Death To Power

—Volume 1: The Child of Blood—

Chapter 1: A Cowardly Death

BOOM—!

A fist crashed into the face of a young man with bright orange hair, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He didn't scream. Just a groan, low and rough.

The boy who threw the punch—tall, lean, with neatly styled blue hair—grinned down at him. "What, that all you got?" he said, his voice mocking. "Come on, Boris. Make some noise. Crawl, cry—something."

Laughter erupted around them. Half a dozen students stood in a loose circle, their uniforms crisp, their eyes cold.

They were all students of the same elite college. And they were in a part of campus no one ever monitored—a tucked-away maintenance lot behind the chemistry building. The kind of place where screams didn't echo far.

To them, this was just another Tuesday.

Boris didn't move. Didn't speak. He stayed curled on the cracked pavement, one hand twitching slightly near his ribs.

The silence irritated Luke—the blue-haired boy. He crouched down, grabbed Boris by the collar, and lifted his bruised face just enough to stare into his dull, golden eyes.

"I said scream, you little freak."

Boris looked at him. Not with defiance. Just emptiness.

He was…tired.  

Luke's jaw tightened.

"You think a scholarship makes you one of us?" Luke muttered, quieter now. "My dad sees kids like you as pets. I'm just the one who says it out loud."

He shoved him down again. Hard.

Someone in the group kicked him in the back. Another laughed nervously and muttered, "He's gone numb, man. Doesn't even flinch anymore."

More kicks followed. Harder this time. Faster.

Thud. Crack. A wet cough escaped Boris's lips. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," came a calm voice from behind them. "That's enough."

The group turned. A tall student with golden hair—Nathan—stepped forward, hands in his pockets. Behind him stood a striking girl with black hair, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Luke gave a frustrated sigh. "Why are you always interrupting the fun, Nathan?"

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Because your version of fun might get us expelled. Or worse—cut off."

He let the words hang.

Luke scowled. "No one's cutting me off. You know who my father is."

Nathan's tone sharpened, just a touch. "Yes. I do. And so do the school administrators. You think they'll protect you when your tantrums start making headlines?"

Silence fell.

Nathan turned to the others. "Pick him up. Get him to the medical center. If anyone asks, you did it. Not Luke. Not me."

There was hesitation.

"You hear me?" Nathan's voice dropped. "If he dies and you didn't cover for Luke, you'll be next." His voice was cold.

The students scrambled, lifting Boris's limp body and rushing off.

Luke stayed behind, breathing hard.

"He's not dead," Nathan said, "But you're lucky."

Luke muttered, "I'm not scared of you."

Nathan smirked. "No. But you're scared of your dad."

From the back, the girl finally spoke, her voice light, even cheerful. "Are we done? I'm starving."

"Katy," Nathan said, "found a new place downtown. Super expensive."

"And you're paying," Katy added, nudging Luke.

"What? I paid last time."

"For this mess, you're paying again," Nathan said, already walking away.

They left together—laughing, bickering—like any group of old friends grabbing dinner.

Behind them, Boris's blood still marked the pavement.

…

Medical Center – Later That Night

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Boris lay in bed, bandaged, his skin a mess of bruises. His ribs throbbed. His throat was raw.

But what hurt most wasn't his body.

It was his soul…it was his mind…!

It was everything else.

He stared at the ceiling, unmoving. Memories came, slow and sharp.

The car accident that stole his parents and his older sister. The call that changed everything. He should've been in that car—he only stayed home to finish a homework assignment.

He was hardworking. Not smart. Just persistent. His parents always praised him for that.

But their voices were gone now.

Since then, the world had closed in. Teachers looked through him. Classmates avoided him. He was "the quiet one." And so he became the perfect target.

And then came her.

Katy.

She had smiled at him once. Sat next to him in class. Asked about his weekend.

He thought—maybe, just maybe—he had someone again.

But then came the truth.

