The smell hit him first.
Damp wood. Old medicine. Rotting straw.
Kael lay still, eyes closed, letting the unfamiliar sensations settle into place. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath shallow, strained, as if his lungs themselves were offended by the act of living. Pain spread through every limb—not the sharp agony of battle, but a dull, humiliating weakness that made even existing feel exhausting.
This body was fragile.
Pathetically so.
Slowly, Kael opened his eyes.
A cracked wooden ceiling stared back at him, its surface webbed with age-old fissures. Drops of water leaked through one corner, falling rhythmically into a chipped clay bowl on the floor. The room was small, barely large enough for a bed and a broken table. A single window let in pale light, illuminating dust particles drifting lazily through the air.
So this was his new beginning.
Kael clenched his fingers.
They trembled.
His lips curled into a faint smile.
"Twenty years earlier," he murmured hoarsely.
The memories of this body surged forward as if waiting for permission.
Kael Draven.
Same name.
Same world.
Different existence.
He was the third son of a declining branch family, once noble, now barely tolerated by the main clan. Born with crippled meridians, unable to cultivate properly, branded as useless from childhood. A burden. A stain. Someone whose future had already been decided by others.
Mockery.
Beatings.
Neglect.
Kael absorbed the memories without flinching. None of it disturbed him. Compared to betrayal and execution, this life was almost… peaceful.
The door creaked open.
A boy stepped inside, no older than fourteen, wearing a servant's robe patched more times than Kael cared to count. His eyes flicked toward the bed with thinly veiled disgust.
"You're awake?" the boy said flatly. "Good. Elder Lin said if you didn't wake up today, they'd throw your body out back."
Kael turned his head slightly, studying him.
He recognized that face.
Not from this life.
From the future.
This servant would later become a trusted aide of the clan, praised for loyalty. He would also be the one to leak Kael's location to his enemies during the clan purge years later.
The boy noticed Kael's gaze and scowled. "What are you staring at?"
Kael said nothing.
The servant snorted. "Don't get ideas. You're still trash. Just because you didn't die this time doesn't mean—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
A chill crawled up his spine.
For a brief moment—just a moment—he felt as if something was looking at him. Not the cripple on the bed, but something behind those eyes. Something cold. Something old.
"Forget it," the boy muttered, shaking his head. "Eat if you can." He tossed a dry bun onto the table and left, slamming the door behind him.
Silence returned.
Kael exhaled slowly.
"So even insects dare bark at me now," he whispered.
He pushed himself upright.
Pain screamed through his muscles. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. This body truly was garbage. If he tried to cultivate normally, it would collapse before reaching the first stage.
But Kael did not frown.
He laughed quietly.
"Good," he said. "The weaker the starting point… the more satisfying the rise."
He swung his legs off the bed and nearly collapsed. Catching himself against the wall, Kael waited until the dizziness passed. His reflection stared back at him from a cracked mirror—a thin boy with pale skin, sunken cheeks, and eyes far too calm for someone so young.
These eyes had seen worlds burn.
He closed them.
And looked inward.
The moment he did, pain unlike anything before tore through his mind.
The abyss responded.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But something was there.
A faint mark, carved deep into his soul—a devil sigil, dormant but real. Power slept behind it, coiled and patient, like a beast waiting for blood.
Kael smiled again.
"The first devil kept his word."
He focused further, ignoring the strain. Memories surfaced—not of his past life, but of this world's future. Locations. Timelines. Secrets hidden beneath dust and arrogance.
Under the eastern courtyard.
Beneath a broken statue no one bothered to repair.
Something was buried there.
A technique.
No—a foundation.
Knock. Knock.
The door opened again, this time without waiting for permission.
Three youths stepped inside, their robes clean, their posture confident. At their center stood a boy with sharp features and a smug smile—Kael's cousin.
Lin Feng.
The first betrayer.
"So the trash survived," Lin Feng said, folding his arms. "Impressive. Or unlucky."
The others laughed.
Kael looked at him calmly.
In his previous life, Lin Feng would rise quickly, praised as a genius. He would also be the first to accuse Kael of stealing clan resources, triggering the chain of events that led to exile… and worse.
"I heard you broke through," Lin Feng continued mockingly. "Oh wait—my mistake. You can't cultivate."
He stepped closer and shoved Kael's shoulder.
Kael did not move.
That made Lin Feng's smile twitch.
"What? Too weak to fall?"
Another shove. Harder.
Kael stumbled back a step this time, his body protesting violently. Blood filled his mouth.
The laughter grew louder.
"Remember your place," Lin Feng said softly, leaning in. "You live because the clan allows it. Don't forget that."
Kael wiped the blood from his lip.
He looked at Lin Feng.
And for the briefest instant, he allowed a fraction of his killing intent to leak.
Lin Feng froze.
His breath caught. His heart pounded violently, a sudden, inexplicable terror flooding his veins. It felt as if he were standing before something that could erase him without effort.
Then it vanished.
"What… what was that?" Lin Feng muttered, stepping back.
Kael lowered his gaze.
"Leave," he said quietly.
The word carried no force.
Yet Lin Feng hesitated.
Annoyed at himself, he scoffed. "Enjoy your borrowed time." He turned and left, dragging the others with him.
The door shut.
Kael exhaled.
His knees buckled, and he sank onto the bed, sweat soaking his clothes. That tiny leak of intent had nearly crushed this body.
"Too early," he muttered. "Much too early."
Night fell.
The clan quieted.
Kael waited.
When the moon reached its peak, he rose again, moving carefully, silently. Slipping out of the room, he navigated familiar paths through the sleeping compound. No one noticed the crippled boy limping toward the eastern courtyard.
The broken statue stood exactly where he remembered it—half-buried, cracked, forgotten.
Kael knelt.
He pressed his palm against the cold stone.
A pulse answered him.
The ground trembled slightly.
A hidden formation flickered to life, reacting not to bloodline or talent—but to intent.
The statue split apart.
Darkness yawned beneath it.
As Kael stared into the opening, a voice whispered faintly from deep below, old and patient—
"Successor… you have returned."
Kael's smile widened.
And behind him, unseen, a shadow shifted in the courtyard shadows, watching everything.