I have failed."
The words cracked out of his throat like a confession carved in bone—soft, broken, and far too familiar.
He stared at his hands—scarred relics of countless wars, fingers that once danced with blades now stiff and unfeeling. A warrior's hands that had forgotten touch, but never the weight of steel.
Power…
It had devoured him whole.
"My life? A pilgrimage toward power—merciless and endless."
His voice wavered, a bitter shadow of what once shook courts and silenced battlefields.
"And in the end… I shattered. Not just in body, but in belief."
Muscles torn. Bones pulverized. Pride burned to ash.
"Power… it was, and still is, my only purpose."
Lifting his gaze, he watched the sky above his garden—starless, heavy with silence.
Ancient trees loomed around him like sentinels of judgment. Petals of withering roses fell at his feet, echoing the decay within.
"Weakness is a curse. I do not, and never will, regret the pursuit."
He exhaled slowly.
"My only regret… was thinking I had reached the peak."
His name once shook continents. Kingdoms bowed. Tyrants whispered it like a prayer soaked in fear.
And yet… he was not the strongest.
There were still beings—monsters, legends, gods—who could erase him without lifting a finger. And he loathed that truth with every inch of his soul.
He had given up humanity to climb a ladder that had no end.
In return, the world gave him nothing but a crown and a cage.
"My ambition still burns. But the wall stands."
"Unmoved. Unbreakable."
Through blood, sacrifice, betrayal, and iron resolve—he seized the throne of the Kingdom of Thrones.
But now his body, once a vessel of war, had begun to betray him.
No matter how loud his will screamed, the flesh no longer listened.
His soul surged forward. His body… stood still.
And for the first time, he pitied it.
"I want another chance…"
But before the silence could answer him—
The sky broke.
No lightning. No wind. No thunder.
Just… stillness. And then, a presence.
It wasn't power—it was absence. It wasn't force—it was the death of force. A weightless abyss that pressed down like gravity from a forgotten cosmos.
The trees froze. The stars blinked out. Time lost meaning.
A void tore itself into the heavens—endless and alive—and from within floated not a creature, not a man, but an orb of searing sapphire light. A star carved from the bones of forgotten gods.
And then… the voice.
Deep. Impossible.
A voice without a source, vibrating through existence itself.
"It is a pleasure to finally speak with you, human king."
Isaac's eyes narrowed. He did not flinch. Did not kneel. He only watched—cold, curious.
"I have been watching you… since your first breath."
For the first time, Isaac's heart paused.
"You ran toward the abyss while others begged for light. Even as a child, with no name and no legacy, you clawed your way out of death. That alone made you interesting."
The voice was not cruel.
It was… entertained.
"Your will reached across boundaries, king. That is why I remember you."
He smiled.
Not in fear.
Not in defiance.
But in thrill.
"Strange… coming from a being beyond meaning. But I suppose even gods get bored."
The light pulsed, amused.
"That is the king I have long waited to meet. Ninety years… and you do not disappoint me "
Then silence.
The void hushed. Even the roses dared not fall.
The voice spoke again—calm, final:
"What is one soul… in exchange for rewriting destiny?"