All that was a bet. A dare from Luke.

"You actually thought I liked you?" she had laughed. "God, you're more pathetic than I thought."

The class had joined in.

That day, Boris snapped.  

He had said one word in reply. Just one.

"Bitch."

And that was all it took.

Since then, the torment never stopped.

A knock sounded.

Boris's thoughts were immediately interrupted.  

A woman in a lab coat entered. Miss Johnson. The campus nurse.

"You're here again," she said quietly, like it was routine.

Boris didn't reply.

She sighed. "The ones who did this said it was a prank gone wrong. They'll be punished."

He turned his head toward her. His voice was hoarse but steady. "You know it wasn't them. And you know it was not a simple prank."

She froze.

"You know it," he said again. "Everyone does."

She clenched her fists.

"I'm sorry, Boris," she whispered. "I have a daughter. I can't…"

He nodded slowly. Not with understanding—but resignation.

She left.

And Boris was alone.

Again.

He looked around the sterile room. Cold. Quiet. The only warmth came from the IV drip beside him.

"What's the point?" he murmured.

What was left for him here? Pain? Humiliation?

All because of what? He doesn't have power and background like them?

Power. Strength.

Things he never had. Things no one gave him.

He laughed.

It was low, bitter. Unstable.

The sound of someone losing their grip.

He fumbled for his phone—screen cracked, camera fuzzy but it still worked.

He hit "record."

"My name's Boris. If you're watching this, I'm probably already gone. This school let them break me—and you all watched. So now you'll watch this, too."

He spoke, voice trembling. Not from fear—but something deeper.

And when he finished, he posted it.

Everywhere.

Then, he bit down hard on his tongue.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

To no one.

Because there was no one left to say it to.

But unknown to him, his death awakened something deep within him.  

Something of his own.  

Something…otherworldly.

Chapter 2: Reborn

Darkness.

That was all Boris saw. Cold, endless, suffocating.

His thoughts were sluggish, like they were swimming through tar.

"W-Where… where am I?" he muttered, his voice echoing into the void.

He looked down at himself—if you could even call it a "self." His body was gone. All that remained was a flickering wisp of light, floating aimlessly in the abyss.

"What the hell is this…"

DING!

A crisp chime echoed through the void.

[System Activated.]

A glowing message box appeared in front of him.

"What?"

[Awakening process initiated.]

A strange warmth stirred deep within him—foreign, ancient, powerful. It expanded, filling him until he could feel it, sense it, locate it.

It was inside his soul.

And then—

[Awakening complete.]

[Congratulations, Host. You have awakened your personal system.]

Boris blinked—or he would have, if he had eyes.

A beat of silence.

[You are dead.]

[Emergency measures engaged.]

[You are being reborn in another world.]

[Brace yourself, Host.]

"Wait—wait, what the hell is going on?!"

But there was no time for answers.

FSHHHHH—!!!

He was yanked forward by an invisible force—ripped through dimensions at blinding speed.

⸻

Elsewhere—In Another World

A battlefield.

Endless and gruesome. The earth was hidden beneath layers of mangled bodies—both human and beast. The stench of death and metal choked the air.

Blood painted everything.

Red. Black. Green.

Blood of humans. Blood of monsters.  

It was chaos incarnate.

At the center of it all stood a giant of a man. Towering. Sculpted like a war god. His long black hair whipped in the wind, and his crimson eyes glowed like burning embers. He wore black armor trimmed in blood-red, its chest emblazoned with a crest:

Two crossed swords. A pool of blood beneath them.

The mark of the Warborns.

This was Garros Warborn, Head of the Warborn Family—living legend, walking calamity.

Before him stood an army of abominations—snakes the size of carriages, wolves with armor-plated fur, goblins foaming at the mouth, ogres, trolls, giant spiders…

And beyond them, sitting on a throne of bones, lounged a slender, pale creature. Humanoid in shape, monstrous in aura. Long white hair. Bone-white eyes. Translucent tail coiling lazily behind him.

