Skyren Realm — Nether East Continent.
At the edge of this ancient land, far from the reach of power-hungry sects and forgotten by the great clans, stood a small, crumbling kingdom. Hidden among jagged mountains and forests choked with silence, this kingdom was little more than a whisper in the wind.
And deep within its royal manor, in a quiet and fading chamber once built for nobility, a boy lay unconscious in bed.
He looked to be around eighteen—his body frail, his skin pale as snow, drained of all warmth and color. His face, once perhaps proud and noble, now appeared lifeless, like he had been locked in the grasp of a lingering illness. He had been this way for days, perhaps weeks. Neither dead nor fully alive—trapped in a slumber too deep to wake.
Then… something shifted.
His chest, which had barely risen before, began to stir. His breath grew stronger—first slow, then quicker. A single tremble danced across his fingers. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His closed eyes twitched—once, then again.
And suddenly—His eyes snapped open.
He gasped, lungs fighting for air, heart racing wildly in his chest. His pupils dilated as he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him, confusion spreading across his face.
"Where… am I?"
He didn't know this room. The scent of old wood and incense filled the air, unfamiliar yet oddly comforting. His body felt heavy, foreign, like his soul had been poured into a vessel that didn't quite fit.
Still dazed, he instinctively tried to sit up. But the moment he shifted his weight—
Thud! He crashed face-first onto the cold, tiled floor.
"Owwch… Dammit, what the hell?" he growled, his voice strained with pain and frustration.
The impact left his head throbbing, and a sharp ache spread across his jaw. Groaning, he pushed himself up with shaking arms and slumped back onto the edge of the bed, catching his breath.
His hand rose to his forehead, fingers pressing into his temples as he tried to recall… anything.
Nothing. No name. No past. Just darkness.
A hollow emptiness lingered where memories should have been.
Why can't I remember? Who… am I?
He exhaled slowly, frustration mixing with fear.
Then—Like a broken floodgate snapping open, a single memory surged forward.
Stars collapsing.
Burning skies.
Screams in the void.
An army. A betrayal. A name…
Riven.. Riven Veyliss.
His eyes widened. "I've… reincarnated? Again?"
The weight of that realization struck him hard. This wasn't the first time death had claimed him. And somehow… it wasn't the last.
He stared at his trembling hands, the hands of a stranger… yet now his.
"So this is my new life… another world. Another chance. But why this body? Why here?"
He had no answers. Only questions—and the haunting echo of a flame that once devoured stars.
"Have I been… reincarnated twice in one lifetime?" he murmured to himself, his voice low and rough, barely more than a whisper.
Bitterness tightened in his chest.
"Is this some cruel joke the heavens are playing? Do they truly hate me that much?" His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile—but it faded quickly. There was no warmth in that smile, only weariness… and a quiet anger that stirred beneath his skin.
But then his voice faltered, his breath catching as his eyes landed on something beside the bed.
A mirror.
A simple one—framed in iron, old and slightly scratched—but in that moment, it felt like a gate to something deeper. Without thinking, he reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted it before his face.
And then he froze. Time felt like it stopped.
What…? In the mirror, staring back at him—was himself.
Not just vaguely similar. Not some random vessel the cycle of rebirth had thrown him into. It was his face!
The same sharp jawline. The same deep ocean-blue eyes, filled with storms and sorrow. The same midnight-black hair that once danced in cosmic winds.
Only one thing had changed. This body was… fragile.
He could see it now, clearly. The skin was stretched thin across his cheekbones, the bones beneath pronounced. His collarbone jutted out, and his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of the world had never truly left.
Why…? Why do I look exactly the same?
A chill crept down his spine—not from fear, but from uncertainty. This wasn't normal. Even in tales of reincarnation, one's soul could be reborn in countless forms, across races, bodies, even species.
Yet here he was. Not just alive again. But returned to a body that bore his exact features.
"Is fate mocking me? Or… is there something more? Something hidden, beneath the surface?" He stared harder into the mirror.
As if he could force it to speak, to explain. "It's not impossible to be reborn in a body that resembles the past… but the same face? The same scars? Even the same eyes?"
His heart pounded in his chest, unease blooming within him like a slow-burning flame. "No... this isn't coincidence. This isn't fate rolling dice. This is something intentional."
He lowered the mirror slowly, his jaw clenched. "Something—someone—wanted me back exactly as I was. But why?"
Silence returned to the room, thick and suffocating. But inside him, the questions grew louder.
Then a sharp pain lanced through Riven's mind. Then like a torn curtain pulled open a memory surfaced again.
That evening. The skyline painted in fading gold. The buzz of the modern city below. He had stood atop the tower, cloaked in silence, watching a world that was never truly his.
And then… she appeared. The girl with hair like moonlight and a gaze that held entire galaxies. Before he could speak, before he could demand answers—the world fractured. A space crack opened behind him like the jaws of some ancient beast, and reality tore apart.
His vision blurred, swallowed by darkness and then he woke up here, in a realm unknown, with a body too fragile to carry his rage.
Riven's gaze dropped to the mirror again. His reflection stared back, unreadable.
His eyes were calm. Too calm. No trace of fear. No panic. No sadness.
Just a cold, silent calculation. A stillness that warned of something far more dangerous than grief: resolve.
"How did she appear in that world? That wasn't her domain… and yet, she stood before me like it was nothing."
She knew. She knew everything—his identity, his two deaths, his rebirth. She had watched it all.
"But why didn't she tell me the truth? Why the silence? Why the riddles?" He knew that woman.
