Silence didn't return all at once. It crept back into the room slowly, like fog rolling in after a storm.
Caelum lay still, stretched across the coarse mattress, his eyes wide open. His breath was uneven, but his mind was steady. Sharper than it had ever been.
Ten years. An entire life lived and then erased.And before that — twenty-eight more years from another world.All of it compressed into this fragile fifteen-year-old body.
Then, like a pulse behind his eyes, something stirred.
A soft chime.A shimmer of light.A message.
[SYSTEM UPDATE – ACTIVE]
[Name: Caelum Velmire]
[Biological Age: 15]
[Soul Age Estimate: 43 years]
[PHYSICAL POWER (Reference: Average adult male = 1.0)]
– Strength: 0.5
– Agility: 0.6
– Constitution: 0.7
– Dexterity: 0.6
(No stat increase detected – selected reward: passive technique)
[SPIRITUAL POWER (Reference: 1.0 at adult maturity)]
– Current Level: 1.3
(Enhanced through multi-life overlap – simulation + previous life experience)
[MASTERED TECHNIQUES]
Basic Archery(Passive Skill)
=> Description:Grants instinctive mastery of the shortbow, gained through a simulated life of hunting. Allows for a steady stance, controlled breathing, and increased accuracy on moving targets.
=> Active Effects (when equipped with a bow):
– Reduced aiming time
– Minimized hand tremors during draw
– +10% accuracy at short to medium range
– Reduced muscular fatigue during repeated shots
[SIMULATION TOKENS AVAILABLE: 0]
=> Next Token: At the end of current lunar cycle(1 full moon = 1 simulation allowed)
System Rules:
– 1 simulation per lunar cycle
– 1 reward per simulation
– Manual simulation control: locked
– Magic access: inactive– Soul channeling: locked
The interface hovered in front of his eyes like an echo from another reality — transparent, yet perfectly legible. It felt like it wasn't just part of him. It was woven into him.
Forty-three years of experience.Inside the frame of a teenage boy.
He reread each line. The stats. The descriptions. The effects.
No enhanced strength. No sudden speed. Just one undeniable truth: he was still weak.
"But now… I know it."
He looked down at his right hand. It wasn't shaking. It remembered how to draw the bow, feel the wind, correct for movement.This wasn't imagination. This wasn't a dream.
It was real.
He had changed. Not on the outside — not yet. But something was sharpening inside him.
That's when the door creaked.
"Caelum?"
The voice was female, marked by exhaustion — and genuine worry.
He turned his head slowly.
She entered.
A woman with her hair tied back in a simple knot. Her clothes were clean but mended with care. Her face bore the weight of too many hard winters, but her eyes — stern, tired — held something cracked inside them: a mother's hope, refusing to die.
Lady Virel Velmire.
She stepped closer, frowning.
"I heard a cry."
His mouth opened before his thoughts had fully caught up.
"Cramps," he lied. "In my legs. Both at once. I got up too fast and… locked up. Sorry if I scared you."
She said nothing.
Her gaze dissected him, measured him, studied him with surgical maternal precision.
At last, she nodded.
"You'd best start stretching in the morning. I won't have you limping in front of a noble."
He nodded slightly. "Understood."
She came closer and pressed her palm against his forehead.
"You're warm. But not hot. No fever."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I will be."
She sighed — not out of annoyance, but resignation. She withdrew her hand.
"Then you'd better remember," she said, tone sharpening. "It's today."
He blinked. "Today?"
She stared at him. "You're to be presented to Baron Yllar in two hours."
A flicker of memory surged — muddy boots, closed faces, silent obedience. The first stone on a path he'd already walked. But this time, it wasn't automatic. It wasn't simulation.
The world wasn't going to hand him anything.He had to earn it.
"I'm ready," he said calmly.
She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you say that?"
"Since I realized it's my only chance."
Silence.
Something shifted in her expression. Doubt? Hope? She took a step back.