Oren.

The Beast Lord.

Garros stepped forward, the ground shaking beneath his feet.

"A coward as always," he growled. His voice made the air itself tremble.

Oren grinned, showing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Come now, Garros. You know how I fight. Why so dramatic? It's not our first dance."

"True," Garros said. "But it will be our last."

He raised his hand.

Oren's grin faded slightly.

"…Are you sure about that?" the Beast Lord said quietly.

He gestured behind Garros.

There, kneeling on the blood-soaked ground, was a woman. Crimson hair. Midnight-black eyes. No wounds, no blood on her—but she was clearly in agony.

She was giving birth.

In the middle of a goddamn warzone.

Oren's smile returned. "Your wife… Sarena, isn't it? And she's pregnant, giving birth here, of all places? You're insane, Garros."

He leaned forward. "Step back now, or I'll throw every last one of my beasts—and myself—at her. I'll crush her. The child, too. Right as it enters this cursed world."

He spread his arms. "So, choose. Victory… or your family."

Silence fell over the battlefield.

Weapons were raised. Claws unsheathed. Every creature on edge.

And then—

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

A wild laugh rang out.

Not from Garros.

From Sarena.

The woman on her knees, in labor, laughing.

"Kill me?" she spat. "Kill my child? Make us lose?"

Her eyes blazed. "We are the Warborns. We don't lose. We don't bow. We don't break."

Garros smiled, wide and savage.

"You hear that, Oren?"

He lifted his hand high to the sky.

"We are the Warborns."

"We. Do. Not. Lose."

His voice became a roar—divine and unrelenting.

"AERON—COME!!"

BOOOOOOM!!!

The sky split apart.

CRACK!

SHATTER!

A titanic greatsword plummeted from the heavens like a meteor, crashing into the center of the beast horde. The impact warped space, sent shockwaves in all directions. Beasts were pulverized. Screams were swallowed by the storm.

It was the Worldbreaker Blade—Aeron.

Garros's weapon.

In a blink, the sword vanished from the crater and appeared in Garros's hand.

Aeron's voice rumbled inside his head—ancient, familiar, impatient.

'About damn time, Garros. She's giving birth right now, you idiot.'

Garros chuckled.

'She's fine. Look at her. Still smiling while bringing my child into this world. The best woman alive.'

'You're both insane.'

Garros threw back his head and laughed.

Then he pointed Aeron at Oren, whose expression was now grim.

"Let's fight to our hea—"

WAAAH—!!

A cry pierced the battlefield. Thin. Fragile. But powerful.

The cry of a newborn child.

Everyone turned.

Sarena was cradling a baby boy.

Dark hair. Crimson eyes.

A child born in war and blood.

Garros's grin widened.

"No… let's not fight."

"Let me end this."

He raised his voice.

"MY MEN!"

"YES, COMMANDER!!"

"TODAY—MY SECOND SON IS BORN!

HE ENTERED THIS WORLD SURROUNDED BY BLOOD—IN THE FACE OF A BEAST LORD!"

A pause.

"LET THIS BATTLEFIELD BEAR WITNESS. A WARBON IS BORN TODAY—AND BLOOD WILL MARK HIS ARRIVALl!"

"YESSSSSS!! BLOOD! BLOOD! WAR! BLOOD! BLOOD! WAR!!"

The human soldiers went berserk, surging forward with roars of vengeance and pride.

The beasts hesitated.

Oren cursed, voice trembling. "You fucking lunatics…"

Garros raised Aeron, eyes burning with madness.

SWING—!!

BOOM!!

Space shattered.

The humans charged.

And amid the chaos—

'…What the hell…?'

Boris was in the blood-soaked hands, dazed and breathless. He was the newborn child.  

He had really reincarnated.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

Sarena looked over him and smiled gently.

"Welcome, my child."

