Chapter 5: Rebirth

The world was burning.

Not in flame—but in memory.

Arthur could still hear it.

The scream.

Alice voice.

"ARTHUR—!" 

It echoed endlessly through the void. Not just a cry of warning, but of loss. A sound engraved in the fibers of his soul. 

Even now—after the silence, after the smoke, after the fire—it remained. Raw. Unrelenting. Etched into his very being.

His mind, adrift in black nothingness, replayed the moment over and over.

"What if I had listened?"

"What if I had stopped?"

"What if I had just said "enough"?"

The scream wasn't just a sound.

It was a scar.

A wound across time.

Behind it, came the flood of memories—

Her laughter echoing behind the café counter as she always beat him to the punchline.

The way she'd tease his tragic coffee-making skills, grinning like it was the highlight of her shift.

"The first real light in his life since his mother died."

"The one who stayed when he had nothing left."

"The one who didn't care about his past."

"The one who believed in him…."

She was his partner, his everything.

And in the end…

he failed. 

That truth burned deeper than the fire ever had.

He wanted to scream. But there was no breath.

He floated in the dark—suspended, hollow, clinging to fading images like a drowning man clutching whispers.

Until—

Light. 

A pinprick at first.

Then a widening beam.

White. Warm. All-consuming.

It carved through the darkness like a blade, pushing memory aside with brutal mercy.

Then came weight. 

Warmth. 

A heartbeat.

And finally—

sound.

A faint hum.

The low, muffled pulse of machinery.

The subtle hiss of pressurized air.

Arthur gasped.

His lungs—small and weak—drew in air for the first time.

Waking in a New World 

His eyes opened.

Blinding light flooded his vision. His head throbbed with confusion.

Shapes formed slowly—a silver ceiling, smooth and curved, etched with precise lines and softly glowing inlays. There were no seams. No tiles. No screws. Just flawless surfaces, like some alien aesthetic born of futuristic elegance.

The air was… clean. Unnaturally so. It carried a faint, floral sweetness. Not synthetic. Not Earth-born. Something new. 

"In the end… I really did die," he thought.

"But this… this isn't Heaven. Or Hell. 

"This is… somewhere else."

Arthur tried to move—and froze.

His arms were short. Uncoordinated. Soft.

He looked down—

Tiny hands. Small chest. Skin pale and flushed with life.

What the hell…? 

He was an infant.

A literal baby.

But the thoughts in his head… were the thoughts of a man.

So… this is real. 

His breath hitched—then stopped altogether.

Because that's when he saw it.

A floating, translucent screen. 

Hovering silently in the air above him. Flickering with soft blue light, framed in gold-trimmed runes. It pulsed in a gentle rhythm, suspended mid-air with no device, no projector.

Just… there. 

[Status Window Active] 

[Name: Zenith] 

[Age: 0 Years, 3 Months] 

[Race: Aetherian] 

[Cultivation Level: None] 

[Soulfire Core Grade: Unknown] 

[Vital Status: Stable] 

[System Sync Rate: 3%] 

Arthur blinked.

Then blinked again.

That name. Zenith. 

The name the world knew me by. The one I used in every match, every stream, every leaderboard.*

It was his legacy. His shield.

And now… it was part of him.

He stared at the window, mind racing.

The world around him was clean and futuristic. The sheets beneath him were soft with a texture he couldn't name. The walls were made of something between crystal and steel. Strange devices lined the corners—silent and inert.

This wasn't Earth. Not in any shape or form.

But it felt familiar. 

Almost like…

Astral Genesis. 

But how?

Was this a dream? A simulation? Had someone uploaded him into the game?

Too many questions. Too few answers.

His thoughts spiraled into silence.

Then—footsteps.

Arthur's instincts snapped to life.

He shut his eyes instantly, regulating his breathing. Still. Silent.

It was an old soldier's trick—play unconscious, learn what you can. 

The door slid open with a faint hiss.

A woman entered. Her steps were elegant, practiced.

She walked to his side, adjusted the bedding, tapped on some kind of biometric scanner near his crib.

"Vital signs: stable. No anomalies," she said, voice low, professional.

Arthur peeked.

She was tall, dressed in a dark suit with a navy bowtie, her silver-blonde hair braided neatly behind her back. The suit had the gleam of high-tech fabrics—stitched with subtle circuit-laced patterns and micro conductive threads. Definitely not Earth-made.

She looks like a maid. 

But one who could shoot you between the eyes without wrinkling her collar. 

She looked at him for a long moment.

"…Still no signs of waking up," she murmured.

Then she turned and left.

The door closed behind her with a soft pneumatic hiss.

Silence returned.

"System…?"

Arthur opened his eyes.

The holographic window was still floating above him.

Still glowing. Still real. 

"She didn't see it."

"Only I can see this."

He raised his baby hand, waving it slowly through the interface. Nothing changed. But it followed his gaze. Reacted subtly to his intent.

This… this is like the system interface in Astral Genesis. 

A crazy idea struck him.

What if this is really the system of Astral Genesis? 

He whispered aloud, lips barely moving:

"System… what's today's date? And where am I?"

The interface shimmered. Text dissolved and reformed.

[System Response]

[Date: 12 May] 

[Astral Year: 4048] 

[Universe: Nabeula] 

[Galaxy: Aetherion] 

[Empire: Valkar] 

Arthur froze.

His breath hitched.

His heart stuttered—then roared to life.

"Nabeula."

"Aetherion."

"Valkar Empire."

These weren't just sci-fi names.

These were from Astral Genesis. Directly. Word for word. 

He knew the map. The lore. The empires. The power tiers. The weapons. The gear.

He was inside the game.

"No. This isn't a simulation."

"This isn't possible with Earth tech."

This… was real.

His eyes scanned the room again—not as a newborn, but as a veteran soldier, a top-tier gamer, and a tactician.

The interfaces. The language. The calibration of the screen. The timing of the sync rate.

It wasn't random.

It was programmed—yet alive.

 "How is this possible?"

 "Was the game a simulation of a real universe all along?"

 "Or did someone base the game on this world?"

 "Or… was it a testbed?"

 "...Or something else entirely?"

He didn't know.

But he knew this:

"He had been reborn."

"With all his memories."

"In the world of Astral Genesis."

Footsteps Again

Just as Arthur began to process the implications, a new sound reached his ears.

Another set of footsteps.

He cursed under his breath in a babyish mumble.

"Shit—I didn't even notice those ones. Come on, focus."

But these weren't soft.

They were heavy. Measured. Authoritative.

A shadow appeared on the other side of the frosted glass door.

A voice—deep and formal—rang out.

"The young master has awakened. Notify Lady Lyra immediately."

Arthur's eyes shot wide.

"Young master?"

"Lady Lyra?"

"Just what kind of family… have I been born into?"

The door hissed open.

Arthur didn't blink.

But behind his calm gaze, every part of his soldier's instinct screamed at one undeniable truth:

"This was just the beginning."