chapter 2
Suddenly, Lukas felt his body being lifted. The sensation of falling vanished, replaced by weightlessness. Slowly, he opened his eyes—only to find himself surrounded by an infinite abyss. There was no sky, no ground, only endless darkness. He was floating in the midst of nothingness.
"Where... am I?" Lukas muttered. "Did I die?"
A voice answered, steady and calm. "You are in Nowhere—a place between two worlds."
Lukas frowned. "So, you finally decided to talk. Who—or what—are you?"
"I am what you humans call a deity."
Lukas scoffed. "You mean... a god?"
As soon as he spoke, a golden flame ignited before him, its glow piercing the darkness. The fire flickered and twisted, slowly taking on the shape of a human figure.
The fiery being spoke, its voice indifferent. "Call me whatever you like, kid. It doesn't concern me."
Lukas shifted uneasily. "So... what am I doing here?"
Instead of answering, the figure asked, "Why didn't you hesitate when I told you to fall?"
Lukas met its gaze, his expression calm. "Why should I? It was the right thing to do."
The fire flickered, almost as if amused. "The right thing to do..."
Lukas crossed his arms. "So, am I going to hell or heaven?"
The golden flames flared slightly. "Neither. Your journey hasn't ended, Lukas. In fact, it has just begun."
Lukas's eyes widened. "What do you mean—"
Before he could finish, the void swallowed him whole, and he was falling once again.
A beam of light pierced through Lukas's closed eyes, so bright that he instinctively shielded his face. Slowly, he blinked them open, only to find himself lying in a bed next to a window.
Dazed, Lukas sat up, his entire body feeling oddly light. A strange weightlessness settled over him, yet an ache lingered deep in his bones.
His breath hitched as he glanced down at himself.
His ribcage was visible beneath his sickly pale skin, his arms thin and frail—almost like they had been untouched by proper nutrition for months. Long strands of black hair fell over his shoulders, brushing against his collarbone. Thick bandages wrapped around his head, stomach, and various other parts of his body, some stained faintly with dried blood.
His fingers twitched. This body… wasn't his.
"What the…?" Lukas muttered, startled by the sound of his own voice—weak, hoarse, and far too soft.
Swallowing the unease bubbling inside him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor sent a shiver up his spine. His movements were sluggish, unsteady. He felt off-balance, as if his body wasn't responding the way it should.
He took a few cautious steps toward the large window and pushed it open.
A cool breeze drifted in, caressing his face, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. Outside, an enormous garden stretched endlessly—rows of vibrant roses, neatly trimmed hedges, and a grand fountain glistening under the sunset. The place radiated nobility, a world far removed from the one he had known before.
His gaze dropped to his hands—smaller, thinner. He flexed his fingers, his breath coming out in short gasps.
Something was wrong.
With growing unease, he hesitantly pulled at his pants and peeked inside.
A heavy silence filled the room.
Then—
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
Lukas staggered back, his face draining of all colour. He stared in sheer disbelief.
"Why is it so small?! And why am I so short?!" His voice cracked, panic rising in his chest.
His heart pounded as his eyes darted frantically around the room. Then his gaze locked onto something—the tall, antique mirror standing in the corner.
A sudden, terrifying thought gripped him.
No. No, no, no.
His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the mirror. Each step felt heavier, like wading through deep water.
He stopped.
His reflection stared back at him.
A child.
Lukas stared at the reflection in the mirror, his breathing uneven.
A child around nine years old stood before him, his body frail and malnourished. Long, silky black hair cascaded down to his hips, framing a pale face with striking blue eyes—eyes that held an eerie sharpness, yet were dulled by exhaustion. His skin was fair, almost unnaturally so, and his limbs were thin, lacking the strength and muscle.
He lifted his trembling hands, watching as the reflection mimicked his every move. His fingers ran over his cheeks, his jaw, his own skin—except it wasn't his.
This… was not Lukas.
His stomach twisted into knots.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
"This… this isn't possible."
His voice came out hoarse and weak, completely foreign to him. His breathing grew heavy as the reality of his situation came crashing down like a tidal wave.
He wasn't just in someone else's body.
He had become this child.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the room as metal utensils clattered to the floor. Startled, Lukas turned to see a young woman, likely in her early twenties, dressed in a crisp black maid uniform. Her wide eyes brimmed with sheer disbelief, her face pale as if she had just seen a ghost.
