KHILESH_KORE

He was once the Crown Heir to the Great Dominion of Valrion — respected, admired, loved… until they turned on him.
His own family. His closest friend. His beloved.

Falsely accused of treason, stripped of his powers, and burned at the stake, Aedric Valtoris died cursing the gods. But the heavens heard him. And now — reborn 10 years in the past — with memories of betrayal carved deep into his soul, Aedric will tear through the realm with only one goal:

Revenge.

But in a world filled with gods, demons, blood contracts, and forbidden magic, he must fight not just for vengeance…
…but for the right to rewrite destiny itself.

The Boy Who Burned the Heavens

"The end of the System wasn't the end of order—it was the birth of choice."

The winds no longer whispered pre-written fates.

The sky no longer shimmered with hidden scripts.

And for the first time in millennia, Ithrael… was free.

But freedom, like fire, was a dangerous thing.

And Aedric Valtoris now held the match.

He stood upon the cliffs overlooking the Vale of Shattered Mirrors, the final battlefield where code, flesh, and fate had clashed.

Below him, Selene and Caelen worked to help the wounded. The remnants of the great factions—Knights of the Forsworn Dawn, the Magisters of Liraeth, the Aetherbound Nomads—had laid down arms. Without the System to issue quests or rewards, war had become meaningless.

Aedric stared down at the quill in his hand.

It had reshaped itself. No longer a glowing symbol of the System, it looked old. Worn. Like something carved from dragonbone and sorrow.

The notebook—his new "codex"—remained closed at his side.

He hadn't written a single word yet.

Not because he didn't know what to say.

But because every word would matter.

"I could rebuild the world," he murmured.

He could give every child the power to speak to stars.

He could restore every ruined city in a breath.

He could erase hunger. End death. Resurrect the forgotten.

He could become the god the System never dared to be.

But that was the temptation, wasn't it?

To overwrite choice in the name of mercy.

Selene's voice pulled him from the brink.

She stood beside him, eyes silver under the dawnlight, hair windswept and bloodied. But her gaze—calm and unshaken—was what stilled him.

"I'm afraid to write," he admitted.

"Because the System was never afraid," she continued. "It acted without doubt, and that made it a tyrant. But you… You hesitate. That makes you human."

"I don't want to become another jailer."

"Then don't." Selene turned to face the horizon. "Let the world write itself. One choice at a time."

In the south, the floating towers of Myria descended to touch the ground, their mana cores no longer chained to scripted logic. The mages within—once bound to level-based hierarchies—sought new ways to define mastery.

In the west, the Dragongrave Peaks erupted with life. The Wyrmkin, once hunted for "legendary drops," now formed tribes that no longer obeyed respawn cycles. They began to dream.

In the east, the shattered cities where players and NPCs were indistinguishable began rebuilding not as kingdoms or factions, but communities.

And in the north… something stirred.

Not all beings welcomed a world without fate.

Something that had slithered away when the System fell.

It whispered in old tongues, binding itself to those who missed the order, who hungered for control.

Calling itself the Hands of the Scriptless God.

> "The world belongs to its people—not its creator."

And walked down from the cliffs, not as a savior…

World Without Fate