The rain had stopped. The thunder had long since passed, leaving behind a damp silence that settled heavily over the land. But even in silence, the world remained restless. Monsters still hunted in the shadows, and humans still resisted their fate. The night was long, and peace was a myth.
In the dead of night, a little beyond the city's reach and close to the edge of the dark forest, lay a vast stretch of land scorched black and hollow. A one-kilometer-wide circle of charred earth, untouched by monster or man. The creatures of the night avoided it entirely, as if the ground itself whispered warnings to turn back. Nothing dared cross that line.
At the heart of this ashen circle, a boy lay motionless, his clothes burned away, skin pale, body still. Until suddenly, his eyes burst open.
He sat up in a jolt, gasping for air. His hand instinctively clutched his chest, where a spear had once impaled him. But there was no wound. No scar. No sign of any injury. Only the strange heaviness of a body that didn't feel like his own. Confused, he looked at his hands. Different. Not his.
"What the f—... It really happened…"
The words escaped his lips as he stared down at this unfamiliar body. He scanned himself. arms, legs, chest, face, all wrong. The death, the transfer, the spell... it had worked. The pain, the Sea of Souls, the boy's voice—all of it was real. And now, this body was his.
"Ahhhh—damn it, that hurts!"
A searing pain shot through his head, and he clutched his skull tightly. Blurry fragments of memory flashed across his vision, chaotic moments of two boys dying, of shadows looming over them, and of two mysterious figures delivering the fatal blow. It was hard to make sense of, but one truth rang clear: he was no longer who he used to be.
His body was gone. And his soul now resided in a stranger's shell.
He spent the night beneath a large, withered tree at the edge of the scorched zone, thinking, piecing together the remnants of what had happened. The boy's voice echoed again in his mind, like thunder:
"Your eyes seek revenge. You wish to live?"
His fist clenched. His jaw tightened. He stood.
"Yes... I must take revenge. For my family… for those who died that night. This is my second chance—I won't waste it."
His eyes gleamed, not with fear, but with rage, and the sharp resolve of someone reborn with purpose. He scavenged a set of clothes from a nearby corpse, dressed himself quickly, and began walking toward a place he once called home. Toward the ruins of a life lost.
The sun began to rise, though its light was dull and strange, not the warm orange he remembered from his youth. Shadows pulled back reluctantly as he walked, but his own shadow stretched long and distorted behind him. If one looked closely, it no longer resembled a boy at all, but something... monstrous.
He passed a small town near the city and used what little coin he had to rent a room in a rundown inn. He bathed, scrubbing away the layers of ash and grime. When he caught a glimpse of himself in a cracked mirror, he was taken aback.
"This body… it's even younger than mine was. What is this? Thirteen? Fourteen? And that face… girls would probably line up for a smile like that. Is this luck… or punishment?"
His moment of wonder was interrupted by a sharp pang in his head. He remembered something no, someone. A second presence. A shadow in the Sea of Souls. Another soul, perhaps?
"Who was that? Someone else died there too…?" he murmured. The memory was vague and incomplete, like a dream fading too fast.
Though he'd never studied magic, nor had any proper education in the arcane, he'd heard whispers in the outer city about the "Sea of Soul" a mysterious realm within. He decided to try reaching it again. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he mimicked the meditative poses he'd seen others use. One hour passed. Nothing.
"Damn. Maybe this body has no affinity… or maybe I just don't."
He sighed and let the thought go. After checking out of the inn, he ate a simple bun and kept the rest for later. Then, with nothing but determination to guide him, he set off, away from the city, toward the past he had buried.
By late afternoon, he arrived at a ghost town, lifeless, quiet, and crumbling. Trees stood bare and twisted, homes broken and hollow. Wind creaked through the shattered windows and whispered through the ruins like lost spirits.
He walked through the familiar alleyways until he reached the broken shell of a house. His old home. Where his mother once hummed while cooking, where his father read in the corner, and his little sister played with a doll.
None of them remained.
At the edge of the property stood a tree, once full of life, now decaying like the town itself. Beneath it, three stones rested in a neat line, crude gravemarkers he had made with his own hands. He knelt before them.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry."
Tears streamed down his cheeks and fell onto the stone. His heart ached, not just with grief, but with guilt. And rage.
"Father… Mother… Sister…" he said, each name like a dagger to his throat. "I will avenge you. I swear it." His voice rose, shaking. "Every cursed monster that stole you from me, every last one I'll hunt them down. I'll rip them apart with my own hands if I have to."
His breathing was ragged now. "I was given a second life… and I won't waste it. Not this time."
The air was still heavy with promise and pain. Above him, the tree stood like a witness to his vow, roots tangled in old memories, its dying leaves trembling as if they knew the storm he was about to become.
For a moment, the world held its breath with him.
Then the wind stirred sharper, colder and howled through the dead branches above. A foul stench crept into the air, thick and sudden, as if something had been listening… and was now awakened.
A massive scorpion, its black carapace glistening, loomed behind him. Thirty meters long, its tail curved high above its body, ready to strike. Its presence was suffocating.
"A fully-grown one…? Just my luck."
He took a shaky step back, heart pounding in his chest. No sword. No magic. No strength. Just trembling hands and a promise still burning in his throat.
But he didn't run.
He clenched his fists, breath uneven.