The sky outside Asher's window was still dark, the moon a fading sliver above the distant mountains.
It was an hour before dawn.
Silence clung to the air.
Asher sat alone on the edge of his bed, back straight, hands clasped loosely together. He wore the black ceremonial robe of the Greaves Clan, its folds neat and untouched by dust. The silver embroidery on the cuffs shimmered faintly under the glow of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the floor.
His gaze wasn't on the robe.
It was on the world outside.
Through the wooden-framed window, he watched the slow breathing of the compound.
Servants moved like ghosts in the early dark, lighting torches along the path, preparing incense bowls at the central altar, arranging silken banners bearing the Greaves sigil—a black wolf beneath a crescent moon.
From this room, he could see the roof of the ancestral hall, its curved ridges crusted with old frost. He could make out the circular courtyard where the awakening ceremony would take place. Soon, those stones would be filled with hopeful faces. Elders. Parents. Clan children dressed in fresh robes, eyes filled with ambition and fear.
Asher leaned back slightly.
It was strange.
Everything looked exactly the same.
Same hallways.
Same banners.
Same quiet tension in the air.
And yet, he knew—nothing was the same.
Because this time, he knew how it would all play out.
He had walked this path once before.
And stumbled.
And bled.
And suffered.
He had believed in the kindness of family, the fairness of the clan, the security of rules and rituals.
Naive.
Blind.
A fool.
Asher closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the cold morning air settle in his lungs.
This time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.
He was no longer a boy hoping for a miracle.
He was a man returned from the grave, carved by six hundred years of blood and betrayal.
This time… he would see everything clearly.
---
A soft knock at the door broke the silence.
He opened his eyes.
"Enter," he said calmly.
The door creaked open, revealing a young woman in a servant's dress. She stepped in quietly, head bowed, hands folded respectfully in front of her apron. Her hair was tied in a neat braid, and her steps were practiced—quiet enough to avoid disturbing even a meditating mage.
She didn't speak until she was directly in front of him.
"Good morning, young master Asher," she said softly. "I came to assist you with preparations for the ceremony."
Asher looked at her.
She was familiar.
Alina.
He remembered the name now. A quiet servant girl assigned to the east wing. Soft-spoken. Always on time. Always polite.
And a spy.
Not for the elders.
Not for the clan head.
But for his uncle, Lord Maelin, and his aunt, Lady Irena.
In his previous life, he never suspected her.
Why would he? She was just a servant girl. She brought him his tea. Folded his robes. Smiled kindly.
And reported his every move.
When he began experimenting with forbidden spells, she was the one who told Maelin.
When he left the compound late at night, she informed Irena.
Even his early struggles, doubts, and habits had been documented.
All of it handed over on silver trays to the ones who pretended to care for him.
Asher offered a faint smile.
"I appreciate it," he said, voice even.
Alina looked up, a bit surprised. "Would you like help tying the ceremonial sash?"
"Not yet. I still have a few moments to collect myself."
She nodded and stepped back, lowering her gaze again.
Asher studied her briefly.
The nervous energy.
The way her eyes flickered to the door, then back to him.
The silence that stretched longer than necessary.
She was waiting for him to say something.
Perhaps to reveal something.
A thought. A complaint. A hint of arrogance before the ceremony.
Anything she could take back.
He gave her nothing.
After a few more moments, she bowed again and quietly excused herself.
The door closed behind her.
Asher's smile faded.
So they're already watching me.
Even now, even before his fate was decided, the scheming had begun.
---
In his last life, Lord Maelin had played the long game.
He was Asher's uncle by blood—his father's younger brother. Always gentle. Always smiling. The kind of man who offered advice with one hand and a dagger in the other.
Lady Irena, his aunt by marriage, had been even more dangerous. Cold, brilliant, and endlessly ambitious. She believed the Greaves Clan could rise again—but only under the rule of her bloodline.
Which meant that Asher… had always been a threat.
A child with decent looks, an orphaned backstory, and rumored potential.
Easy to twist.
Easier to ruin.
And they had succeeded.
