The tapestry hung solemnly, its phoenix crest flickering in the candlelight. The dark phoenix atop a white shield, wings spread in fierce defiance, stared back at Argon like a reflection of something long buried.
He touched the emblem, hoping for memory to awaken—some flicker from the boy's life before he arrived. But the cloth remained still, and the silence of the chamber offered no answer.
Weakened but determined, Argon turned back to his search. Every movement strained his limbs, the soul transfer still unstable within this fragile body. He scanned the room slowly—richly adorned walls, gilded trim, ancient oak furniture. Everything spoke of a once-proud bloodline.
His eyes settled on a bedside drawer, slightly ajar.
Inside was a single object: a leather-bound journal. Plain but old, its cover bore faded edges and a faint phoenix embossing.
Property of Argon Von Feind
He stared at the name.
Argon.
Coincidence? Fate?
The pages revealed the truth—he now lived in the body of Argon Von Feind, sole heir to one of the most powerful noble houses in the Flügel Empire. His father, Marquis Leon Von Feind, was the empire's stalwart eastern defender, and his mother, Lady Ellaine Von Feind, sat as the High Magister atop the Flügel Mage Tower.
Second only to the imperial family.
Born with every expectation of greatness, this boy had once been seen as a future prodigy. But at the age of eight, when the soul's first mana stone begins to crystalize and define one's magical path, tragedy struck.
His first mana core had shattered.
For reasons unknown, it collapsed during formation, disrupting his spiritual flow. The boy's mana channels grew frail and poisonous, rejecting energy like a sickened bloodstream. His body weakened, and so too did his destiny.
He had become a failure among giants.
Though his parents did not disown him, they distanced themselves. Duty called them to the empire, and instead of nurturing him, they left him in the care of stewards, buried in the mansion's golden halls. He was not mistreated, but he was alone.
As Argon read through the boy's desperate thoughts—his bitterness, his shame, his longing—he felt an unexpected weight form in his chest.
Not empathy. Not sorrow.
But recognition.
"The child's soul was collapsing. But it didn't vanish. It cried. It fought. It wanted to live."
And now, by some strange twist of fate, Argon the Emperor was reborn in his place.
He closed the book gently.
The door creaked open.
An elderly man entered, balancing a basin of water and a folded towel. His back straight, his manner exact. His gray hair and crisp attire marked him as high staff—perhaps the head butler.
He froze mid-step.
"Y-Young Master Argon?" the butler said, eyes wide.
The basin trembled in his hands. For days, they'd expected a body. Not a boy sitting upright, reading quietly with clear eyes.
"Yes," Argon replied, voice calm and regal. "I'm awake."
The old man nearly dropped the basin. "M-My Lord… forgive me, I must inform—"
"There is no need to rush," Argon said with a raised hand. "But… I would like a bath prepared. And clean clothes."
The butler blinked, then bowed deeply. "At once, Young Master."
Within the hour, the estate's marble bath was filled with steaming water and scented herbs. The servants worked efficiently, confused but obeying without question. The frail, dying heir was not only awake, but issuing requests.
And walking.
Argon stood without aid now, each step slow but steady. The connection between his soul and the body had begun to stabilize, the pain subsiding enough for full motor control. His stride was stiff, but confident.
"The effects of the mana core poisoning… still linger," he noted to himself. "But the insertion of a new soul is suppressing the damage. Temporarily."
If untreated, the lingering corruption in the body's spiritual pathways would begin eroding his soul as well. But for now, it had weakened enough for him to function.
"This body is broken. But not beyond repair."
After bathing, he changed into a clean, embroidered tunic and dark trousers with silver trim—clothes befitting a young noble. They fit awkwardly at first, but his movements were improving.
When the butler returned to assist him, he stopped at the doorway in stunned silence.
"You're… standing?"
Argon turned slightly, fixing his sleeves with practiced elegance. "Is that strange?"
"I—Forgive me, my lord. It's just… I have not seen you on your feet without aid in years."
The boy who once lived in this body would have collapsed walking to the mirror. And now, that same boy spoke with quiet authority and stood unaided.
"He's going to assume it's a miracle," Argon thought. "Let him."
"I would like supper brought to my room," he said, as if it were the most ordinary request in the world. "Nothing heavy."
The old man bowed immediately, his voice shaking. "Of course, my lord. At once."
As the butler exited, Argon returned to the mirror, studying his reflection once again.
This face… wasn't truly his. But it was now the only one the world would see.
"Argon Von Feind," he whispered to the glass. "Your life was stolen from you. I will borrow it… and return it with glory."