"Welcome, Kaden."

"My son—born in war and blood."

Chapter 3: Kaden Warborn

Clack—!

A wooden sword hit the dirt.

So did the boy holding it.

"Argh—!"

Kaden groaned as he hit the ground, clutching his hand, now flushed red from the impact.

"Get up."

The voice was cold. Unforgiving.

A girl stood over him—tall, graceful, deadly. Seventeen, with long black hair and eyes like molten blood.

Daela Warborn. His older sister.

A true Warborn through and through.

She stood still, wooden sword in hand, eyes sharp and emotionless.

"I said get up, Kaden."

Kaden, just ten years old, grit his teeth and forced himself up. His legs wobbled. His grip shook. But he picked up the sword anyway.

Daela frowned.

"Why's your body still this weak?"

It wasn't the first time she asked.

The Warborn bloodline was built different—made for war, molded by battle. Their bodies were born strong and adapted fast. Garros. Dain. Even Daela. All of them were monsters in human skin.

But Kaden?

To them, he was fragile.

Still above average by normal standards—but average was a curse in this family.

The Warborn didn't raise average.

They raised elites.

"Leave him."

A voice sliced through the tension.

Both siblings turned.

Their mother stood nearby, robed in black and red silk, her presence regal and cold as a blade. Her black eyes shimmered, unreadable.

Sarena Warborn.

"I told you to go easy on him, Daela."

"Easy? Mother, I was going easy," Daela shot back.

"Then go easier."

The words were calm, almost bored—but they carried weight.

Daela scowled. "He's a Warborn. There is no easy for us. His body is already weak. He has to work twice as hard as anyone."

"I am working harder." Kaden's voice was low—but sharp.

His red eyes glinted with a quiet fury.

"Just because it doesn't meet your expectations doesn't mean I'm not giving it everything I've got."

"Oh? You're talking back now?" Daela stepped forward.

But—

"Daela."

Shiver—!

She froze.

Her gaze snapped to Sarena.

Their mother's eyes were voids. Deep, dark, terrifying.

"Do you miss my training, Daela?" Sarena asked, voice soft. "Is that what this is?"

Daela clicked her tongue and turned away.

"Tch. I'm going to train."

As she walked, two black swords materialized on her hips. She disappeared without another word.

'Tsk being weak will only get you killed in this world.' Daela thought silently. Her red eyes cold.  

All she wanted was to make her brother strong.

Sarena let out a quiet sigh and looked back to Kaden, still standing in the dirt.

She wasn't soft. Never had been. But Kaden was different.

Born during war, during chaos. Born in blood.

She blamed herself for his weakness—she thought something had gone wrong during that violent birth. And though the rest of the family knew it, no one said a word.

Still… this was the Warborn line. And weakness had no place here.

"Kaden," she said. "Go rest. Tomorrow is your tenth birthday. You'll awaken your Origin then."

She turned to leave.

'Please,' she thought. Let it be a strong one.

Because no matter how much she protected him… the world wouldn't. Not if the rumored Child of Blood turned out to be a disappointment.

Kaden watched her walk away.

"I won't let you down," he whispered.

…

Back in his room, Kaden stood by the massive window, arms crossed.

The room was huge—black floors, crimson walls, and not much else. A large bed. A simple desk. Stark. Empty.

"Ten years already…"

Ten years since his reincarnation. Since the day he was reborn in this brutal, blood-soaked world.

And this world?

It Terrified him.

"Fuck…"

He ran a hand through his dark hair, jaw clenched.

This world—Darklore—was split in two.

Humans.

Beasts.

Humans lived in strongholds, ruled by powerful clans and war-driven factions. Beasts roamed the wilds, claiming territory of their own.

They clashed. Constantly.

Humans wanted expansion and the beasts wanted the same.

The result?

Endless war.

"Bullshit," Kaden muttered.

But what intrigued him most—what made this world terrifying and exhilarating—was its power system.

