Chapter 1: A Second Life I Never Asked For
Effort never betrayed him.
At least, that's what he used to tell himself.
Elias Ward spent his life clinging to that lie — the idea that hard work and sacrifice meant something in a world that didn't care whether you lived or died.
He believed it when he worked three jobs just to keep the lights on.
He believed it when he sat in front of a blinking cursor for fourteen hours, chasing words that refused to come.
He believed it right up until the night he died.
The heart attack hit halfway through another rewrite. He was angry, exhausted, staring at the final paragraph of a manuscript that no longer made sense — a sequel nobody had asked for to a book nobody remembered.
His vision blurred. His pulse spiked.
Before he could even curse, the world folded into black.
---
He woke to light.
Warm, golden light that pressed against his eyelids like sunlight bleeding through a curtain.
Elias groaned and turned onto his side. The surface beneath him was too soft to be the floor of his apartment, and the air didn't smell like instant coffee or mold.
When he forced his eyes open, he froze.
The ceiling above him was carved from white stone, faintly glowing with veins of light. A tall window overlooked a sprawling city of towers and bridges. Floating ships glided between them like metallic birds.
Everything looked too clean, too perfect.
Like something painted rather than built.
"What the hell…" he muttered, pushing himself upright.
He wasn't home.
He wasn't even on Earth.
The room was furnished simply — a bed, a desk with parchment and quills, and a wardrobe engraved with runes. Everything looked handcrafted, precise.
He looked down. His hands were smoother. His skin was pale and unscarred. The marks he'd carried for years were gone.
He stumbled toward the window. His reflection stared back — black hair, gray eyes, a younger face, maybe seventeen.
It wasn't him.
Not anymore.
"What kind of joke is this…"
His voice shook.
Then it happened.
A soft chime echoed in his head, followed by a faint flash of blue light.
A window — a literal floating window — appeared in front of him.
---
[STATUS WINDOW LOADED]
Name: Elias Ward
Age: 17
Affiliation: Arcanum Academy
Rank: Initiate (G)**
Essence Path: Sword Resonance (Level 1)**
Health: Stable**
Mana Capacity: Low-Class**
---
Elias stared.
Every detail — the font, the layout, the icons — was his.
He had designed this exact interface for his old novel, Eryndor.
"This… this can't be real," he whispered.
He waved a hand. The panel flickered, then vanished, just like it should have.
He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard.
Dream? Coma? Hallucination?
The air felt too sharp, the room too real, the faint vibration under the floor alive.
Elias laughed once — a dry, broken sound.
"Of course. I die in failure and wake up inside my own damn story."
It didn't make him feel better.
If this really was Eryndor, he knew what kind of world it was.
He'd written every death, every tragedy, every failed hero.
And he wasn't the protagonist.
He wasn't even supposed to exist here.
---
His gaze drifted to the desk.
A folded uniform rested neatly on top — black fabric trimmed with silver, the crest of a sword over a star.
He recognized it instantly.
Arcanum Academy.
The same institution that trained Resonants — those capable of channeling Essence, the world's primal energy.
He reached for the jacket.
Before his fingers touched it, a sharp sting pulsed behind his eyes.
Then a voice — faint, layered, and cold — whispered through his thoughts.
> "Do not alter the script."
Elias froze.
The air seemed to drop ten degrees.
"…Alter the script?" he whispered. "What script?"
No reply.
Only silence and the sound of his heartbeat.
He exhaled slowly, trying to think.
If this really was his world, logic still applied. Panic wouldn't help.
He needed to observe, gather data, and plan — the same way he used to plot survival arcs for fictional characters.
Only now, he was the one trapped inside the story.
He looked out the window again. Beyond the city's skyline, the horizon glowed faint red — the Nexus energy field that powered Lunaris, the capital of Eryndor.
He'd once described it in his book as "a city of light built on the bones of fallen gods."
Seeing it now made him feel sick.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Let's assume this is real."
Step one: survive.
Step two: learn the rules.
Step three: don't die rewriting your own plot.
He pulled on the academy jacket.
The fabric shimmered faintly, reacting to his Essence — an instinct he didn't yet understand.
As he crossed the room, his reflection flickered again.
For a moment, it moved half a second late… then smiled when he didn't.
Elias froze.
He didn't move until it stopped.
---
He didn't know what had brought him here — fate, irony, or punishment — but one thing was clear.
This wasn't a story anymore.
It was his second life.
And it was one he had never asked for.