Chapter 1: Waking Up to Destiny (and a Really Fancy Robe)

Ryan blinked, the world swimming into focus like a badly buffered video. Gone was the sterile white of the hospital room he vaguely remembered—there had been fluorescent lights, a nurse muttering about paperwork, maybe a dull ache in his chest. Now, the air smelled of sandalwood and distant flowers, and he was staring up at intricately carved wooden beams inlaid with glowing jade. His fingers brushed soft silk—ridiculously ornate robes embroidered with swirling suns and dancing phoenixes.

He looked down at his hands. Slender. Elegant. Definitely not the office-worn, carpal-tunnel-prone mitts he’d known all his adult life.

"Well," he muttered, lifting his voice an octave higher than he remembered, "this is different."

A sudden flurry of motion at the doorway yanked him from his increasingly surreal self-check. A stern-faced man with a magnificent grey beard that would put fantasy wizards to shame swept into the room, trailed by several younger individuals in flowing robes. They all dropped into synchronized bows with the kind of reverence usually reserved for statues or explosive demigods.

"The Chosen One has awakened!" the bearded man declared, his voice like thunder echoing through a mountain temple.

Ryan blinked. "Chosen One? Did I win something? Like, a raffle or a very elaborate prank?"

A young woman with fiery red hair stepped forward, eyes wide with something uncomfortably close to awe. "You are Feng, the Lumina Blade, prophesied to banish the Gloom Tide and unite our fractured lands!"

Ryan’s brain scrambled to make sense of the onslaught of words. Feng? Lumina Blade? Gloom Tide? Was he in a fever dream? A very high-budget isekai? Somewhere in the back of his mind, memories flickered—foreign, disjointed, and not entirely his. Visions of darkness crawling across once-vibrant landscapes, a sword blazing with holy fire, a prophecy chanted in a temple beneath the eclipse. It wasn’t just imagination. It was like someone else’s life had been downloaded into his brain, overlaid on top of his own.

Great.

Apparently, this was the land of Aethel, a realm currently in very deep trouble. The Gloom Tide, a creeping malevolence, had begun to spread through the world like mold on stale bread—twisting wildlife into monsters, corrupting humans into husks of rage, and making people extremely difficult at parties. Villages vanished overnight. Rivers ran black. Nightmares whispered in children’s ears.

And now, apparently, he was the chosen one to stop it. Lucky him.

"Right," Ryan said slowly, raising a hand as if he could slow this all down with a casual gesture. "I think there’s been a teensy mix-up. Pretty sure I hit my head back there, possibly died, maybe not. Can’t say for certain. Either way, not looking to take on any world-saving responsibilities this fiscal quarter."

The Sect Leader (because who else had that beard and authority complex?) frowned slightly, then gestured toward Ryan’s right hand. A radiant sunburst shimmered on the skin, glowing faintly like a holy branding.

"The Mark of Destiny," the old man intoned, nodding with the calm certainty of someone who had never encountered sarcasm. "It appeared the moment you awakened. The prophecy is fulfilled."

Ryan stared at it. “Of course it is,” he said flatly. “Can’t just be a weird tattoo. Nooo, it’s a mark of destiny.”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I am this ‘Feng’ person. What exactly is step one in this legendary save-the-world campaign?”

The Sect Leader’s face lit up. “Your first task, O Lumina Blade, is to seek audience with the rulers of the Five Kingdoms. Your presence shall unite them. With their strength combined, the Gloom shall be purged!”

Ryan’s heart plummeted. Five kingdoms? That sounded like five times the meetings, five times the chances to get assassinated, and five times the royal banquets with very dry ceremonial speeches. No, thank you.

“Actually,” he said, snapping his fingers as inspiration struck, “I've been having visions. Very important ones. Spiritual. Meaningful. And they all point to…” His eyes scanned the room, landing on the fiery-haired woman again. “Mei!”

Mei blinked, caught mid-polish on a sword she clearly cared more about than anyone’s opinion.

“Yes,” Ryan said, gesturing to her as though unveiling a priceless artifact. “Mei has this incredible aura of diplomacy. People are drawn to her. She's humble, but strong. And I, in my divine wisdom, believe she is the true bridge between nations.”

Mei looked like she’d just been told to host the national baking competition with no warning and half a recipe. “I’m just a junior disciple. I’m… not even ranked.”

“Nonsense!” Ryan bellowed. “Destiny does not check résumés.”

The Sect Leader, to Ryan’s dismay and growing concern, was nodding thoughtfully. “Perhaps… perhaps the Lumina Blade’s vision reveals a new path. If he believes Mei can carry his light—”

“I don’t carry light,” Mei protested, now clearly panicking. “I carry swords. And groceries. Sometimes water buckets.”

“Exactly!” Ryan grinned. “Versatile, grounded, resilient. Perfect diplomatic material.”

And just like that, the wheels of bureaucracy turned faster than anyone expected. Mei was swept away to begin preparations for a ‘symbolic envoy pilgrimage’ to the Five Kingdoms, accompanied by an overly large banner with Ryan’s glowing symbol and a very confused goat meant to represent peace.

As the door closed behind the procession, Ryan slumped into a silken cushion with a sigh of blissful relief.

"That should buy me at least two weeks," he murmured. "Maybe even a whole month if they hit snow."

He allowed himself to relax, but the calm didn’t last.

Despite all his protestations, Ryan—Feng—couldn’t ignore the things he knew. Not consciously, but instinctively. When he'd walked past the training courtyard that morning, he'd noticed a flaw in the Sect Leader’s stance during sword drills. Something subtle, a misplaced center of gravity, a wasted breath. No one else had caught it. Ryan hadn’t even meant to. The knowledge had simply been there, humming beneath his thoughts.

That scared him more than the prophecy.

“I’m not supposed to be the hero,” he whispered. “I’m supposed to hide behind the hero. Maybe open a bookstore or something.”

But the world had already marked him. The robe, the symbol, the title.

Still, that didn’t mean he had to play by their rules.

“Plan A: Outsource destiny,” Ryan muttered.

“Plan B: Collect enough money to affort a nice house in a secluded area.

Plan C… Run... run far away from this place.”

Outside, the sun shone warmly over Aethel. Somewhere beyond the mountain temple, shadows crept just a little closer.

And Ryan, self-appointed master of delegation and strategic avoidance, smiled to himself.

“Let’s see how far I can ride this robe.”

The Gloom Tide or whatever was least of his worries.