A world of magic.  

A world where being can cause spatial rupture or even elemental manipulation. And Legendary weapons.

At age ten, every being awakened something called an Origin.

That Origin determined everything. Not only would it determine his path to power—it also unlocked access to another realm:"

Fokay.

A world beneath this one.

A place where power truly bloomed.

Tomorrow, Kaden would awaken his Origin. And he couldn't wait.

"System," he called out.

[Yes, Host?]

"You've been pretty damn useless since I got here. Aren't you supposed to be some kind of cheat? A broken system?"

[Host's access to system functions is locked until Origin Awakening.]

He scoffed. "Better not disappoint me tomorrow."

He clenched his fists. His crimson eyes flared with intensity.

"This time… I'm not backing down."

No more hiding. No more waiting for others to help.

No more fear.

This time—he'd have power.

This time—he'd be the strong one.

This time…

He'd crush anyone standing in his way.

Chapter 4: Awakening  

"HAHAHAHA—WORTHLESS!"

Gasp—!

Kaden jolted awake.

His heart pounded like a war drum. Sweat clung to his skin. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts.

Huff. Huff. Huff.

"Shit," he growled, gripping his sheets. "Another one."

Another nightmare.

Another echo of his old life.

The humiliation. The bullying. The slow death of his mind and soul.  

"When the hell does this end?"

He ran a hand through his thick, jet-black hair, pushing the nightmare out of his head.

[It ends when you let go of the past and live the life before you.]

"I have let go," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "I'm not Boris anymore. I'm Kaden. Child of Blood. I've moved on."

…Right?

[…]

The system said nothing.

Kaden welcomed the silence. He wasn't in the mood for a psychological debate first thing in the morning.

Knock knock—

The door creaked open.

A maid entered, graceful and composed. Auburn hair in a tight bun. Her eyes warm but wary.

She bowed with practiced precision.

"Happy birthday, young master Kaden. Your family awaits you in the Awakening Room."

He nodded once. "I'll be there soon."

He didn't look back as he walked to the bathroom.

Behind him, the maid frowned.

He looks troubled again, she thought. But quickly shook it off.

Not my business.

…

Inside the bathroom, Kaden stared at his reflection.

A handsome face stared back—sharp jawline, pale skin, symmetrical features. His black hair framed his crimson eyes perfectly. Undoubtedly, he was handsome.

He scoffed.

"At least I'm still good-looking."

But what's the point of being beautiful in a world that only respects power?

He leaned closer to the mirror, eyes cold and sharp.

"This is it," he whispered. "The beginning."

"System. Ready?"

[Host, I was born ready.]

"Bullshit. You were programmed ready."

He smirked.

"Well then. Let's go."

⸻

The Awakening Room.

The Warborns stood like statues. Regal. Deadly.

Sarena and Garros at the center, arms crossed. Daela and Dain flanking them—two monsters in human skin.

Dain huffed. "Where is he? I've got better things to do."

"Like slaughtering weak beasts?" Daela said dryly, unfazed.

"Why are you even here? Just go back to Fokay and start your evolution quest."

"I would, if my origin was saturated enough. I need more beast cores. Unlike some people," he glanced at his parents, "I don't get any handouts."

Sarena raised a brow. "But you're doing well, aren't you?"

Dain's lips twitched. "If Kaden asked for help, I bet you'd hand him the crown. Playing favorites now?"

"Obviously," Daela added, deadpan.

Garros chuckled. "Leave the kid alone. He's different."

"I'll say," Dain muttered. "Still, where is he—"

Click.

The door opened.

Kaden stepped in, clad in a simple black robe. His walk was calm. Focused. Unshaken.

He stopped a few paces in front of them.

"Hello."

He greeted softly.  

Dain approached with a grin, clapping him on the back hard. "Took you long enough, little brother. Let's get this over with—I've got monsters to butcher."

