The rain battered against the tall windows of Voreoti Manor, turning the world outside into a blur of grey and silver. Inside, the grand hall stood silent, its usual warmth replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness.
Alexandar Argus Voreoti sat quietly on the velvet sofa, long silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He was only seven, yet already carried the dignified posture the Voreoti line was known for. He waited for his parents to return home from their trip—waited for their warm smiles, for his mother's gentle embrace, for his father's proud hand on his head.
Instead, a butler with trembling hands approached him, eyes red, voice quivering.
"Young Master… there has been an accident."
Alexandar blinked. "An accident?"
The words that followed shattered him.
"Your parents' plane… it crashed. There were no survivors."
For a moment, Alex simply stared, the sentence refusing to make sense. The world blurred. The hall grew distant. His breath hitched—then everything went dark.
When Alexandar opened his eyes, he was in his bedroom, the ceiling ornate with golden carvings. His head throbbed—not the first time. For weeks, strange flashes of unfamiliar memories had haunted him, but now they surged forward like a crashing wave.
Names. Faces. Training grounds. Gunfire. A salute.
Alexandar Blake.
Colonel in the army.
Died during a mission.
He inhaled sharply.
"I… I was someone else."
The memories aligned perfectly now—his past life merging with his present. Alexandar Blake, a man who loved books, strategy games, and the quiet moments between missions… was now Alexandar Argus Voreoti, heir to one of the most powerful muggle families in Europe.
But he had no time to marvel at it.
His heart broke all over again.
"Father… Mother…"
He curled his fingers into the bedsheets. They had loved him—doted on him—and now they were gone. The cold reality settled like a weight on his chest, threatening to crush him.
And then—
Ding.
A clear, mechanical chime echoed inside his mind.
—System booting…—Synchronizing with Host's soul…—Initialization complete.
Alex froze.
"…Hello?"
Greetings, Host. System online.
His eyebrows shot up. A system? Like from the novels he used to read?
"What… what world is this?"
Host is currently in the Harry Potter world.
His breath caught.
Harry Potter? Wizards? Hogwarts?
But before he could speak again, the System continued:
However, Host must be informed that this world differs greatly from the one you knew.
Confused, he frowned.
"What's different?"
Host will discover that on his own.
Alex exhaled sharply but nodded. "Fine."
First his past life, then losing his parents, and now a system… It was too much for a single morning, yet he forced himself to stay calm. His parents had raised him to stand strong, and Alexandar Blake's discipline only strengthened that resolve.
The following weeks passed in a somber haze.
Funerals. Black suits. Endless condolences. Political vultures in polite masks. Distant relatives trying to whisper claims of inheritance. Lawyers listing properties, titles, assets worth more than most countries.
Through it all, Alexandar stood tall.
He honored his parents with dignity.
He guarded his inheritance with caution.
And with the aid of his family's trusted allies, he ensured every document, every vault, every title remained securely his—the rightful heir of House Voreoti.
Seven years old on the outside.
Two lifetimes old on the inside.
And now, armed with a System in a world of magic, Alexandar Argus Voreoti would carve his own destiny.