World (POV)
The world spun as it always did—unimpressed by gods, unbothered by mortals, and utterly exhausted by both.
But that night, something shifted.
The Reincarnation Platform had finished its work—or rather, Soul One's little trick had. Nine disguised souls scattered through the world like seeds hurled into a storm, each finding a place where fate—or whatever was pretending to be it—decided they belonged. Or Maybe it was random. Even the world wasn't sure.
Still, it noticed.
It didn't interfere. The world wasn't foolish enough to leave fingerprints on something this… unsanctioned. The Karmic Court threw tantrums over less. But it watched—from the cracks in destiny, from the hum of ley lines, from the void where even the System's authority thinned.
The world loved a good story. Especially the kind that wasn't supposed to exist.
Nine souls. Nine anomalies.
They didn't fall like heroes from prophecy or villains clawing up from forgotten nightmares. They simply appeared—softly, quietly, like whispers sneaking into dreams.
The first landed in the western frontier of the Kingdom of the Eternal Forest—a beautiful place, if you liked green. Endless emerald woods stretched as far as a soul could wander, trees old enough to remember gods who'd died nameless, spirits too lazy to do anything but too proud to fade. Humans built their cities in the gaps between, careful not to disturb the forest—as if afraid the trees might sue them.
The other eight souls scattered far. One drifted into a fallen kingdom swallowed by shadow. Another sank into the molten heart of a half-dead volcano giant. One even lodged itself inside a beast egg—poor creature didn't know what hit it. Each would twist the tapestry of fate in their own way.
Nine in total. None missed. None remembered.
The Reincarnation Platform hummed along, blissfully unaware of the faint curse coiled within each soul—the mark of Soul One, folded so neatly into destiny's weave it might as well have been there all along.
And somewhere between worlds—too quiet for the world to hear, too real for dreams—a low laugh echoed.
"Perfect," the voice said.
"Completely ordinary."
...
Forgotten One (POV)
So then… shall we begin?
The first story starts where green meets steel—
In the Kingdom of the Eternal Forest.
A quiet land ruled by noble houses, each parading proud sigils of beasts and blades. Among them The Ironcreed family's crest bore a black stallion within a white shield—an unsubtle declaration of their bloodline and their profession: Guardians of the Western Frontier.
Tonight, in the manor of the Ironcreed family's second branch, something extraordinary was happening.
Inside a grand stone estate beneath a colossal silverwood tree, the air trembled with tension and screams.
A woman lay on the bed, drenched in sweat, biting her lip as midwives rushed about. Her husband—a tall man in formal armor—paced helplessly outside, muttering about "bloodlines" and "naming traditions," as if they'd help deliver a baby faster.
And the world watched.
A crimson thread of destiny descended, weaving itself into the tiny newborn's body.
And thus—August Richmen, the man who had been framed, indebted, trucked, and soul-napped—was reborn.
He screamed. Loudly.