The city lights of Elmsworth flickered like weary eyes in the night. Zach trudged along the rain-slicked sidewalk, his coat drenched, briefcase dragging at his side like a burden heavier than his thoughts. Late again. The office hadn't been forgiving lately — deadlines, pressure, silence. His temples throbbed from stress, and even the stars above seemed to have punched out before he did.
As he turned the corner near Brookstreet Avenue, a voice called out.
"Zach? Zach, is that you?"
Zach looked up to see a familiar face — Curtis Court, his old college friend, smiling from ear to ear. Beside him stood a woman, radiant and confident.
"This is Racheal," Curtis said, his arm around her. "My girlfriend."
Something in their joy softened Zach's exhaustion. With a grin, he nodded. "You know what? Let's celebrate this."
Minutes later, they were at a cozy downtown bar — The Drunken Candle. The place buzzed with low laughter, clinking glasses, and the scent of roasted peanuts.
Drinks were poured, stories exchanged. Curtis joked loudly, Racheal laughed, and for a fleeting hour, the weight on Zach's shoulders vanished. But peace is a fragile thing.
A scuffle broke out at the far end of the bar. Curtis, emboldened by drink, got involved — standing up for a bartender being harassed. Words turned to fists, and then—
A flash of silver.
Zach saw the knife. He moved.
Pain exploded in his gut. Warmth spread through his shirt. He collapsed.
Time slowed.
As blood pooled beneath him, his vision dimmed. He whispered a prayer he barely believed in, not knowing what else to do.
"Please… not like this…"
Then, a voice — soft, ancient, and deep like thunder whispered behind clouds:
"Ben."
Zach opened his eyes and gasped. Above him was a sky far too bright, too clear. The clouds swirled with violet hues and silver edges. The air buzzed — not with cars or neon signs — but with magic.
A gentle face leaned over him. Auburn hair framed her emerald eyes.
"My son…" she whispered. "Ben, you're awake."
Zach sat up, dizzy. "Wh–where…?"
His body felt different — smaller. Stronger. Younger. His hands, unscarred. His voice — that of a child.
"Ben?" she said again, touching his forehead.
"I'm… Zach. No… wait—Ben?" The memories tangled in his mind like vines. Something was wrong — or… right?
The woman smiled and held him. Her warmth was unfamiliar, yet soothing.
"You hit your head during training," she said softly. "You must have dreamed something strange."
Training?
That's when it hit him — the memories. Not of Zach the tired office worker, but of Ben — a child born in the ancient city of Thandor, son of two legendary heroes: Caelan the Flamebound and Elira the Moonblade.
The pain of death was gone. Replaced by power.
For the next fourteen years, Zach — now Ben — trained endlessly under the watchful eyes of his parents. Swords, spell scrolls, elemental chants. From manipulating fire to bending time-light, he grew faster, stronger, sharper.
But he never forgot Earth.
He never forgot Curtis.
And he never forgot that voice.
Now a young man with unmatched skill, he stood atop a cliffside, looking over a vast realm filled with kingdoms, beasts, magic, and war. The world knew his parents.
He would make it know him.
Ben Zachariah Caelan, Reborn Sorcerer of Flame and Ash, now set forth on a journey across unknown cities, forming alliances, making enemies, discovering love, and chasing his dream:
To become the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known while trying to discover a way back to earth.