The storm winds howled across the bloodstained battlefield. Corpses lay scattered, the earth cracked open by ancient magic and divine weapons. The darkened sky seemed to mourn in silence, bearing witness to the devastation that no one could undo. The stench of metal, sweat, and death lingered thick in the air.
In the heart of the ruin stood a lone man with long black hair, his eyes dim yet razor-sharp — Ashen Drayven, the legend once hailed as The Seraphic Sword of Light.
His body was covered in deep wounds, his battle robe torn to shreds. Yet despite his failing strength, the fire in his spirit refused to fade.
"Drayven… this is your end," declared Grand Duke Valgor, mounted atop a black warhorse clad in steel armor. His voice was calm, yet dripping with mockery.
Ashen coughed blood, then chuckled bitterly. "You think you've won? You think this is my end?"
Valgor approached, his gleaming sword in hand. "You were too slow, Ashen. Your wife and children turned to ash long ago. This world no longer belongs to you."
Ashen lowered his gaze. But in his trembling hand, he clutched an ancient orb — the Regresia Orb. A forbidden relic, capable of reversing time… but at a dire cost.
He whispered, "If I couldn't save this world… then I'll go back and rebuild it from the start."
A blinding white light erupted from the orb, consuming the battlefield. For a moment, everything fell into silence. Even time itself seemed to freeze.
Twelve Years Earlier — Zenith Academy
Ashen awoke in a small stone-walled room. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden window. Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed.
He frowned.
"I'm... alive?"
Slowly, he sat up and looked around. The room was all too familiar—first-year dormitory at Zenith Academy. The hard mattress, the old wooden wardrobe, and the faint scent of dried herbs from the shared kitchen. Everything was exactly as it used to be.
He rushed to the mirror.
A boy with short black hair, fair skin, and stormy grey eyes stared back. The same face he once had—full of hope and dreams. But now, those eyes held the pain of war, the scars of betrayal, and the weight of death.
"This… isn't a dream."
Memories came flooding back—blood-soaked battlefields, his child's screams, his wife's cries as she burned alive, and Valgor's cruel laughter. The past stabbed at his chest like a cold dagger.
But now, he had been given a second chance.
"I have time. I know what's coming. I know my enemies. I know when they will strike."
He clutched the hem of his robe, hands trembling.
"I won't fail again."
Suddenly, a loud bell rang from outside — GONG! GONG! — calling all new students to gather at the Great Hall for orientation.
Ashen took a deep breath.
"This is it. My journey begins again. I'll rise from the bottom, and this time… no one will stop me."
The Great Hall of Zenith Academy
The enormous hall bustled with students from every corner of the continent. Some wore noble attire, others were dressed plainly, and a few wielded rare weapons — swords, spears, bows, even ancient scrolls of forgotten magic.
Ashen stood among them, just another twelve-year-old. But within, he carried the experience of a forty-year-old warrior who once faced the end of the world.
He scanned the crowd, eyes sharp.
Faces he recognized. Some would become allies. Others, traitors. And a few… would one day serve Valgor as assassins.
"This time, I'll change everything. Right here in this academy, I'll start gathering power. They won't see me coming."
One by one, names were called aloud. Each student walked forward when summoned.
Ashen waited.
Finally, the voice called out:
"Ashen Drayven!"
He stepped forward calmly. All eyes turned to the small, unassuming boy.
But none of them knew—
A legend had returned.