Shiva was seventeen when he died.
Or maybe he just fell asleep.
Either way, the world he woke up in was not Earth.
---
He used to live a quiet life.
A corner seat by the window. A dog-eared novel always half-open. The hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the voices of classmates he never really listened to.
Shiva wasn't popular. He wasn't gifted. But he read — everything. Cultivation novels, light novels, ancient epics, obscure PDFs from dusty online forums. Worlds of swords and spells, spirit roots and stats. He loved them.
Not for the battles.
Not for the power.
For the questions.
> What if the world had rules you could break?
What if fate could be challenged?
What if weakness was just a lie waiting to be disproven?
He'd lie in bed some nights, headphones in, scrolling through fan translations until his phone slipped from his hand.
That's what happened that night.
A Thursday. Late. He had just finished rereading Soul Ascension: Path of the Nameless. Again.
He muttered to himself, half-laughing:
> "If I were reincarnated, I'd want something different. Not a cheat. Just... a real question."
Then the light flickered.
The air went cold.
And the world fell away.
---
He awoke to silence.
No fan.
No bed.
No phone.
Just grass. Soft, wet with dew. A lavender sky streaked with twin moons. The smell of flowers and something... ancient.
He sat up. His body was small. Too small. Tiny hands. Thin legs.
A child's body.
And then—he felt it.
A presence, deep beneath the skin. Not just breath. Not blood. Something vibrating — as if the world itself had tuned a string in his soul.
He heard no voice. But somehow, he knew:
> This is Aarunya.
You are not a guest. You are a seed.
Your path begins again.
Shiva stood, trembling but calm.
> So this is it, he thought. A world of Talents and magic. Of fates chosen at birth.
He looked at his hands, clenched them.
And smiled.
> I've read hundreds of stories like this.
Now it's my turn to write one