"We look at the word through the lens crafted from our own choices"
- Sloan
The same ceiling greets me in the morning. But today, something's different.
For the first time in years, I'm grateful to be here grateful for this moment, this fragile second chance.
A knock breaks the silence.
"Young Lord, are you awake? May I enter?"
"Enter," I reply, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
The door opens slowly, cautiously, as though the room might bite.A young boy steps inside. He can't be older than thirteen. Blond hair. Deep blue eyes. Trembling hands.
He looks like he's about to run or cry.
Fear coils around him like a shroud. Not just nervousness—terror. What kind of beast was I in my first life that even new servants flinch at the sound of my name?
Then it clicks.
The tavern incident.I'd gotten drunk, smashed an entire bar, and led a parade of drunkards down the main street, singing the soldiers' drinking song at full volume.
Gods. No wonder the boy looks like I might throw him out the window.
"Young Master, do you want to take a bath?" he stammers.
"Huh? Oh yes. That would be great."
"Then I will ready the bath."
As he turns, I call out, "Wait. What's your name?"
He pauses mid-step, then bows stiffly.
"This servant is named Hope, my lord."
"Really? Hope?"
"My parents named me that, I think… because they hoped I would make their lives better."
Something in his voice small and cracked tugs at my chest.
"What do your parents do?"
"My mother is a seamstress. My father's a laborer."
"You don't have to be so afraid of me. It's not like I'm going to eat you."
That… does not land well.
He stiffens, and the color drains from his face.
"I'm sorry, Young Master! If I said anything wrong, please have mercy on this poor servant!"
I sigh, the weight of a former life pressing down again.
What kind of rumors are floating about me that even small talk feels like a threat?
"Just prepare the bath," I say, softer this time. "And… tell the Head Butler I'd like to meet with my father."
Hope's eyes widen. Then, without warning, he drops to his knees and prostrates.
"Thank you, Young Master, for your mercy. I will prepare the bath at once and inform the Head Butler."
As he shuffles out, still bowing, I run a hand through my hair.
Bathing used to be a luxury of peace a distant memory on muddy fields, far from the front lines.Today, it feels like the first act of reclaiming a soul.
.
.
.
The door to my father's office looms like a colossus towering, unforgiving.I swallow hard. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
One step closer to the man I disappointed more times than I can count.
Knock knock.
"Enter."
His voice is sharp. Commanding. The kind of voice that ends conversations before they begin.
I push the door open slowly. The scent of ink on paper hits me instantly. My father is buried in a sea of documents, eyes moving with ruthless efficiency, hands flipping through papers like blades through air.
He doesn't look up.
"You wanted to meet me."
"Yes, Father. I... I have a request."
He sets the papers down, finally meeting my gaze.
His frown is not one of anger it's worse. It's curiosity laced with doubt.
"Tell me."
I steady myself.
"I know I haven't been a good son. Or a worthy heir. But the fight with the assassin... it changed something. I was too weak. I nearly failed Eloise."I breathe in.
"I want to grow stronger. I want to train with the knights."
He stares at me, unmoving.Scrutinizing. Weighing the truth in my words.
Then, a nod.
"I will allow it. You may begin tomorrow."
Relief washes over me, but I steel myself for the second request.
"I also have another request, Father."
His gaze sharpens an edge of suspicion creeping in.
"Speak."
"I want to learn basic elemental magic. I request for a mage tutor."
He leans back slightly, arms folding. His eyes narrow.
"Spreading yourself thin won't make you stronger. You must master one path, not dabble in many."
He's right, of course. But he doesn't know what I know.
"I agree, Father. But if I want to fight mages and protect our family from their kind I need to understand how they think. I need to know their tools, their weaknesses. Even basic knowledge could save lives."
A long pause.
Then something shifts. A glint of approval flickers across his face not quite trust, but something close.
"Very well," he says at last. "I'll arrange for a tutor. But if I find you wasting time or effort, this ends."
"Yes, Father. Thank you."
As I leave his office, my heart is lighter than it's been in a long time.It's just the beginning but it's a beginning with purpose.
And that… that changes everything.
.
.
.
After the meeting with Father, I return to my room in silence.The door clicks shut behind me, but the quiet doesn't bring peace.
My body is here, in this soft, warm bedchamber, but my mind...My mind is still on the battlefield of my first life.
I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, hands resting on my knees.
The memory creeps.
The laughter of the gods.Mocking. Cruel. Amused by our deaths. Entertained by our suffering.
"You thought you could defy us?" they had said."You? Mortals? Broken toys and useless flesh?"
They didn't just kill us.They desecrated our hope.
They had turned their wrath on anyone who bore our names, loved us, remembered us.
They erased us.
I inhale, long and deep, and exhale the pain like smoke through my lungs.
I've been given a second chance. But the weight of that past is not so easily cast aside.
I clench my hand into a fist, nails biting into my palm.
"Status"
Personal Status
Name: Uvar Kolson Demure
Age: 14
Level: 7
Experience: 35/700
Title:
Second Life (Hidden)
Watched by: £#@&-@-++(@@ (Unknown)
Skills (5/7):
Athleticism LV.1
Poison Resistance LV.3
Swordsmanship LV.1
Stamina LV.1
Rolling Dodge LV.1
My gaze lingers on the floating status window for a moment longer. Every number, every unknown title, it all screams incomplete.
Too slow.
Too weak.
Too unprepared.
I close my fist, and the translucent window fades into nothingness.
This pace won't do.If I'm to stand a chance even a fraction of one against the two-faced gods, I need to accelerate. Faster growth, harsher training, deeper knowledge. No more hesitation. No more fear.
They crushed me once. Mocked me. Destroyed everything I loved and turned my resistance into a joke.
But not this time.
This life is my revolt. This time,I will burn the heavens.
If I'm to challenge the divine, then my every breath must be a weapon. My every step must push me toward strength, not survival -domination.