**Consciousness** clawed its way from the depths of darkness to the surface as a sheet of ice encased Kaelen's body.
The cold seeped not just into his skin but into the very shores of his soul. His mind floated as if adrift in a shattered haze. Thoughts flickered like beams of light slipping through fragmented memories, leaving neither reality to grasp nor certainty to cling to.
It was as if he were on the verge of waking from a dream—only for its threads to slip through his fingers.
The first thing he noticed was the trembling of his breath. His lungs constricted, each inhale driving a knife into his chest. Breathing in his old body had been like weathering a storm: strong, deep, mighty. Now, his lungs were tight, his airways narrowed. It was as if he had been trapped in a child's body.
He opened his eyes.
At first, nothing. Just a blurry gray. Then, blinking hard a few times, he made out a dim light illuminating a wooden ceiling riddled with cracks. Dampness seeped through the gaps between the planks, thickening the room's already suffocating air.
When Kaelen turned his head, he saw a rusted nail hanging from the wall, tattered scraps of cloth dangling from it.
*"A cell…?"*
The thought flickered in his mind. But the broken cup and books on the small table beside the bed whispered that this was a home. The books, their spines jutting out from a half-open cupboard, stared back at him.
Slowly, he raised his hands. Slender, delicate fingers. The callouses from gripping a sword, the toughened skin—all gone.
These hands had never known soil, only ink. He brought his fingertips to his face, touching his forehead. His skin was smooth. The scars of old wounds, the creases of a furrowed brow—all erased.
*"No."*
Panic struck his chest like a fist. His heart pounded as if trying to break free from his ribs. He tried to leap from the bed, but his legs trembled like thread.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping. Dust from the floor clung to the tip of his tongue. He coughed. The metallic tang of blood lingered in his saliva.
*Blood?*
He brought his hand to his mouth. His fingers were clean. No trace of red. Yet that sharp, coppery taste… Something stirred in his memory.
*I was in battle.*
*I was using my flames.*
*Screams that tore the sky. The demon's dark smile.*
*"Is this all, human? You've fallen short of my expectations."*
The demon had spoken those words.
Kaelen remembered his final strike—pouring every ounce of his mana, his very being, into that inferno. The relief he felt as his body shattered… surrendering to death's cold embrace.
But now…
*He was breathing.*
*What kind of madness was this?*
He pressed his hands to his face. He wanted to tear at his hair, but it was short. Black, silken—the hair of a young boy.
*Whose body was this?*
Something squirmed inside him.
As if he had been forced into another's skin.
*A mirror.*
There had to be a mirror.
Bracing himself against the wall, he stood. Each step should have felt like a giant's, but now he staggered like a child. In the corner of the room stood a mirror with a worm-eaten frame, its glass cracked, its reflection blurred. Kaelen stopped before it.
And saw.
Staring back at him was his own face—from fifteen years ago.
Jet-black hair, strands falling over his forehead. Pale, almost translucent skin. The sharp angles of his jaw replaced by the soft roundness of youth. The old scars were gone. Worse, he was thin, frail—malnourished enough that his bones stood out.
And his eyes…
*Red.*
Crimson. Two gleaming red eyes, as if drawn in blood. Within them, the fading embers of a dying flame.
*"Fuck! This… is my younger self."*
He flinched at the sound of his own voice—high, brittle. A child's voice. He swung his fist at the mirror but stopped at the last second. The glass might shatter, but so might this body's hand. Helplessness tightened around his throat.
*"What kind of magic is affecting me?"*
Kaelen questioned himself.
*No, this is impossible,* he told himself. No spell could have touched him in his final moments.
*"My mana core. Where is it?"*
He closed his eyes. Once, he had felt a volcano churning within him. Now… emptiness. A void, cold and bottomless. He probed deeper.
There was something—but it was weak. A faint sensation, like the first flicker of a coal catching fire, spread through him.
*No. This…*
Kaelen was stunned by his mana core's level. He was back at the beginning. Not even a Level 1 mage.
He gritted his teeth, clenching his fists hard enough to pierce his palms.
*"Did I… start over? Am I back in my weak, old self?"*
Kaelen searched for anything—some clue about his situation, about where he was.
He just… needed to be sure.
His hands moved to the books on the table, then to the pockets of his clothes.
He had to find something.
A shred of hope to hold onto. He needed this dream to be real. Desperately.
*Mana training manuals. First-Level Mana Manipulation. Mana Beasts. The Lost Heroes.*
*Ding. Ding.*
A faint sound echoed in the room. Then another.
The high-pitched morning chime stabbed into Kaelen's mind like a sharp blade.
The thoughts swirling in his head began to drag him into a dark whirlpool. Time and space blurred as the shadows of the past loomed over him.
But that sound…
Those very chimes had pulled him back from the suffocating depths.
His breathing was ragged. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he reached under his pillow with a sweat-drenched hand. His fingers brushed against cold, rough metal. He gripped the old-model phone tightly.
This phone was a relic, a forgotten artifact from a dusty shelf of time. To Kaelen, it might as well have been an antique. *Fifteen years…* A full fifteen years had passed. The world was not as he had left it. Technology had advanced, cities had risen, wars had been fought and ended. Though mana beasts still plagued humanity's path, mankind had always found a way to evolve.
The dim glow of the screen illuminated Kaelen's pallid face.
Absently, he checked the message notification, his eyes struggling to focus on the name.
**"Prof. Alfia Hall."**
His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of it. For a moment, a reel of memories played in his mind—people he once knew, moments he had lost…
He frowned and quickly read the message.
*"Entrance exam is today—don't forget! If you're late, you'll wish for death."*
Kaelen gripped the phone tightly, his nails digging into his palms.
Then…
A faint tremor started at his fingertips, spreading up his arm.
*"Pffft. Still the same as ever."*
That was exactly the kind of thing Ms. Alfia would say—harsh, threatening, yet oddly familiar and warm beneath it all.
A small smile touched his lips. But beneath that smile lay years of exhaustion, regret, and broken dreams.
*"Can I fix everything?"*
The simple, burning question echoed in his mind.
A sharp pain settled in his chest. He felt like he couldn't get enough air. He was suffocating.
He wanted to scream.
To roar. To slam his fists against the walls until they broke.
But…
This body…
It was a weak, powerless, fragile shell.
Not even a fragment of the strength he once possessed remained. All that was left were the ashes of extinguished flames.
The savage cry that should have torn from his throat came out as a choked whimper.
His chest heaved as he leaned against the wall and slid slowly to the floor.
He pulled his knees to his chest, fingers threading through his hair as he rested his forehead on them. This was a silent battle.
It took him several minutes to calm down.
He took a deep breath.
Then, he made a decision. He slapped himself hard—twice.
The sting of his palms burned his face. But this pain was far more real than the hollow gloom in his mind.
He lifted his head and looked into the mirror.
The reflection staring back was someone he barely recognized.
A young, scrawny, powerless body… But his eyes—those crimson eyes—still gleamed as they once had.
Deep within them, a small spark still burned.
That was his hope.
Kaelen whispered to his reflection:
*"I… have returned."*
His voice was weak, barely audible.
But…
It was real.
And that reality ignited a fire in his heart once more.
*"I… have returned."*
This time, his voice was firmer. And in that moment, the flame inside him began to burn again.
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