She is the Goddess of Time and Space. A being who transcended mortal comprehension. Her cultivation was immeasurable, her grasp over dimensions effortless. Even in his prime, when his Voidless Flame had scorched sects and broken heaven-tier relics, he hadn't been able to touch her.
And more than that she wasn't just a goddess to him. In his previous life… she had been something more. Something sacred. Something unforgettable to him.
His hands tightened into fists, the veins on his arms bulging. "So why didn't you save me… when the world turned against me?"
A thousand ancient powers had hunted him. Even his own family, those who had once called him brother, son, heir—they had betrayed him, stabbed him in the back for his flame, for his bloodline, for the fate he carried.
"You didn't need my flame. Your strength far surpassed what I could offer. So why didn't you come? Were you bound by something? Or... were you watching me fall by design?"
He shook his head. He wasn't naive enough to believe she had betrayed him—not like the others. She didn't need to. Her cultivation alone was enough to command worlds. But she couldn't rewrite fate. Not even the goddess of time and space could govern life, death, or destiny.
"So there must be something else… someone else—hidden in the void, pulling strings behind the veil of reincarnation." That thought chilled him more than any sword ever had.
But right now, he had no answers. No strength. No means to investigate.
A faint smile crept onto his lips, bitter and venom-laced. "Let it go… for now. But once I stand tall again… once I claw my way back to the heavens, I will tear every illusion apart, thread by thread."
His eyes glowed faintly icy blue, like frozen embers burning under moonlight. "Wait for me… you traitors. You who hunted me for my flame. You who bled me for your own survival. You... my beloved family—"
He chuckled softly. "Enjoy the fleeting peace you have. Treasure the warmth of your hearths. Because soon… you'll taste the Yellow Springs. And I will watch~"
He took a deep breath and glanced down at his weakened body. His fingers trembled. His arms felt like glass. His veins, dried rivers.
"This body can't even hold a single breath of spiritual essence. It's crippled… no, worse. It's hollow."
But his eyes gleamed with something terrifying—unyielding intent.
"No matter how long it takes, I will rebuild. Not just to reach my past strength… but to surpass it. To walk farther than I ever did before. To become someone even the heavens regret creating."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "I'll rebuild my foundation from ash. Stronger. Purer. Unbreakable."
Then his lips moved silently, the vow echoing only within the chambers of his soul, "This time… I won't just rise. I will reign."
Just as Riven was gathering his thoughts—planning how to restore his broken body and rebuild from the ashes of weakness—a voice rang out in surprise from the doorway.
"Y-Young master...! You've— You've woken up?!"
Startled, Riven turned his head.
Standing at the door was a middle-aged man, eyes wide, hands trembling as if he'd seen a ghost. The man looked like he hadn't slept properly in days. His voice cracked with disbelief.
"Does he know me?" Riven's eyes narrowed slightly. Then—a memory flickered in his mind.
This man… yes. He recognized him now.
Uncle Garron…
A loyal servant. Appointed by the royal family. He had cared for this body since childhood. And this body's name… was also Riven—the fifth prince of a small kingdom known as Red Lotus.
The original soul had been in a coma for two years… until now.
"No wonder he's so shocked. To him, I just returned from the dead."
"Yeah. I just woke up a moment ago," Riven said calmly, his voice even and neutral.
To Garron, it might have seemed like a miracle. But to Riven, the middle-aged man's emotional outburst felt a bit… exaggerated.
"He's overreacting… or maybe he just genuinely cared." Still, he understood. And so, without missing a beat, he forced a gentle smile onto his lips—one he had mastered long ago in that modern world where masks were as necessary as breath.
"Uncle Garron, thank you… for taking care of me all this time while I was ill," he said with practiced warmth. "Don't worry. I'm recovering, slowly."
Garron hurried over and placed a trembling hand on Riven's head, gently ruffling his hair as if to confirm it wasn't a dream.
"Thank the heavens…" Garron whispered. "You've truly returned. Praise the stars…"
His eyes glistened with quiet relief. Riven could see it—this wasn't just duty. The man had watched him grow from a child, and in his heart, Riven could sense that Garron saw him as more than a prince. "Perhaps as his own son."
"Uncle Garron," Riven said softly, gesturing to the nearby chair. "Please, take a seat."
Garron blinked, then nodded quickly and sat down, still stealing glances at the boy who had lain silent for years.
Riven watched him for a moment, then spoke in a lowered, thoughtful tone.
"Uncle… ever since I woke up, my head feels… strange. Clouded. I can't seem to remember much. Could you tell me… about our family? And the world outside?"
There was a brief silence.
Garron's smile faltered, just a little. A crease formed on his brow. "Memory loss…?" he murmured. "Perhaps… a side effect of the illness…"
He sighed and nodded slowly, unaware that a faint, amused curve had returned to the corner of Riven's lips.
Whatever suspicions Garron might've had vanished under the weight of worry and love.
"Well, young master," Garron began, folding his hands respectfully, "you are the fifth prince of the royal family of our Red Lotus Kingdom. We reside on the far edge of the Nether East Continent, in a realm known as *Skyren."
He paused, then continued. "Our kingdom is… modest. Stronger than the smaller provinces around us, but still only a speck of dust when compared to the true giants of the world. The ancient clans. The sects. The Empires that rule from floating citadels and divine towers."
As he spoke, Riven listened in silence.
His gaze remained steady, but his thoughts ran deep.
"So… I'm not just anyone. I'm a prince—forgotten by the world, hidden in a crumbling kingdom no one pays attention to." Riven's lips curled into a subtle smirk as he quietly processed what he had just learned.
A weak kingdom at the edge of the world. A broken body no one expected to rise.
Exactly what he needed. The pieces were falling into place. And he was already calculating his next move.