With a gasp, she stumbled back before bolting out of the room, her voice ringing through the hallway.
"Young master has woken up!"
Lukas blinked, still groggy, his mind struggling to process her reaction. He frowned.
"Why is she screaming like she saw a ghost?" he muttered, shaking his head. Choosing to ignore the commotion, he turned toward the mirror .
Before he could fully take in the scenery, hurried footsteps thundered down the corridor.
"Zed!"
A desperate cry tore through the air. Lukas turned just in time to see a young woman rush into the room.
The moment their eyes met; his breath hitched. She was stunning—long, silky black hair cascaded down her back, framing a delicate face with striking blue eyes that mirrored his own. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, enveloping him in a tight embrace.
"The doctor told us you would never wake up…" her voice trembled, thick with emotion. "Thank God he listened to my prayers."
Lukas remained frozen in the embrace of the beautiful girl who had just called him Zed. Her arms trembled slightly, her grip desperate, as if afraid he would vanish again. He could feel her warmth, the slight hitch in her breath—an overwhelming mix of relief and fear.
"Who is she?" he wondered, his mind racing. The name Zed echoed in his ears.
Before he could react, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the hallway. The door burst open, and an older man in a white coat rushed in, followed by a few attendants. His graying hair and sharp eyes carried an air of authority, yet concern flickered across his face.
"Young Master Zed!" the doctor exclaimed, pressing forward with urgency. He placed a hand on Lukas's wrist, checking his pulse, then leaned in, his brows knitting together. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Headache? Can you move your limbs?"
Lukas hesitated. His mind felt eerily clear, but his body—Zed's body—was foreign to him. He flexed his fingers slightly, then nodded.
"I… think I'm fine," he answered cautiously. His voice sounded different—deeper, unfamiliar.
The doctor exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is truly incredible… You were unconscious for days after your accident. We feared the worst. It is extremely rare for someone to wake up so suddenly—frankly, this is nothing short of a miracle."
Lukas's thoughts swirled. A coma? An accident? Pieces of information came together like a puzzle he had no memory of. But one thing was clear—he was no longer in his own body. He had somehow become this Zed.
He needed time. He needed answers.
With a sharp breath, he made a split-second decision. If he admitted to not being Zed, it could lead to disaster. Instead, he clutched his forehead, feigning confusion.
"Doctor…" he muttered, his voice strained. "I… I don't remember anything."
The room fell silent.
Aurora, who had been clinging to him moments ago, stiffened. Her blue eyes widened in alarm. "Zed…?" she whispered, as if pleading for him to say it wasn't true.
The doctor, however, looked contemplative. He waved a hand at the attendants, silently instructing them to step back before speaking again. "Amnesia is not uncommon after prolonged unconsciousness… Especially in cases of severe head trauma." He turned to Aurora with a sympathetic gaze. "Lady Aurora… It seems your brother has lost his past memories."
Aurora took a step back, disbelief clouding her face. "No… No, this can't be happening." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The doctor sighed. "It may take time, but please be patient with him. Right now, pushing him too hard might do more harm than good."
Aurora swallowed hard, composing herself before stepping forward. She knelt slightly in front of Lukas—no, Zed—and gently took his hands. Her fingers trembled as she held them in her grasp.
"Zed… I'm Aurora. Your only sister." Her voice was soft, yet firm, as if trying to anchor him to reality.
Lukas—now Zed—stared at her.
A sister?
He had never had siblings in his past life. Yet, looking at her, he could see the genuine pain in her eyes. The desperation for him to recognize her.
"We belong to the House of Ravenhart," she continued, her lips pressing into a thin line. "A noble family of great influence." She hesitated, searching his face for any hint of recognition before whispering, "But most importantly… we are family."
Zed swallowed. He didn't know this world. He didn't know this body. But one thing was certain—his past life was gone.
And now, he had to live as Zed Ravenhart.
Aurora sighed, rubbing her temple as she glanced at the window. The once golden sky had turned into an inky shade of night, the stars faintly twinkling beyond the large glass panes. A gentle breeze rustled the curtains, carrying the distant hoot of an owl.