In his previous life, they poisoned his name before it ever meant anything. Spread rumors about his behavior. Delayed his training. Redirected his cultivation requests to less qualified tutors. When he reached a bottleneck, they "generously" offered help—help that only pushed him further behind.
He had thought it was misfortune.
Now he knew better.
They'd sabotaged him from the beginning.
And the worst part?
He had trusted them.
He still remembered Maelin's warm smile on the night of his awakening.
"You've done well, nephew," he had said.
All while making sure Asher's training path was just slow enough to lose favor with the elders.
Asher's jaw tightened.
Never again.
---
Another knock.
Louder this time.
The door opened before he could respond.
A tall boy with tousled dark hair walked in with a confident gait, a smirk already on his face.
"Asher," he drawled, "You're not even dressed yet? Ceremony's in less than an hour."
Asher rose slowly.
"Good morning, Riven."
Riven Greaves.
His cousin.
Maelin and Irena's only son.
In his past life, Riven had awakened a B-grade Lightning affinity—a rare and powerful element favored in duels and military positions. The moment his grade was announced, his personality shifted like a switch had been flipped.
Petty.
Arrogant.
And increasingly cruel.
Before the ceremony, Riven had been tolerable—somewhat boastful, but nothing extreme.
After?
He turned insufferable.
And dangerous.
Riven glanced around the room, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Still in this wing? Thought they'd move you closer to the central hall by now. With all the talk about your potential, I expected more polish."
Asher gave him a patient smile. "Some things don't need changing."
Riven scoffed. "Whatever helps you sleep, cousin. Just don't trip during the ceremony. The elders are watching closely."
That smug grin.
That slight tilt of the head.
Even after six hundred years, it made Asher want to punch something.
But he didn't.
He simply picked up his robe and adjusted the sash in front of the mirror.
Riven leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
"You nervous?" he asked, mock concern in his voice.
Asher shrugged. "Not really. Are you?"
Riven's smirk twitched.
For a moment, just a second, the confident mask cracked.
Asher could tell.
He remembered—vividly—how obsessed Riven had been with being the best. How he couldn't stand being second in anything.
In his last life, Riven had rejoiced when Asher awakened only a C-grade affinity.
He had paraded through the training grounds like a champion, acting as if the heavens themselves had endorsed him.
But this time…
This time, Asher would crush him.
With elegance.
With ease.
And with patience.
Riven didn't know it yet, but he was already a footnote in Asher's plans.
---
They stepped out into the morning air together, ceremonial robes fluttering gently in the breeze.
The clan grounds had transformed overnight.
Silk banners lined the main path, each painted with the clan's emblem. Incense smoke drifted through the courtyards. Dozens of clan members lined the walkways—elders in their heavy robes, guards in black armor, servants bowing deeply as the initiates passed.
Asher walked with quiet grace, letting Riven take the lead, observing everything.
The greetings came quickly.
"Good fortune to young master Asher!"
"May the ancestors bless your awakening!"
"Young master, the elders speak highly of your potential. We hope to see an A-grade today!"
The words were flattering.
Hopeful.
Even reverent.
Asher responded with calm nods and polite smiles.
But behind his eyes, a storm brewed.
He had heard these same greetings in his past life.
He remembered how quickly they turned to scorn once his affinity was revealed.
How those hopeful smiles twisted into disappointment.
How they labeled him "wasted potential" before the sun had even set.
Asher's lips curved slightly.
He would enjoy proving them wrong.
This time, they would see disappointment again
But they would see dominance as well.
---
As they reached the ceremonial courtyard, the light of dawn finally broke across the horizon.
Golden rays spilled over the rooftops, washing the grounds in a soft, holy glow.
The awakening platform stood in the center, carved from white stone, etched with ancient runes. A bowl of ceremonial incense burned slowly atop its pedestal. Around the platform, rows of elevated seats had been arranged for the clan's elders, each throne-like chair bearing the sigil of a family branch.
And behind them—the ancestral hall.
Its massive doors were open, revealing towering statues of the Greaves ancestors, each cloaked in carved shadows and stone flame.
Asher's eyes lingered on the statues.
His thoughts stills flowing and his appearance serene was water.
But he was ready to make waves