He woke up choking on air.
His lungs ached like they were remembering pain that no longer existed. His throat was raw, and his body burned as if he'd been set on fire and then left to freeze.
Light poured through a window—real, natural light. The ceiling above him wasn't concrete or metal. It was made of polished wood, carved with elegant patterns, and held up by stone arches. Somewhere nearby, he heard the faint rustle of curtains and the subtle chirp of birds.
Where... am I?
Ren tried to sit up—but his arms gave out. The moment he moved, pain flared across his chest and down his spine. His body was thin. Weak. Malnourished. Not his body.
A few moments later, the door creaked open.
A woman entered. She wore a silk gown with violet embroidery, her golden hair braided into a loose bun. She looked elegant—noble, refined—but her eyes were weary, like she hadn't slept in days. The tray in her hands trembled slightly when she saw him awake.
Her expression collapsed.
"Adonis…?"
She rushed forward, nearly dropping the tray, and knelt at his bedside.
Ren blinked slowly. Adonis?
"I…" he rasped.
Her breath caught. She grabbed his hand—delicate and pale, not Ren's strong calloused fingers—and held it against her cheek.
"You've been unconscious for a week," she said softly, voice trembling. "Gods… the fever, the coughing—I thought I'd lost you…"
Her voice cracked. Real emotion.
Ren didn't respond.
What the hell is going on?
His head was spinning. It wasn't amnesia. He remembered everything. His name. His family. That golden sword. The pain.
His death.
This isn't a dream. I was stabbed. I… died.
The woman wiped her tears quickly, trying to compose herself. "Don't strain yourself. I'll call for Kael."
Minutes passed. The room was still. Ren—no, not Ren anymore—lay in bed, eyes wide, mind racing.
Adonis.
He turned his head slowly. A mirror stood against the far wall. Barely visible from this distance, but enough. He squinted.
What stared back was a frail boy with pale skin, long lashes, and hollow cheeks. His collarbones jutted out like bones on a corpse. His body looked like it hadn't seen sunlight in years.
This is me now?
Before he could process more, the door burst open again. A man walked in—broad-shouldered, unshaven, wearing worn leather armor over a linen shirt. His presence was heavy, commanding.
Ren—Adonis—knew this type of man instantly.
A warrior.
Kael stopped just short of the bed, narrowing his eyes.
The room was silent for a moment. The air was tense. Then Kael stepped closer.
"You're awake."
Adonis nodded weakly.
Kael's eyes flicked over him. His jaw clenched. He exhaled.
"You scared your mother half to death," he muttered. "Three weeks of fever. We thought it'd finally taken you."
Adonis didn't know what to say. Part of him wanted to scream, to say I'm not your son. But that wouldn't do anything except cause chaos.
He stayed quiet.
Kael frowned. "You're… different."
Adonis froze.
Kael stepped closer. "Not bad. Just... sharp. Your eyes."
He leaned forward, resting a hand lightly on the bed. "Whatever happened while you were out... live with it. You're here now. That's enough."
It wasn't warm. But it wasn't cruel.
It was honest.
Kael stood up, brushing his hands off. "I'll have someone bring broth. Drink it. Even if you puke."
He left without another word.
Later that night, when the room was quiet and the wind whispered outside the window, Adonis lay staring at the ceiling.
He finally began to piece it together.
The golden sword.
The pain.
The death.
Then the frail body, the noble mother, the ex-adventurer father.
A new world.
He hadn't been reborn. He'd been inserted into someone else's life.
A kid named Adonis.
A kid who died from illness. A kid who barely left his bed. Who probably couldn't even hold a sword.
No special magic. No gift from the gods. No sudden strength.
Just this brittle body… and a chance.
"…So this is it," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
"This is my second life."
And this time… he wasn't going to waste it trying to fit into other people's molds.