"The baron has no reason to take you in. He knows our name. He knows it means nothing." Her arms folded. "He'll either pity you — or ignore you."
"I don't want his pity."
"Then show him you're more than what he sees."
She moved toward the door, paused.
"There's bread and root stew in the kitchen. Eat. You're still too thin."
He nodded.
She added, more softly:
"Wear the blue coat. It's still clean."
Then she was gone.
Silence again.
But now it was different.
Caelum sat up slowly. He inhaled. His right hand, resting on his thigh, still tingled faintly — as if the muscles remembered too much to forget.
No token left.No magic.No hidden power.
Just an old soul in a young body,and an invisible bow between his fingers.
Today, it all began again.
But this time, he remembered another path.
He rose from the mattress in slow, deliberate motions, his body stiff but composed — like an instrument tuned just enough to be played again. The blue coat lay folded across the wooden chest near the door, its edges fraying but still dignified. He slipped it on with quiet reverence, as though donning armor for a battle of unspoken words.
The root stew was lukewarm, earthy, bland — but he ate every bite. Hunger didn't drive him. Necessity did.
Bran padded into the kitchen — the stray mutt with mismatched ears, ribs faintly visible beneath its coarse fur. The creature watched Caelum with silent recognition, tail twitching once. Even Bran sensed something had changed.
Outside, the village was awash in cloudlight. Pale gray skies, wet cobblestones, the scent of smoke clinging to cold air. A low bell tolled in the distance. It was nearly time.
Lady Velmire stood at the gate, arms crossed over her chest. She handed him a pair of worn gloves — threadbare, mended in places. "He'll look at your hands. Don't give him a reason to dismiss you."
He nodded. "Thank you."
They walked in silence. Each step toward the manor echoed through Caelum's nerves like a countdown. His heart didn't race — it pulsed with eerie clarity, like a hunter watching wind patterns before the shot.
The Baron's estate rose from the edge of the forest like a stone relic — elegant, yes, but weathered. Ivy clung to the walls, and banners drooped without pride. A place that had once stood taller in history's eyes, now reduced to function and memory.
They were ushered into a sitting room dimly lit by a sputtering hearth. Caelum stood straight, eyes forward. Lady Velmire spoke with quiet gravity to a steward, who disappeared behind the heavy oak doors.
Moments later, Baron Yllar entered.
He was tall, gaunt, with a hawkish face and a voice like dry parchment. His gaze swept over Caelum with the disinterest of a man inspecting a minor inconvenience.
"Velmire's boy," he said, not as a question, but as a verdict.
Caelum met the man's stare. "Yes, my lord."
"Your family was landless before my great-grandfather was born. And now you come to serve in my house?" His tone held the weight of centuries and disdain.
Caelum didn't flinch. "I won't dishonor your name. That's the only thing I can promise."
Baron Yllar narrowed his eyes, as though weighing bone against character. "What do you know of discipline?"
"I lived ten winters learning it," Caelum said. "Most of it without warmth or rest."
That earned a pause. Not approval — but curiosity.
"And loyalty?"
"I understand solitude better than I understand people," Caelum admitted. "But I know what it means to choose something and never let go."
Silence again.
The baron turned to Lady Velmire. "Is he always this theatrical?"
"He's always quiet," she said. "But lately, he's been strange."
Baron Yllar studied the boy once more — then looked toward the window.
"The stables are short one hand. If he can lift a pitchfork and follow orders, he may stay."
Caelum inclined his head. "I'll prove I'm worth more."
The baron's brow creased. Not in anger. Not yet. But in consideration.
"Then prove it quickly," he said. "My patience has edges."
He left without further word. The door slammed behind him, echoing through the room like the crack of a bowstring.
Lady Velmire exhaled slowly. She didn't smile.
"I thought he'd send you home."
Caelum looked out the window, eyes fixed on the sky.
"I already did that once," he murmured. "This time… I'm staying."