Chapter 1: The Five-Year Rewind

The world was already ending when he opened his eyes.

Aether Velius stood in the center of a battlefield, his breath ragged, his body drenched in blood—most of it not his own. The once-grand city of Velheim burned around him, its towering spires crumbling under the weight of eldritch beasts and war machines. The sky, once a vast canvas of stars, was now a churning void of crimson clouds, swirling with the essence of the dead.

The Sovereigns had come.

He could still hear the screams of his people, the ones he had vowed to protect. The ones he had failed. The once-mighty kingdom had been reduced to nothing but ash and memories, and Aether himself stood at the center of it all, a lone warrior against the end of the world.

A mocking laughter echoed through the ruined city, drawing his gaze upward. There, descending like a god of destruction, was the Herald of Oblivion—a being of pure malice, his form wreathed in obsidian flames.

"Aether Velius," the Herald's voice was like grinding metal. "The last king of a dying age. Tell me, do you regret it? Do you regret resisting the inevitable?"

Aether tightened his grip around his twin daggers, his knuckles white with rage. "You talk too much."

He lunged, his form flickering like a shadow through firelight, but the Herald merely raised a hand. Reality itself warped. Aether's body froze mid-air as space collapsed around him.

A hand of fire reached into his chest, and pain—pure, mind-shattering pain—consumed him. His vision blurred, his body crumbling away like dust in the wind. His last thoughts were not of rage. Not of vengeance. But of regret.

Not again.

And then—

Aether gasped as his body lurched forward, drenched in sweat, his heartbeat a frantic drum against his ribs.

But he was not on the battlefield.

He was in a dimly lit room, surrounded by the familiar scent of old parchment and candle wax. His fingers trembled as he reached for his chest, expecting to feel the searing wound left by the Herald. But there was nothing. No blood, no agony—only the rapid thumping of his heart.

His gaze darted around the room. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with tomes of history and war strategy. A worn wooden desk stood by the window, overlooking the capital city of Velheim—intact, untouched by ruin.

Then he saw the date etched onto a nearby parchment.

Five years before the Fall.

Aether's breath hitched. He grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself, his mind reeling. This was no illusion. No dream. He was back.

He had returned to before everything collapsed.

His heart pounded with something he hadn't felt in years—hope. He could change things. He could stop the Sovereigns before they ever set foot in Velheim. Before they turned the world into a wasteland.

Aether clenched his fists. His power had been stripped away, his former strength no longer at his fingertips. But that didn't matter.

This time, he would devour them before they had the chance to devour the world.

The door to his room burst open.

"Aether! Are you still in bed?"

A voice—one he hadn't heard in years. One that sent a pang of something sharp and painful through his chest.

Standing in the doorway was Selene Altharia.

Her silver hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, her sapphire eyes narrowed with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Dressed in a simple but elegant tunic, she looked every bit the noble warrior she would one day become. The woman who, in another life, had died protecting him.

Aether stared, his throat dry. He had spent years mourning her loss, cursing his own weakness for failing to save her. But here she was—alive, unharmed, looking at him with those same teasing eyes.

He must have been staring too long because her expression shifted to concern. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Aether swallowed hard. "I... I'm fine. Just a strange dream."

Selene scoffed. "Well, save your dreams for later. The council meeting starts soon, and you know your father will have your head if you're late again."

Aether barely heard her. His mind was already spinning. He had five years before the apocalypse. Five years to prepare, to gather strength, to ensure that Selene, his people, his world, wouldn't be reduced to dust.

He exhaled slowly.

This time, he would not fail.

Velheim Palace – Council Chambers

The great hall was filled with nobles and warriors, their voices blending into a low hum of conversation. At the head of the room, seated on an ornate throne of gold and obsidian, was King Hadrian Velius—Aether's father.

Aether hadn't seen him in years. Not since his death.

The king was as imposing as he remembered, his silver-streaked black hair framing a face that was both regal and battle-hardened. His eyes, sharp as steel, locked onto Aether the moment he entered the chamber.

"You're late," Hadrian said, his voice carrying the weight of command.

Aether bowed slightly. "Apologies, Father. I was… lost in thought."

Hadrian studied him for a moment before gesturing to the seat beside him. "Then sit. We have much to discuss."

Aether took his place, his mind racing. This was it—the first turning point. In his past life, this meeting had been the beginning of his father's downfall, manipulated by those who sought to weaken the kingdom. This time, he would not let history repeat itself.

As the meeting began, Aether listened carefully, absorbing every detail, every word. He had five years to change fate.

And he would start today.