The battlefield was silent.
Ash and blood mingled on the charred earth, a grotesque testament to the war that had just ended. Bodies of enemies and allies alike lay scattered in heaps, their faces frozen in expressions of disbelief. At the center of it all, Raizen Ashborne stood still, the shattered remnants of his katana clutched in his bloodied hands.
His body screamed in agony—dozens of wounds layered across his arms and torso—but none of it hurt as much as the betrayal.
Smoke curled upward from the ruins of what used to be the capital's outer gate. It had fallen under the might of the Empire's army, but not before Raizen had carved his way through hundreds of elites. Not for glory. Not for vengeance.
But because he believed in the cause.
He should have known better.
"Raizen Ashborne." The voice echoed through the clearing.
From the rubble stepped a man dressed in ornate imperial robes, the sigil of the royal family emblazoned on his chest. His pristine white armor bore no scratches, no blood—untouched by battle. His golden eyes held no warmth. Only judgment.
"Your duty is fulfilled. Lay down your weapon."
Raizen's fingers clenched the broken hilt of his blade. The sword—passed down through generations of Ashbornes—had shattered in the final clash. Not even his telekinesis could hold it together now.
"You used me," Raizen said, his voice hoarse.
The royal smiled. "You were a tool. You should be proud. No other weapon was as effective as you."
The words were spoken casually, like one might praise a finely crafted sword.
"I bled for you," Raizen whispered. "My family supported you. We stood at the frontlines when no one else would. And now you call me a weapon?"
"You were never meant to survive this long," the royal said coldly. "You've outlived your usefulness. The Ashbornes are too dangerous. Your power threatens the balance of the world."
Raizen laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "So this is balance? Murdering your allies in the name of peace?"
The man unsheathed his sword—a gleaming silver blade pulsing with divine energy. "Goodbye, Raizen."
He moved like lightning.
The blade pierced through Raizen's side before he could react. Pain exploded through him as he collapsed to one knee. The broken hilt of his katana clattered to the ground beside him.
He was dying.
But more than pain, more than fear, what filled his heart was regret.
Not for himself—but for them.
His family.
He thought of his mother, Liora, always fussing over his messy hair. His father, Darius, who treated sparring sessions like bonding time. His older sister, Selene—loud, proud, and fiercely protective. His brother, Lucien, who pretended not to care but always watched over him. And his grandfather... Gods, his terrifying, insane, beloved grandfather.
None of them were here.
Because he had left them behind to protect a world that was never going to protect him.
As the light began to fade, a voice echoed in his mind.
"Do you regret your choice?"
He wasn't sure if it was real or imagined.
"Would you do it differently?"
He gritted his teeth.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Then we try again."
The world convulsed.
A pulse of energy burst from Raizen's chest. The air trembled. Time itself groaned under the weight of his will. Blood floated upward, glowing like stardust. His vision filled with red.
And then—
Darkness.
When he opened his eyes, it was to the soft morning light filtering through the high windows of a lavish room. The silk sheets beneath him were warm. The scent of jasmine and old wood greeted his senses.
He sat up.
The pain was gone.
The scars—gone.
He rushed to the mirror and stared.
Sixteen.
He was sixteen again.
His eyes were wide, the face staring back at him younger, softer—but unmistakably his own. His breath caught in his throat.
"I'm… back?"
The door opened.
"Raizen?" a familiar voice called out.
He turned, slowly, like he was afraid it was all just a dream.
His mother stood in the doorway, wearing her morning robe, a gentle frown on her face. "You're up early. Are you feeling okay?"
Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them.
"Mother…" he breathed.
She blinked. "You haven't called me that in years—are you alright?"
Raizen moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her shoulder. She gasped, surprised, but embraced him instantly.
It was real.
Her warmth. Her scent. The sound of her heartbeat.
He was home.
At breakfast, the Ashborne manor buzzed with life.
His father's deep laugh echoed across the grand dining hall as Selene teased Lucien over his bedhead. The table overflowed with food—fresh bread, glazed meats, exotic fruits from distant regions.
Raizen sat quietly, simply watching them. Every moment, every word, felt precious.
"You're unusually quiet," Lucien noted, raising an eyebrow. "Planning something?"
Selene leaned over. "Maybe he finally figured out he's not the favorite."
"Please," Raizen said with a small smile. "We all know I'm Grandpa's favorite."
"Damn right you are!" came a voice from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
There stood a towering man with wild silver hair, half-dressed in a loose black robe, barefoot, and holding a cup of sake at 9 in the morning.
Zerus Ashborne, the family's retired patriarch—and the most dangerous man in the world.
"Grandpa!" Raizen said, standing up.
Zerus grinned, sharp and wild. "You're up early, brat."
Raizen ran to him without hesitation. Zerus caught him in a crushing hug, lifting him slightly off the ground.
"You okay?" Zerus asked, surprisingly gentle.
Raizen nodded against his chest. "Never better."
And for the first time in a long time—he meant it.