Adrian sat behind the orphanage where the broken wooden fence gave way to dry grass and uneven dirt. The wind carried the faint smell of livestock and smoke from the cooking fires.
He wasn't shaking anymore.
That counted as improvement.
For several minutes, he simply listened—to the wind, to distant voices, to the quiet creaking of old wood. Then he pressed his fingers lightly against his temples and forced himself to think clearly.
First: accept reality.
He had died.
Lightning.
Pod failure.
Fire.
He remembered the heat. The smell. The scream that had barely felt like his own.
There was no point denying it.
Second: understand where he was.
He tilted his head back and stared at the sky.
It stretched endlessly.
No satellites.
No faint aircraft lines.
No distant city hum.
Just open air.
And sometimes—
A low roar from beyond the fields outside town.
Not coded.
Not designed.
Alive.
According to his memories,he understood,where he was reborn.
His throat felt dry.
Eskarnia.
The world of The Rise of the Holy One.
But was this truly the novel's world?
Or the game's adaptation?
That question mattered more than anything else.
The novel's world was merciless.
The game's world, though harsh, had invisible limits. Adjustments. Balance.
Here?
He had watched enough over the past week to feel the difference.
A man beaten publicly for speaking out of turn.
No authority intervened.
A sick child coughing through the night without medicine.
No one cared.
He only hoped this was the game's adaptation .
And only he had a panel.
He closed his eyes.
The inner ocean formed instantly.
Two panels floated in the darkness.
One small.
One overwhelming.
Only he could see them.
He had confirmed that much by watching others carefully over the past few days. No one paused mid-conversation to check invisible data. No one reacted to unseen prompts.
Whatever this panel was—
It belonged to him alone.
Which made it more frightening.
Why him? Why was he reborn??!
He hadn't broken cosmic laws.
Hadn't rebelled against fate.
Hadn't even wanted anything extraordinary.
He had been a programmer.
A streamer.
A normal man who paid rent and trained AI models on the side.
If this was destiny, it had a strange sense of humor.
He let the thought fade.
There was a more immediate problem.
Awakening.
At ten years old, children underwent awakening ceremonies using Awakening Stones.
He knew the numbers.
One in ten would successfully awaken.
But that assumed access.
Awakening Stones were expensive.
Controlled.
Scarce in commoner districts.
Nobles stored them.
Cultivator families distributed them to their heirs.
Merchants sponsored selectively.
Orphans?
Almost never.
His stomach tightened.
If he didn't awaken—
Nothing else mattered.
Without Auror, he would remain ordinary.
And ordinary people in Eskarnia did not shape history.
They endured it.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Options.
Hope someone sponsored the orphanage?
Unlikely.
Earn money?
He was seven.
Natural awakening?
He exhaled slowly.
Rare. Extremely rare.
Possible.
But depending on it would be gambling his life on a miracle.
No.
He needed something practical.
He needed information.
And there was one place that offered both opportunity and answers.
Osmanthus City.
A third-rate city roughly one hundred and fifty miles south.
He remembered it clearly.
Poor.
Politically weak.
Less tightly controlled.
And important.
Because that was where the protagonist of the novel began his journey.
If the protagonist was there—
If events were unfolding as recorded—
Then Adrian could confirm the timeline and the nature of this world.
Osmanthus City also had something this place did not.
A City Lord known—rare among nobles—to occasionally sponsor civilian awakenings.
Definitely a rare one,among those greedy scum.
Better odds than here.
He looked at his small hands.
Seven years old.
One hundred and fifty miles might as well,be across the continent.
Travel alone?
Impossible.
Stay here until ten?
Risky.
Wait passively?
Unacceptable.
He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes again.
The inner ocean responded.
He shifted his focus to the smaller panel.
⸻
▣ ADRIAN LEVIATHAN
Age: 7
Race: Human
Realm: None
Status: Unawakened
Bloodline: None
Techniques: None
Talents: None
⸻
Empty.
Small.
Honest.
It reflected exactly what he was.
A child.
Powerless.
He lingered there a moment, then shifted his awareness toward the second panel.
Pressure filled the air as if he were standing at the bottom of a sea trench.
⸻
▣ ASH LEVIATHAN
Age: 25
Race: Primordial Sea Aesir/God
Realm: Peak Divine Emperor – Level 249
Global Rank: 9
(Cultivation arts, techniques, bloodlines, talents listed…)
⸻
It was absurd.
That had been him.
Or rather—
That had been his game avatar.
A max-level Divine Emperor.
One of only twenty-one Players in the world.
Respected.
Feared.
Streamed by thousands.
And now?
He was seven.
Unawakened.
Barefoot in dirt.
He didn't feel longing.
He didn't feel obsession.
He felt distance.
Ash Leviathan looked like a saved file from another existence.
He reached toward the Panel.
Pain exploded through his skull.
Sharp. Immediate.
He recoiled instinctively.
The ocean trembled, then settled.
Locked.
Everything was locked.
He opened his eyes.
The yard returned.
Dust.
Noise.
Uneven ground.
Two older boys shoved a smaller child aside for a larger piece of bread.
No adult intervened.
Strength decided fairness.
Nothing else.
He wasn't angry.
Just aware.
If he stayed passive, he would be stepped on.
If he acted recklessly, he would be crushed.
So he would do what he knew how to do.
Analyze.
Plan.
Prepare.
He would gather information quietly.
Strengthen his body silently.
Look for opportunity.
And when the time was right—
He would leave for Osmanthus City.
Not to chase destiny.
Not to interfere with a legend.
But to survive.
Because before ambition—
Came awakening.
And before awakening—
Came leaving this place alive.
The wind rose again.
Far beyond the fields, something roared.
Adrian did not flinch.
He had accepted it.
He was in Eskarnia.
And he would not die powerless.