"It's already night… You should rest, Zed," Aurora said softly, her voice filled with lingering concern. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Zed—or rather, Lukas in Zed's body—nodded absentmindedly. He wasn't in the mood for more questions. His mind was already reeling from everything that had happened—the coma, the new identity, the noble family, and most of all, the unsettling feeling that something was very, very wrong.
Irritated, he laid back down, turning away from Aurora. The moment his head hit the pillow; exhaustion overtook him. His heavy eyelids fluttered shut.
And then, the nightmare began.
Zed—the real Zed—was just a boy, no older than eight, riding a galloping horse through the dense forest. Another child rode beside him—a strikingly beautiful boy with long, flowing red hair and piercing golden eyes. He radiated an aura of arrogance and power.
Prince Frey.
They weaved through the trees, their horses' hooves kicking up dirt and leaves. Ahead of them, a wild boar dashed frantically, its massive body knocking over bushes as it escaped.
"prince Frey, let's turn back! We can't catch it on our own!" the young Zed called out, gripping the reins tightly.
Prince Frey, riding beside him, scoffed, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, Zed… I'm not here to hunt a wild animal."
The cold, ominous tone sent a chill down Zed's spine. His instincts screamed at him—something was wrong.
"What do you mean?" Zed asked hesitantly.
Before he could react, a blinding golden light ignited beside him. His heart pounded as an Rhu-infused arrow materialized out of thin air, crackling with energy. Before he could move, the arrow pierced his stomach.
Pain.
An unbearable, searing pain shot through his body as the arrow dissolved, leaving behind a deep, open wound. Blood gushed from his stomach, staining his small hands as he clutched at it, his breaths coming out in weak, painful gasps.
Far away, Lukas watched in horror. He tried to rush forward, to grab the boy, to help him—but his hands passed right through them like a ghost. He wasn't really here.
All he could do was watch.
Zed collapsed from his horse, hitting the dirt with a painful thud. He clutched his wound, sobbing in agony, his small body trembling.
Footsteps crunched over the dry leaves.
Prince Frey approached slowly; his golden eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. He crouched down and grabbed a fistful of Zed's dark hair, yanking his head up.
"Look at you." His voice dripped with contempt. "The only heir of the great Ravenhart family… a pathetic, weak little pig."
Zed whimpered, his small hands trembling as he tried to push Frey away. But his strength was slipping fast.
Frey laughed coldly. "Such a shame you have a beautiful sister. But don't worry…" He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Zed's ear. "After I kill you, I'll make her my concubine. I'll feel her every night."
Zed's eyes widened in horror. A surge of anger coursed through him.
"NO!" With whatever strength he had left, he swung his fist at Frey—only to miss. Blood splattered onto Frey's pristine clothes.
The prince's amused smirk vanished. His expression twisted into pure rage.
"You filthy swine." His voice was laced with venom. "How dare you dirty my clothes?"
Frey raised his boot and kicked Zed's gut—hard. The boy gasped as the air was forced from his lungs, his body curling in on itself. Blood dripped from his lips as his consciousness began to fade.
Lukas gritted his teeth, his fists shaking with helpless rage. He wanted to do something—anything! But no matter how hard he tried to move, he was stuck, trapped in this cruel vision.
Frey grabbed Zed's limp body by the collar and dragged him toward the cliff's edge. The wind howled as the ground disappeared beneath them, revealing the dark abyss below.
Spitting on Zed's battered body, Frey sneered. "Now die like your father, you pig."
And with that, he let go.
Lukas watched, heart pounding, as Zed's small body tumbled into the darkness below.
Zed's scream of agony echoed through the valley as his small, battered body crashed onto the rocky ground below. A sickening thud followed.
Lukas didn't think. He jumped. The wind howled past him as he plunged into the darkness, but he felt nothing. No fear, no pain. His body was weightless, as if he were merely an observer in this nightmare.
A dream…? No. A memory.
The moment his feet touched the ground; he dashed toward Zed's broken form. The boy lay there, his once fair skin smeared with blood, his small chest barely rising and falling. Lukas knelt beside him, reaching out to help—
But his hands passed right through.
His heart clenched. I can't touch him… I don't exist here.
Gritting his teeth, he looked up toward the cliff. The sunlight illuminated Frey's figure as the red-haired prince walked toward his horse, completely indifferent—as if what he had just done was no more than swatting a fly.
Lukas's body shook with fury. His nails dug into his palms. You bastard…!
Then—
A faint tug.