Pa pa—!

Cough—!

"Yes, Brother Dain," he muttered, barely keeping upright under Dain's hammer-like slaps.

Dain was just like Garros. In fact he was just the younger version of him.  

Tall, big muscles with black hair and red eyes.  

Then—

"Kaden!"

The room fell quiet.

Garros stepped forward, a crimson orb floating in his palm.

"This," he said, "is the Awakening Crystal. It will channel mana into your body and unlock your Origin."

His voice was steady. Cold steel wrapped in pride.

"The Warborn line usually awakens Weapon-type Origins. That's our legacy. But if yours isn't—so be it."

His tone darkened.

"As long as it's strong. Strong enough to protect you."

The air grew heavier.

"Because from this moment on—you're no longer sheltered. Not even by your mother."

Kaden met his father's gaze, unblinking.

"You were born weak, but that won't excuse you anymore. Not in this house. Not in this world."

"Prove you're worthy of this bloodline."

Worthy.

The word echoed in Kaden's mind.

He nodded, eyes burning.

Behind them, Sarena's eyes tightened. She said nothing, but her heart trembled slightly. So did Daela's. Even Dain's ever-arrogant smirk wavered.

They wouldn't show it. But all three were fiercely protective of him.

Garros says he won't protect him anymore, they thought. But—

 'Let someone try.'

'Try touching him and see what happens.'

'I am the only one with the permission to hurt him.'

They were not quite in accord with Garros this time.

Garros held out the crystal.

"Origin rarities range from Common, Rare, Unique, Legendary, to Mythic. For us, anything below Unique is garbage. Unique is acceptable. Legendary is respected. Mythic… is revered."

He nodded.

"Your turn."

Kaden stepped forward and took the crystal.

His fingers curled around it.

He inhaled—

And let the mana in.

It started slow. A trickle. A whisper of power.

Then—

WHOOSH—

A vortex of energy erupted around him. Crimson mana whirled like a storm, crackling with pressure.

Sarena's eyes narrowed. "He's… absorbing it fast. Too fast."

The others tensed.

This wasn't normal.

This was high-ranking.

At that thought they all smiled in relief.

Relief that Kaden will have a high ranked origin.  

But even they didn't know—

Kaden wasn't just awakening his Origin.

He was awakening his system too.  

[Host has awakened his Origin.]

[Origin: Bloodsoaked Sword King — Legendary.]

[System functions now unlocked.]

[Welcome to the Cycle of Rebirth System.]

[Principle: Die to grow stronger.]

Chapter 5: Cycle Of Rebirth System

[Principle: Die to become stronger.]

Kaden stared at the system's notification, brows knitting together.

'Die… to become stronger?'

'What kind of twisted logic is that?'

'System—'

Before he could process it further, a loud, boisterous voice shattered his thoughts.

"Little brother! I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! Hahahaha! You're a Warborn—you can't be weak!"

Dain stormed toward him like a hurricane of muscle and noise, wrapping him in a suffocating hug.

"Argh…" Kaden winced, voice muffled by Dain's chest.

"Oh—oops!" Dain finally let go, laughing.

Kaden exhaled, straightening his back. "Please, Brother Dain… never do that again."

His tone remained calm despite the pain.

"Tch. Don't blame me—blame your flimsy little body."

Kaden didn't respond. He simply turned toward his family.

His father stood tall with arms crossed. His mother smiled warmly beside him. Only Daela's face remained unreadable.

But inside, her thoughts swirled.

'He awakened a high-ranked Origin. Good… Now he can defend himself.'

She said nothing. But her relief was real.

But she would still keep her eyes on him. After all, he was her little brother.

And she wasn't about to let him break because of the world.  

Sarena stepped forward and pulled Kaden into a soft embrace.

"Congratulations, my son."

Kaden sank into her warmth.

Of all the things that helped him escape the trauma of his previous life, it was this—his family. Especially her.

