Darkness. Not the kind you feel when you close your eyes. Not even the kind you face in nightmares. This was heavier. Realer. As if the world had shut its eyes and forgotten to open them again.
Then came the pain.
A sharp pressure at the back of my skull, like someone had rammed a steel boot into the base of my neck. I gasped—breathless, cold, and choking on air that tasted like ash and blood.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling above me wasn't mine. It wasn't the cracked plaster of my crappy apartment. It was stone—carved, ancient, and lined with red-gold veins of what looked like mana crystal.
This wasn't my world.
And I wasn't in my body.
A surge of panic tightened my chest. My hands—too slim. My arms—too pale, too smooth. My clothes—embroidered black with a silver crest: two snakes curled around a dying star.
That crest. I knew that crest.
House Varellion.
A name that didn't belong in reality. A name I'd only ever seen on the pages of Blood of Empire, a dark fantasy novel I had read—and hated—for its twisted, cruel ending. The noble house that birthed the kingdom's most infamous villain.
And I was wearing their colors.
"No…" I whispered. "No, this has to be a dream."
A knock came at the door—firm, rhythmic, emotionless. Then the handle turned.
He stepped in.
Tall. Sharp-faced. Raven-black hair falling just above cold, calculating eyes. His presence sucked the warmth out of the room.
Kael Varellion.
The villain.
My blood froze.
He studied me like one might study a puzzle that shouldn't exist. "You're awake," he said flatly. "You were out for two days. I considered having the healers cut into your skull to check for rot."
I couldn't speak. I remembered everything now.
This wasn't just a fantasy world. It was that fantasy world. Blood of Empire. And I wasn't Kael—the villain. I was his little brother.
The side character who dies in Chapter 4.
Trampled by soldiers during a rebellion meant to provoke Kael into slaughtering innocents. A plot device. A tragic spark.
That was supposed to be me.
But now I was me—inside him. And something told me this time, I wouldn't die so easily.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Binding host to CHAOS THREAD SYSTEM…
You are not bound by fate. You are its undoing.
Would you like to see your timeline?
My breath hitched. I blinked once. Then twice.
In my vision, faint blue-glowing strings began to manifest. Thin lines, threads, unraveling from my limbs, from Kael's shoulder, from the walls, from the sky—dozens, hundreds of them. All stretching into the void. Some burned gold. Some bled red. Some… flickered, unstable.
You are now diverging from the original timeline.
+100 Chaos Points
First Ability Unlocked: [Scriptbreaker's Sight]
I clutched my chest. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it would burst. This wasn't the novel I'd read. This was something more.
I could see fate.
And I could bend it.
Kael's voice snapped me back.
"You're different," he said, squinting at me. "Before the fever, you were quiet. Shy. Weak. But now… you look like you've seen gods fall."
I met his gaze, calm. Controlled.
"Maybe I have," I said.
His lips curled slightly—half amusement, half warning. "Don't forget your place, Lucien."
Lucien. That was the name of the boy I'd become.
Lucien Varellion. The one who was supposed to die without ever mattering.
But now? Now he was the only person who did.
Later that night, I sat alone in the training courtyard. The stone beneath me still warm from the day's sun. I opened my system again.
Status:
Name: Lucien Varellion Role: Timeline Divergent System: Chaos Thread Abilities: Scriptbreaker's Sight (Active), ??? (Locked) Death in Original Timeline: Day 5, Arc 1 Current Day: Day 2
Warning: You are on a collision course with Destiny.
Every choice from now on shifts the narrative. You are no longer safe.
Good.
Let the narrative burn.
I stood. The training blade nearby hummed faintly with magic. I gripped it—not to practice, but to remember how it felt to hold power. To hold steel.
The old Lucien never stood a chance. But I wasn't him.
I wasn't a side character.
And I wasn't going to die in someone else's story.
This time, I write the script.
This time, the final boss isn't hiding.
He's learning. Watching. And building his own damn empire.