The kingdom of Southreach was small and remote, nestled near the southernmost edge of the known world. At its western border stood a jagged mountain, known in old tales as Mount Immortalis. Crimson mists cloaked its peak year-round, glowing faintly in the moonlight like whispers from another realm. Strange runes etched the stones near the summit, their meaning long forgotten.
Locals spoke of immortals dwelling there. Of course, no one had ever seen one—nor found proof beyond rumor. Only a few zealous seekers still made pilgrimages, hoping to glimpse the divine. Most dismissed it as nothing more than a quaint fireside legend.
But tonight, under the blood-tinted moon, a boy stood alone at the summit.
He was no seeker. Just a village boy from the mountain's foot. And yet—Caelan Thorne had felt the pull of this place for months. Since the day he turned sixteen, a strange yearning stirred in his soul, as if something ancient waited for him among these stones. Whenever the urge struck, he climbed here, only to find silence and stone.
The rocks were rough and weathered, carved with old, tangled sigils. As he traced one with his fingers, a sense of warmth crept through him. Familiar, yet foreign.
"Could this have something to do with my parents?"Everyone he asked—old Xu, the village elders—just laughed and called it dreams.
Above, the moon had reached its zenith. Its light, filtered through red mist, cast the world in shades of blood.
That's when he heard them.
Voices. From within the rocks.
"Bloody hell, what a dump. We trek all this way, and some b*st*rd already beat me to Little Blossom at the Scarlet Pavilion.""Shut your mouth. The Arch-Lector said—"
Two figures emerged from the shadows—cultivators cloaked in dark robes. They froze when they spotted Caelan, then exchanged grins. Without a word, both drew swords.
Caelan barely had time to gasp before the blades plunged through him.
The world slowed.
He collapsed, blood pouring from his chest. His wide eyes fixed on the retreating strangers, lips trembling with the question that never came: Why?
The strangers laughed as they vanished.
They had underestimated him.
Caelan wasn't just a simple villager. He had trained, quietly, since childhood. Had he not been caught off guard, they wouldn't have killed him so easily.
Now, as his life slipped away, something stirred beneath him.
His blood seeped into the ancient carvings.
The stones shimmered.
First one, then many, flickered with pale blue light beneath the moon. The crimson mist thickened. And then—his body vanished.
Warped space. Twisting reality.A new world.
Crimson. Endless.A field of blood and bone stretched as far as the eye could see. Shattered blades. Broken tombstones. Ghostly faces screamed in the mist—anguish, rage, despair.
"Is this hell?""I... hate this…"
Unbeknownst to him, strange energies in this realm were repairing his body, mending his fatal wounds. But his soul—fragile, fading—was slipping away.
Then, in the sea of howling, a voice echoed.
"That bloodline... no wonder you made it here."
"Bloodline?"
"You're dying, aren't you? Good. Very good."
A chill pierced his soul. Something—someone—was diving into him. A grinning phantom, its face twisted in hunger.
Possession…That was his final thought.
Killed... and now this?
But as the demon surged, another soul tore into the realm.
Drawn to the empty vessel, it sank in—confused, alien.
The phantom laughed, attempting to consume this new intruder as well.
It miscalculated.
BOOM!
A flood of chaotic memory burst forth—images, knowledge, thoughts from another world. Overwhelming. Unprocessable.
The demon shrieked and recoiled, shattered by the sheer force of incompatible thought. Its form splintered, melting into the mist.
Silence returned.
The new soul remained.
Caelan opened his eyes.
"So… death is real. And this is hell? Looks… different than I imagined."
Then—a dry, sarcastic voice echoed in his mind:
"Your entire soul is full of… phones, computers, anime, p*rn, and novels. What in the name of the Nine Hells is all this garbage?"
"Huh? You've been in hell all this time and never heard of any of that?"
A pause.
"…Who the hell are you?"
"Name's Caelan Thorne."
Another pause. Then laughter. Cold and biting.
"Well, that's ironic. The boy whose body you just hijacked? His name was also Caelan Thorne."
Caelan blinked. "Wait… This isn't hell, is it?"
"Not exactly. But close enough. Want to leave?"
"Yes. How?"
"Pick me up."
"Pick you up?"
"There's a spiked mace buried next to you. That's me."
"What."
"Call me Lumière. I'm your weapon. Your guide. Your worst nightmare."
Caelan hesitated, then reached for the mace.
The world twisted again.
He awoke back atop the mountain, blood gone, wounds vanished. Mist still clung to the summit. The moon above gleamed silver-red.
—
At the base of the mountain…
An old farmer sat upright in bed.
A woodsman opened his door and stared into the night.
A village dog turned its head toward the peak.
"The gate opened?""No. Not yet.""Because I guard the gate. You… you only guard a grave.""I never wanted to guard a grave.""Then why stay?""If it walks free… it's no longer a grave.""Huh. That almost sounded wise."
—
In the capital of Southreach, inside the golden halls of the royal palace…
"Good evening, Father."
"Qinglin, Qingjun—you've come just in time!" said King Valerian Northcrest, a gleam in his eyes. "The Grand Seer gave me a golden elixir last night. I feel ten years younger! Look—are my white hairs not fading already?"
Prince Adrian Northcrest—called the Iron Falcon by the court—hesitated.
"Father… there's no such thi—"The king's gaze darkened.Adrian shifted course. "General reports say the armies of Westbarrow have encamped near Stonehold. Possibly a provocation."
"Then handle it," the king waved him off.
"Yes, Father."
As Adrian left the throne room, he paused and turned.
In the distance, he could see the shimmering golden spires of the Sanctum of Evernight—a temple overflowing with pilgrims, incense rising like clouds. To the public, it was a sacred place. To Adrian, it was a nest of snakes.
His gaze chilled.
"You hate the Arch-Lector too, brother?" came a soft voice.
Adrian turned to see his younger sister, Princess Aria Northcrest—the Silver Rose.
"You admire immortals, don't you?"
"True immortals," she scoffed. "Not charlatans who trade elixirs for political favor."
He smiled. "Fair point."
"Someday I'll find a real one. A true immortal. And I'll follow him, wherever he leads."
"Then I'll go with you," Adrian said. "When the time is right."