Rebirth!

Pain.

A sharp, unbearable pain throbbed through Javial's skull, searing through his senses like molten iron. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. His body ached as if he had been torn apart and reassembled in a way that wasn't quite right. His eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, before finally parting.

The world around him was a blur of muted colors and distorted shapes. The dim, flickering light cast eerie shadows on the rough ground beneath him—a cracked, dry earth littered with small jagged pebbles, pressing sharply against his skin.

"Didn't I die…?"

The thought barely formed in his mind before a wave of nausea crashed into him, forcing him to inhale sharply. Memories of his final moments clawed their way to the surface—the storm, the suffocating darkness, the sharp pain in his chest. He had felt himself slipping away, his existence fading like a dying ember in the wind.

Yet, here he was.

A weight.

A crushing pressure bore down on the side of his head, pressing his face into the dirt. Something thick and warm trickled down his cheek—blood.

Then came the voice.

"Ahh… look at this insect. Seems like he still has some fight left."

The voice was laced with amusement, the kind of arrogant cruelty that belonged only to those who had never suffered.

Javial's blurred vision cleared just enough to glimpse a group of boys standing above him. They were young, maybe ten or eleven years old, but their eyes held the sharp glint of malice. They had done this before.

The fat boy at the center of the group sneered down at him, his round face twisted into a self-satisfied grin. His foot was the one pinning Javial's skull to the dirt.

One of the other boys shifted uneasily. His thin frame trembled slightly, and his nervous eyes darted toward their leader. "Junmo… I think we should stop. If we keep going, he might actually die."

Junmo clicked his tongue in irritation. For a moment, he seemed to consider the words before finally lifting his foot off Javial's head. "Tch. Fine. Let's go. I'm done wasting time on this failure."

The group turned away.

Javial lay still, his breath uneven. His fingers twitched, clenching into the dirt.

"Me? A loser?"

Something dark stirred inside him.

His body screamed in protest as he forced himself to move, his muscles trembling from the effort. His vision swam, his knees wobbled, but he still—stood.

"Hey… you bastards… where do you think you're going?"

The boys froze.

Junmo's eyes widened before his face twisted in fury.

"What?"

Javial's cracked lips curled into a defiant sneer.

"I'll kill you all."

A heavy silence fell over the courtyard. The other boys tensed. Junmo's fists clenched. His thick arms pulled back, ready to strike.

But before he could move—

Something changed.

Junmo's entire body suddenly jerked.

His feet left the ground.

His round frame soared through the air before slamming into a tree with a sickening crack. Leaves rustled violently as he crumpled to the ground, motionless.

The other boys gasped. "J-Junmo?!"

Then—a presence descended upon them.

The heavy wooden doors of the academy building groaned open, and a figure stepped forward. An elder.

The air grew heavy. His cold, sharp eyes scanned the scene, his gaze finally locking onto Javial.

"Junmo, stand back." His voice was firm, unyielding. "Today is the last chance for this failure to awaken his [Celestial Vein]. If he fails… you can kill him."

Silence.

Then—pain.

A sharp, unbearable agony tore through his skull.

His breath hitched.

His vision blurred.

A torrent of memories crashed into his mind.

This wasn't his first life.

This wasn't his world.

He had been someone else.

Now, everything was coming back.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

When Javial's eyes fluttered open again, he wasn't in the academy courtyard.

He was lying on the floor of a crude wooden hut, the scent of damp wood and mold thick in the air. The roof was riddled with holes, letting in slivers of pale moonlight that cast eerie shadows on the walls.

There was little inside—a single straw mat, a broken wooden bed, and an old painting nailed to the wall.

Javial's gaze drifted toward it.

It was an ancient battle scene—a painting of a demonic god locked in combat with a celestial lord.

The celestial being wielded a divine spear, his radiant wings stretching across the heavens. The demon god's body was wreathed in black flames, his monstrous form towering over the battlefield.

Everyone knew the legend. The celestial lord had slain the demon god in battle.

Even the sect that worshiped the demon knew the truth.

Yet, they had still erected this false image, twisting history to suit their beliefs.

Javial's breath grew shallow.

"This place… this sect…"

His memories stirred.

He had no surname.

Because in this sect—children were stolen.

Entire villages were wiped out. The strongest children were taken, raised in darkness, forced to worship the fallen god.

And in the depths of his mind, one last memory surfaced.

Flames.

Roaring flames consumed the village, their orange tongues licking the night sky. The screams of the dying pierced the air, a twisted symphony of suffering.

Javial—no, the boy he had once been—stood frozen, his tiny hands trembling as he watched his mother burn.

Her desperate, outstretched arms reached for him. Her mouth formed his name.

"Javial… run…"

But before he could move—

A withered hand gripped his tiny body.

An old man, his face twisted with cruel amusement, held him tight—so tight it felt like his bones would break.

Javial screamed.

"MOTHER!"

But the flames swallowed her whole.

Before his mind could process the horror, darkness consumed him.

Javial's breath came in ragged gasps. His body trembled as he snapped back to the present.

He was still in the wooden hut, but the weight of his past threatened to crush him.

His eyes drifted back to the painting.

A thought whispered in the depths of his mind.

"The demon god… was defeated."

"But gods do not die."

In the eternal abyss, somewhere beyond mortal reach, a presence stirred.

A presence that had never truly faded.

And as that realization settled into his soul—

The flames of his past burned once more.