursing through him. But he had done it.

  For the first time, he had endured the full weight of his past.

  And for the first time, he felt no hesitation.

  Elara had brought him back. At the cost of her own life.

  His goal was no longer just revenge.

  It was justice.

  It was retribution.

  The Empire would fall.

  His body shuddered violently, and suddenly—the third mana circle began to form.

  His consciousness wavered, but he clung to the sensation. The ring of energy coiled around his core, solidifying, expanding, locking into place.

  He had done it.

  He had reached the Third Circle.

  And then—agony.

  His body convulsed as a violent surge of power crashed into him. The raw force of his newfound mana overwhelmed his mortal shell.

  Lucius clutched his chest, gasping, his fingers trembling. Blood spilled from his lips as his body rejected the power he was not yet ready to contain. His heart pounded erratically, his muscles spasming under the immense strain.

  Pain unlike anything he had ever felt before tore through him, and in an instant, everything went black.

  The next morning, the estate awoke to chaos.

  Elise, the young maid assigned to Lucius, had entered his room to deliver his morning tea—only to find him collapsed on the floor, unconscious, blood staining his lips.

  Panic erupted. She screamed, dropping the tray as she rushed to his side. His skin was deathly pale, his breathing weak.

  The priests were summoned.

  Lady Selene and Lady Irene, his sisters, rushed in moments later, their faces stricken with terror. His mother was next, her heart nearly stopping at the sight of her son lying lifelessly on the bed.

  "My baby… my son!" she sobbed, clutching his hand.

  The priests worked tirelessly, but even they could not wake him.

  "His body is stable, but his mind… his soul… he is in a deep coma," one of them said gravely.

  The news spread like wildfire.

  From the Ardentis household to the entire territory, whispers of Lucius' collapse reached powerful ears.

  Commander Darius was in disbelief.

  Marshal Reynard felt a strange sense of regret.

  And Duke Magnus… did not care.

  "Let the boy die if he is weak."

  That was all he said.