A soft breath escaped his lips as Aron slowly opened his eyes. The faint morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting pale lines across the wooden floor. For a few seconds, he simply lay there—silent, unmoving allowing his senses to adjust and his mind to settle into the body he once called his own.
The room was small, almost modest, just like he preferred. A single desk pushed against the wall, sacked with old quills and half-filled notes. A narrow bookshelf, worn at the edges, carrying volumes he used to copy for hours in the estate library. A stand for his riding boots and a folded cloak rested near the door. Nothing extravagant. Nothing that required servants or noise.
Aron Velaris never liked noise.
He had always been a man of few words—a slim figure with gentle lines, blue eyes that carried a strangely soft clarity, and silver hair that fell lightly over his forehead. Not muscular, not imposing… but quietly enduring. Someone who lived in silence, in small joys: the calm rhythm of horse riding, the warmth of cooking alone, the thrill of wandering places no one cared to explore.
Being alone never frightened him. It centered him.
As he sat up, his gaze lingered on his own hands—thin, steady, familiar—and a faint tension coiled in his chest.
Velaris… this bloodline again.
A name tied to ancient heritage, a lineage rumored to have originated from dragons who once ascended to godhood. Even in his previous life, whispers followed him—about dormant power, about expectations he never cared to fulfill.
But now… now everything was different.
Aron exhaled slowly, letting the quiet room embrace him. He observed every corner, every object, every detail—as if confirming reality itself. The wooden beams overhead, the faint scent of parchment, the small window that opened to the training yard outside.
This is really happening.
And then the memory returned-the Creator's voice, the final words before his regression.
A second chance, Aron. Play your part well.
His fingers tightened slightly around the bedsheet.
"What do I do now…?" he whispered under his breath, though he already knew the answer wouldn't come from the room around him.
Still, he let the silence speak.
He needed to understand the world again, step by step… and decide how to use this new life.
Aron stepped out of his room, the morning air cool against his skin. The stone path leading through the estate was familiar, yet everything felt different now that he carried memories of two lives.
He walked toward the training grounds first.
Rina was there, as always.
The girl moved like a blade.
Her short silver hair flicked with each strike, and her blue eyes shone with a focus far beyond her eight years. Aron watched quietly. In his past life, she had died protecting him. A prodigy wasted because he had been too weak to stand beside her.
He lowered his gaze slightly.
I talked so little to her because she was talented... but she was the one who stayed by my side the most.
He turned away before she noticed him staring.
Further ahead, loud laughter echoed.
Robin.
The sixteen year old waved at a passing maid with that same bright grin, red hair bouncing with every exaggerated gesture. His purple eyes sparkled with life, and even this early, he was flirting and making a scene.
Aron sighed internally.
Robin was second wife's son, just like David. Strong in martial arts, energetic, carefree... and a headache.
Speak of headaches.
A hand suddenly grabbed Robin by the ear from behind.
David.
At fourteen, he was sturdy and disciplined, brown hair falling over red eyes that held quiet maturity. He dragged Robin away from the maid with practiced ease.
"Stop embarrassing yourself this early," David said, voice calm but annoyed.
"But she smiled at me," Robin protested.
"She smiles at everyone."
Aron watched them for a moment. Even though they shared the same mother, they were complete opposites. David trained like a soldier. Robin trained only when forced.
He left them behind and made his way to the library.
The rest of the family was out as usual.
The older siblings were buried in training, work, or study. His father was away with the knights. His mother was in her lab, lost in her magical experiments.
The library was quiet.
Aron sat down at his usual table, hands folded. The smell of old books reminded him of afternoons spent copying notes and pretending to understand things far beyond his age.
But not anymore.
He knew exactly what this place meant.
Currently, I am 7 years old. At 13, we can join the academy. That is where I meet Steve and the others. My companions... my future strength.
His fingers tightened.
Before 13, I need to prepare myself.
He looked down at his small hands. Thin. Weak. A body with no influence, no standing.
For a 7 year old, I am too weak to change anything. I need strength. Foundation. Direction.
He closed his eyes for a short moment.
So what do I do first?
The library seemed to breathe around him, full of answers he could not reach yet.
But he would.
Aron sat alone in the quiet library, fingers tapping lightly on the wooden table.
Training grounds echoed faintly outside, but inside, it was silent enough for him to hear his own heartbeat.
Swordsmanship… magic… martial arts… what should I focus on first?
He exhaled slowly
In his past life, he had talent for both swords and magic.
Not prodigy-level, but enough to stand out if he had trained early.
But he realised it too late.
He only understood his potential when the battles had already consumed everything.
As for martial arts… he had learned a few basics from Steve, one of his closest companions at the academy.
Steve's words came back to him.
"Kid, martial arts build your core. Without it, sword or magic will crumble when life hits you."
A sad smile tugged at Aron's lips.
Steve… I'll meet you again at the academy. This time, I won't be the weak one.
He turned his thoughts back to himself.
Which path builds the strongest foundation?
Which one can I start now, at age seven?
Swordsmanship required strength.
Magic required refined mana control.
But martial arts…
Some of the greatest techniques could only be learned in childhood, when the body was still flexible and the instincts could be formed early.
He knew those techniques.
He knew the names of the top ones.
He had seen masters perform them.
He had watched comrades die without them.
And more importantly…
There was someone in this estate who could teach him.
Someone terrifying.
Someone unbelievable.
Someone unmatched.
Aron swallowed.
Father's second wife…
Lady Seraphine Velaris.
The strongest martial artist in the entire empire.
A woman with a reputation so fearsome that even demons hesitated to face her.
Even his father, one of the top five strongest men in the empire, never crossed her casually.
Not out of fear of injury.
But out of respect for her power… and her temper.
Aron trembled just thinking about approaching her.
In his past life, she was distant, cold, and had no reason to ever look at him.
A weak, quiet child with no fighting ability wasn't worth her time.
But this life…
If I want strength, she is the first step.
He stood from the chair.
His small hands shook.
His steps felt heavy.
But his voice inside was firm.
I will learn martial arts first. I'll build my foundation. I'll become strong before the academy.