Even Daela and Dain, in their own strange ways, had helped him heal.

Thanks to them, he'd found something precious:

Hope.

Hope strong enough to make him want to live again.

Hope fierce enough to push him to grow stronger.

Because he would never allow what happened on Earth to repeat—not here. Not to him. Not to anyone he loved.

Seeing them smile at him now, happy for him…

He couldn't help it.

He smiled back.

Something rare.

Something beautiful.

"Thank you… all of you."

They froze.

Staring.

Like they had just witnessed a miracle.

Did he just… smile? Daela blinked, stunned.

Sarena gasped. "My son is too handsome! You must smile more, Kaden!"

"Damn, little brother. Didn't know your face could even do that," Dain added, beaming.

Garros threw his head back and laughed. "HAHAHAHA! That's it! Smile with your teeth out and loud as hell! That's the Warborn way, right Dain?!"

"Damn right, Father!" Dain grinned. "But let's ease him into it. He's still new to all this joy and glory."

Even Daela's lips curled into a faint smile.

The room pulsed with warmth.

But then—

"Now," Garros said, pulling out a new crystal—this one glowing white. "We still need to know your Origin's type and grade."

"This is an Identification Orb. Just touch it. It'll show us all we need to know."

Kaden nodded.

He already knew the name of his Origin… but not the full picture.

He pressed his hand against the orb.

Instantly, a screen materialized before them:

⸻

{Origin: Bloodsoaked Sword King}

{Type: Weapon – Sword}

{Grade: Legendary}

{Description: Born of blood and war, you are forged for battle. You grow stronger by feeding on the blood of the fallen. Fight. Kill. Devour. This is your nature, Child of Blood.}

⸻

A long silence.

"…Damn," Dain muttered under his breath.

"This is cheating," Daela added flatly.

Sarena and Garros looked at each other—and burst out laughing in perfect unison.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

CLAP!

They slapped their hands together, howling like maniacs.

Dain and Daela turned their heads away in embarrassment.

Kaden sighed.

He still couldn't get used to this feral side of his parents. Especially his mother. When it came to battle and power… she was no different from Garros.

"I told you," Garros said, wiping tears of joy. "A child born in blood will never be ordinary!"

"You were worried for nothing, Sarena!"

"Hmm. Indeed," she chuckled. "But I'm glad we were right."

"I'm exhausted," Kaden interrupted. "I'll be in my room."

Garros nodded. "You've earned it. But—did you feel a pull? A connection when you awakened your Origin?"

Kaden paused, then nodded.

"I did."

"That's Fokay," Garros said. "A different world from ours. Filled with different races and beasts. It's the only place where your Origin can evolve."

He met Kaden's gaze, voice grave.

"Prepare yourself before you enter there. You won't return to Darklore until you complete your first evolution quest."

"Understood," Kaden said, voice serious.

"Then go."

Kaden turned and walked away.

His mind burned with questions about his System and Fokay.  

"I'm heading out too, to Fokay." Dain stretched. "I have my origin core to saturate. I wanted to clean up beasts around the stronghold to help, but they're too weak. And I can't waste time anymore."

"So bye." He grinned.  

WHOOSH—

He vanished in a burst of flame.

Daela followed silently. "I'm going to train."

Only Sarena and Garros remained.

Their smiles faded.

Their expressions turned sharp.

"…Do we have to accept that deal now?" Sarena asked.

"We've got no choice," Garros said grimly. "Now that Kaden's awakened a powerful Origin, we can't refuse anymore."

"This is all your father's fault. That damn old man. Now he's vanished."

Garros said nothing. He just smiled awkwardly.

Only Sarena ever dared talk about his father like that.

It was one of the reasons he loved her.

…

In Kaden's room—

He sat at the edge of his bed, hands folded beneath his chin.

"System," he said calmly. "Show me what you do."

[Welcome, Host, to the Cycle of Rebirth System.]