In the stillness of night, when the world outside was drowned in darkness and the old wooden walls creaked softly with age, Vaughn felt the first stirrings of a truth that did not belong to a newborn. Fragments of a life long past began to surface—scattered, faint, and hard to grasp, like wisps of smoke in a shifting wind.
He had not always been Vaughn Labre.
Once, in another world, he had been Victor Harken—a man in his mid-twenties, sharp-eyed and driven, living in a sprawling metropolis where glass towers scraped the sky and streets pulsed with constant motion. Victor had been a prodigy in technology, a coder whose work turned heads and opened doors. He thrived on challenges, outpacing peers and climbing ranks with a speed that inspired admiration… and envy.
But success came at a cost. The higher he rose, the heavier the weight on his shoulders became. His days bled into nights, his health into exhaustion. Relationships frayed under the strain of his ambition until the few people who remained in his life became distant shadows.
The night his life ended had been like so many others—quiet, yet suffocating. Victor sat hunched over his desk, the pale glow of a monitor painting his tired features. His fingers moved over the keyboard with mechanical precision, ignoring the ache in his wrists and the pounding in his skull. He had deadlines to meet, problems to solve—there was no time for weakness.
Then the pain struck.
It was sudden and merciless, a searing grip in his chest that stole his breath before he could cry out. His hands faltered, the world tilted, and he collapsed to the cold floor. His vision narrowed to a shrinking tunnel of light.
As the darkness closed in, a voice spoke.
It was neither gentle nor cruel, yet it carried both in its tone—a sound like velvet stretched over steel.
"You were betrayed without ever realizing it," the voice said. "How pitiful… all that potential, wasted."
Victor's fading mind grasped at the words. Betrayed? Bywho? His thoughts struggled to form. "I… don't know anyone who would…"
"It doesn't matter now, not now." the voice cut him off. "You will not return to that life. Instead, you will be reborn into a world far greater—and far more dangerous—than the one you knew."
He tried to talk but he can't open his mouth but with the current situation he won't talk. The darkness shifted, and with it came visions.
"You will walk among races you once thought existed only in fiction. Rare cultivators still tread their ancient paths. Dungeons lie hidden, brimming with treasures and monsters alike. Towers pierce the heavens, each guarding a single wish for those who dare to conquer them. There is a system here—a living framework that governs growth, trade, and skill. It connects every corner of this realm through the Nexus, a network you will come to know well."
The visions grew clearer: sprawling valleys kissed by sunlight, mountains crowned with storm clouds, dragons wheeling high above jagged peaks. Cities thrived with trade and intrigue; adventurers boasted of hunts and scholars bent over relics from a forgotten age. In the wilderness, mythical beasts roamed freely, and the ruins of lost civilizations whispered of higher beings.
"This is Elyria," the voice intoned. "A realm of wonders… and shadows. Your second life begins here, Victor Harken—or rather… Vaughn Labre. Do with it what you could not before."
The vision dissolved.
When awareness returned, he was no longer in that world of glass towers and neon light. The steady hum of machines was gone, replaced by the faint drip of rain on a tin roof. The warmth of a mother's heartbeat pressed against his ear, steady and strong.
And beside him, wrapped in a faded pink blanket, a tiny girl stirred. Her breaths were soft, her small hand curling against the fabric.
His twin.
Vaughn turned his gaze toward her, studying the delicate lines of her face. They had not yet locked eyes, but some unspoken thread seemed to hum between them.
Two of us, he thought, the corner of his newborn lips twitching faintly. This life might prove interesting after all.
---
The rain eased by dawn, leaving the tin roof dripping with slow, rhythmic drops. The faint scent of wet earth seeped into the room, mingling with the lingering aroma of burnt candles and herbs.
Vaughn lay swaddled in his mother's arms, his tiny chest rising and falling with her gentle breathing. Beside her, a second bundle stirred—his twin sister, her features softer, her breaths lighter, as if she were already dreaming of something pleasant. He didn't know why she was crying—no one had said it aloud—but she was there, her warmth pressed faintly against his side, an unspoken reminder that he wasn't entering this new life alone.
Larz, their six-year-old brother, hovered nearby, still peeking at Vaughn as though expecting him to suddenly sprout fangs. "Still looks like a potato," he muttered, then leaned toward the other bundle. "She's… less potato. More like… bread dough."
Their mother shot him a tired look. "Larz."
He backed away, only slightly ashamed, and shuffled toward the low table where their father sat in the shadows. The man's presence filled the room in a quiet way—not loud or commanding, but steady, like the weight of stone. His calloused hands were clasped loosely, his eyes not on Vaughn or his sister, but on the far wall. He didn't speak, yet his posture spoke of someone measuring the moment, storing it away.
Vaughn would have paid more attention to that man—his father—if not for the other, stranger presence in his head. The voice from before still echoed faintly, its words etched into his mind. Elyria. Dungeons and towers. The Nexus. And, most importantly, the two impossible gifts: the System and infinite resources.
The concepts replayed themselves in his mind like a mantra. The System could buy anything and store it neatly, even fire, though not living things. The infinite resources—mana, qi, whatever Elyria ran on—could be placed into objects, turned into energy currency. In the right hands, it was power beyond measure. In his hands? Well… they were the hands of a newborn. Not the most practical starting point.
Still, there was one thing he could try. In the stories he'd read before his reincarnation, calling the system was always simple—you just said it. So, with all the focus he could muster, he thought: System.
Instantly, a faint shimmer spread through his vision, and a calm, neutral voice filled his mind.
> \[The System will appear whenever the Host wishes. Communication is possible without speech—thinking alone will suffice.]
Vaughn blinked. Ittalks?
> \[Yes.]
He nearly choked on his own thought. "Well, isn't that—"
> \[Correct.]
He froze. Wait, you're answering me before I finish thinking my questions? That's rude.
> \[Yes.]
His newborn face stayed blank, but deep inside he groaned. "Fantastic. I got myself a mind-reading butler. I feel like an idiot. I mean questioning an answer was.."
The translucent interface before him displayed only two available functions: Store and Inventory. Eight other icons hovered at the edges, all locked, their symbols unfamiliar.
Guess those will open later, he thought. Curiosity itched at him, so he focused on Store. The interface responded instantly.
The next moment, his mind went silent.
Even as an adult man in another life, he wasn't sure he would have been ready for what he saw.