Chapter 2: "First Steps in Ashborne"
The Ashborne estate was colossal. Towers of white stone rose like jagged teeth against the morning sky, sunlight glinting off the polished spires. Gardens stretched like emerald carpets, dotted with statues of ancestors whose expressions seemed almost alive, eyes following every servant and visitor. Streams of mana flowed visibly through the estate's grounds, coiling and weaving like ethereal serpents, a constant reminder that this was a home of power, not mere wealth.
Arthur stood at the threshold of the main courtyard, adjusting the sleeve of his new robe, feeling the weight of the family crest stitched across his chest. The Ashborne sigil—a golden phoenix rising from a ring of flames—was more than a symbol; it was a standard, a legacy, a burden. He inhaled sharply. This was his second reincarnation, his chance at life anew. And yet, the sense of pressure that came with it was heavier than the heaviest armor.
"Arthur," a familiar, melodic voice called.
He turned to see his mother approaching, a gentle smile on her face, yet her eyes carried that same quiet expectation that had haunted him in his first life. She knelt slightly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You are home," she said softly. "Your father and siblings are ready to see what you can do today."
Arthur nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. Love from family felt foreign after his first reincarnation—he had been betrayed, cast aside, left to die—but here, his family's concern was genuine. And yet, the words that lingered in every interaction were unspoken but clear: Excellence is expected.
He was the fifth-born of six. The eldest siblings had already achieved feats that made him pause even as he trained. Their mastery over Primordial Affinity was evident in everything they did—subtle manipulations of mana in the air, constructs that shimmered with perfect stability, attacks that left arcs of destruction etched into the practice fields. Arthur, by contrast, felt clumsy even moving a simple energy blade.
"Come, all of you," his father's deep voice boomed as they assembled in the training courtyard. He was a figure of imposing authority, yet not without warmth. His gaze swept over the children, landing briefly on Arthur. "You all know why we train. Strength is not a gift—it is earned, cultivated, refined. Arthur, show us your progress since yesterday."
Arthur's stomach tightened. Progress. The word alone was enough to remind him how far he still had to go. He clenched his fists, closing his eyes to focus on the flow of Primordial Affinity coursing through his veins. Creation, Destruction, Life—those were the three elements he had been learning to control. The energy tingled at his fingertips, wild and untamed, eager to obey a stronger will.
He opened his eyes and extended a hand. A thin, shimmering blade appeared—more fragile than he had hoped, wobbling as if uncertain of its own form. The instructors raised an eyebrow. A younger sibling snickered.
"Is that all?" whispered his fourth sibling, the prideful one who delighted in Arthur's struggles. "You're barely moving the air, let alone forming a proper blade."
Arthur gritted his teeth, refusing to respond. Words would accomplish nothing here. Only results mattered. He flexed his fingers, tried to steady the blade, but it bent, shivering in the morning light. His chest burned with frustration, but a familiar strategy from his first life sparked in his mind—adapt, don't force it.
He inhaled slowly. The blade, unstable though it was, could still serve a purpose. With a subtle shift, he redirected its tip, using it as a deflector against a small training construct hurled by his elder sibling. The projectile wavered mid-air, diverted slightly off-course, and struck harmlessly into the ground. It wasn't perfection. It wasn't glory. But it worked.
The courtyard went silent. For a heartbeat, no one breathed. Then the instructors murmured among themselves. One of the older siblings's eyes widened slightly, the smirk fading.
Arthur exhaled, blade dissolving as his mana settled. He felt the familiar sting of exhaustion in his muscles, but beneath it burned a tiny ember of satisfaction. It worked. Not perfectly, not as expected… but it worked.
His mother's soft gaze found him, lips pressed in approval. "Well done, Arthur. That was clever."
Clever. That was a word he had seldom heard in his first life when he had failed so often. It carried warmth, encouragement—but also a reminder: he must do more. Strength alone would not save him. Strategy, observation, and cunning would.
After the exercises, the siblings gathered around him. Some teased lightly, some offered nods of quiet approval. Even his fourth sibling, the one prone to mocking, muttered begrudgingly, "You're not hopeless, I suppose. But don't get cocky."
Arthur smiled faintly, a plan forming in his mind. Every interaction, every training session, every misstep would be a lesson. He would learn faster, observe more keenly, and grow stronger than anyone expected.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the estate, Arthur stood alone atop one of the towers, looking down at the sprawling gardens below. Mana pulsed visibly in the air, coiling in ribbons of light that traced the paths of those walking the grounds. In the distance, the mountains caught the last rays of sunlight, golden and eternal.
He thought of his first life, of the cruel twist of fate that had ended it. He thought of the betrayal in his first reincarnation, the faces of those who had stabbed him in the back. And he thought of the promise he had made: he would not fail again. He would not be powerless.
A faint pulse stirred in his chest, a whisper echoing in a place he didn't understand. It was almost a memory, a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.
"A human who has reincarnated a hundred times will come and shall doom the gods and become a Primordial God, saving the world."
Arthur's lips curved into a small, determined smile. Then let the world watch. I will not merely survive—I will become legend.
And with that thought, he closed his eyes, feeling the raw flow of Primordial Affinity in his veins, the vast potential of the Ashborne bloodline waiting to be awakened. The journey was only beginning.