Alex Grey sat alone in a white room.
The walls were smooth. No windows. Just a camera in the corner. He had been here for two days.
He hadn't eaten. He hadn't slept. Still, he sat straight, eyes open.
Alex was a psychic. One of the strongest ever created. He worked for a secret agency that used people like him—people who could read minds, move objects, and even see a few seconds into the future.
He didn't work for them anymore.
They had called it a mission. In truth, it was a setup. He saw it too late. His team turned on him. He killed them all.
Now they were trying to figure out what to do with him.
The metal door opened.
A man in uniform stepped in. General Halden. Older, short gray hair, cold eyes. Two guards followed behind him.
"You crossed a line, Alex," Halden said.
"They crossed it first," Alex replied.
"You were never meant to survive that mission."
Alex gave a small smile. "I know."
The general nodded once. One of the guards pulled a weapon. Alex didn't move.
The weapon turned in the guard's hand. One shot. The guard dropped.
The other froze.
Halden didn't blink. "You think this makes you strong?"
Alex stood. "It makes me faster than anyone else. You're afraid of that."
"You're right."
The lights in the room began to flicker. Alex turned toward the sound. A high-pitched ringing filled the air.
Then everything went white.
Not pain. Not heat. Just light—and silence.
Alex felt his body pull apart, but not like dying. Something else. A door opening where none should exist.
---
Cold.
Breath.
He was alive—but different.
He couldn't move. He heard a voice he didn't understand. Gentle hands lifted him. The air smelled of smoke and flowers.
He cried, and realized it wasn't a scream of pain—it was the cry of a newborn.
He had been reborn.
In a different body. In a different world.
A woman whispered, "He is Alaric. Alaric Veyron."
He remembered his name. Alex Grey. But no one here would know it.
Psychic powers did not belong in this place. He could feel it already—this world ran on something else.
Magic.