Lukas's breath hitched.
He looked down.
Zed's trembling fingers gripped the fabric of his pants.
I… felt that?
A jolt of energy shot through Lukas. His body—it was real. He wasn't just an observer anymore. Somehow, in this moment, he existed.
Without wasting a second, Lukas knelt beside Zed, lifting him gently. Blood soaked his hands, warm and sticky, but he didn't care. He carefully pillowed Zed against a nearby tree, supporting his fragile frame.
Zed's breaths were shallow, his once-bright blue eyes flickering with the last embers of life. His vision was hazy, his body trembling violently. Even speaking felt like hell.
Still, he forced himself to grab Lukas's collar, pulling him close.
"I… don't know who you are," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "I don't know if you're a good person or bad… but please… hear my request."
His fingers dug weakly into Lukas's shirt, as if trying to anchor himself to life for just a few more moments.
"Please… protect my family… my sister… from that monster."
His lips trembled, fresh blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"I know… I'm asking for the impossible. I have nothing to offer… but I will be in your debt… please…"
His small body convulsed, a pained cough escaping his lips. His bloodstained hand clutched Lukas's arm, trembling.
"Please… save my family, mister… please…"
And then—
His hand fell limp.
His chest rose one last time.
Then—nothing.
Zed Ravenhart, the last heir of the Ravenhart family, was dead.
Zed's lifeless body lay in Lukas's arms, his delicate features frozen in pain, his small hands stained with his own blood.
Lukas stared at the boy's face, his heart hammering in his chest. His breaths grew ragged, his vision warping at the edges.
Something inside him snapped.
A deep, suffocating darkness crawled into his soul, sinking its claws into the remnants of the person he once was.
He had always been a good person—a man who believed in hard work, fairness, and kindness. He had been humble, forgiving, merciful.
But mercy had no place here.
Not in a world where monsters wore crowns.
Lukas wasn't the same anymore.
His hands, once hesitant, tightened into fists.
His once-warm eyes grew cold, void of light. The kindness that had once resided in his heart was now buried beneath layers of hatred and rage.
He had no place in the light anymore.
The air around him grew heavy, suffocating, as if the world itself was bending under the weight of his fury.
He clenched his teeth, his nails digging into his skin until blood dripped from his palms.
"This world is rotten."
His voice, once soft and composed, was now a whisper of pure malice.
The Lukas who once existed died in that moment.
The man who remained would never be the same.
Suddenly a voice echoed through the void.
Deep, ancient, filled with power.
"Even in his last breath, all he cared about was his sister and family's well-being... What a brave and kind soul he was."
The air around Lukas crackled with energy, and suddenly, the world shifted.
Flames erupted in front of him—golden, divine, yet untamed. The fire twisted and swirled, taking form.
A figure emerged.
Towering and radiant, the deity's body was composed of pure fire, shifting between hues of crimson, gold, and white-hot light. Its presence was overwhelming, the heat pressing against Lukas's skin, yet it did not burn him.
Slowly, the deity moved forward, its burning gaze locked onto him. The air hummed with power.
It lifted a single finger, tracing a slow path across Lukas's cheek.
Lukas didn't flinch.
"What are you going to do now, Lukas?" the deity asked, its voice neither condemning nor approving—just waiting. "I am waiting to hear your right choice."
The words carried weight, pressing down on Lukas like an invisible force.
Right choice?
His fingers curled into tight fists. His breathing was slow, controlled—but inside him, a storm raged.
His mind flashed back to the horror he had just witnessed.
The past Lukas would have hesitated.
Would have wondered what the right thing to do was.
But that man was dead.
"The right choice?" Lukas repeated, his voice cold, unwavering.
He lifted his head, his once-soft eyes now hardened like steel.
"Zed would rise again; he would become the nightmare that would haunt that prince until his dying breath." His voice was steady, like an oath carved into stone. " I will fulfil Zed's request. I will protect his family. I will protect his sister."
A pause. The flames flickered, watching.
Then, Lukas's lips curled into a dark, bitter smirk.
The deity's flames flared brighter, burning with something almost like approval.
"Good."
Its voice reverberated through the air, deep and knowing.
"Then rise, Lukas. No... Rise, Zed Ravenhart. Your story has just begun."
And with that, the fire engulfed him.
And from this moment forward—he would carve that name into the history of this world in blood.