The days after I got the letter were strange.
The castle felt colder, the wind outside was louder, and the servants seemed to speak in hushed tones. Elira was always by my side, never leaving me alone.
As for me?
I started hearing things.
It started with whispers—not from people but from shadows. They came from under the furniture, from the cracks in the walls, even from the mirrors.
"You shouldn't be here…"
"Edward… or Leonhart… which are you now?"
"Do you remember the game?"
And the worst part?
I did.
The memories of my old life began to come back—clacking game menus, a broken mouse, the blue light of a screen in my dark room. Days and years… all gone.
Was I still trying to escape it?
Or had it followed me here?
Weeks later, Aris found me in the academy's underground training room. I was a mess—sweaty, my shirt almost burned, magic symbols scratched into the walls.
"You're overdoing it again," she said, arms crossed.
"I have to," I shot back. "Something's coming. I can feel it."
"You always say that," she responded, tilting her head a bit. "But this time… you look scared."
And she was right.
That letter wasn't the only thing I got.
Two days ago, another message showed up. This one was carved into the ceiling above my bed. With blood:
"The cycle hasn't ended. The game isn't over."
Only I could see it. When I tried to show Elira, it disappeared.
Am I losing it? Or is something breaking through?
Later that night, while I was meditating with shadow aether, something went wrong.
Not physically, but spiritually.
A rift opened.
I wasn't in the academy anymore. I found myself in a dark forest under a blood-red moon. The trees moved like snakes. The ground felt like glass shards, each reflecting my old self—Edward—trapped inside a monitor.
And there, right in front of me, stood a figure.
Tall and covered in black flames. It had no face, just eyes—glowing and endless.
"Hello again," it whispered. "You called me… so I came."
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"I'm the Code beneath the world. I watched you rot in your old life, and brought you here."
"You… brought me back?"
It nodded. "Not because I liked you. You were a beta-tester, Edward. An experiment."
"No. This is real. This world, these people—"
"Of course it's real. But you're not free. You're still playing."
I felt anger bubbling up. Magic surged through me—fire, wind, shadow all rising up in defiance.
"I'm not your puppet!"
"You were never the player. You've always been the character."
Then the dream ended.
But I woke up with a mark on my chest.
A symbol that glowed faintly, just like code.
I kept it hidden from everyone.
Even Aris.
A month went by.
The kingdom announced a Grand Tournament—a yearly showdown for the best warriors, mages, and heirs. For glory, alliances… and politics.
I got invited.
So did Aris.
And so did him.
Lucien Draeven.
The prince of a rival house. Ice magic whiz. Aether-user from ancient bloodlines.
And he looked at me across the banquet like he knew my secret.
"I've heard of you," he said, grinning as we stood on opposite sides of the marble ballroom. "Leonhart Edevane. The boy of many elements."
"And I've heard of you," I shot back. "Lucien Draeven. The boy with too much pride."
He smirked. "I wonder if you'll still talk like that… when the arena opens."
"Looking forward to it."
But I didn't say out loud: His presence felt off. Familiar. Like the shadows.
That night, I had another dream.
Not of Edward.
Not of the shadow-being.
But of Lucien.
He was in the same dark forest, talking to that same figure. Laughing.
"He still doesn't know… that I died too."
Three days until the tournament.
My time was filled with training. Strategies, sparring with Aris, studying formations, learning new mana-runes. And secretly… I was finding something deeper.
Soul-code.
A mix of memory and magic. Only someone like me—who lived two lives—could tap into it.
It let me call upon remnants of the RPG skills I once had—transformed into this world's magic.
Double Cast. Chain Break. Aether Dive. Phantom Step.
But each time I used one, the mark on my chest glowed brighter.
Aris noticed.
"You're changing," she whispered one evening. "Not just stronger. It's like something's waking up in you."
I didn't argue.
Because it was true.
But one question still nagged at me:
If this is still a game… who's watching? And what happens when I reach the end again?
To Be Continued...