---
Chapter 1: The Day I Died
The sky of Eronia bled fire.
Screams echoed between the silver towers as explosions shattered glass and flesh. What once stood as the pinnacle of human civilization now cracked under the weight of something far beyond comprehension. Aetherra's capital was dying—burning—and Ray was running through its final breaths.
His lungs ached. Blood trickled down his face, warm and sticky. His exosuit, once a sleek prototype of Kravoss engineering, now sparked and hissed like a dying animal. But he didn't stop.
Not while there was still someone to save.
Ray gritted his teeth as he dragged the wounded boy across the metal rubble. A cadet. Maybe seventeen. Maybe younger. His legs were gone, sliced clean off at the knees. The scent of scorched bone clung to the air like rot.
"Don't close your eyes," Ray said, voice hoarse, half-prayer, half-lie. "Just hold on."
He didn't know the boy's name.
Didn't matter.
Nothing mattered anymore—not names, not medals, not politics.
Only survival.
But even that was slipping away.
A howl split the air. Low. Guttural. Unnatural. Ray's muscles tensed.
He turned his head slowly.
Behind them—crawling from the edge of a collapsed sky-rail—was something monstrous.
It walked on too many legs, its body slick with black ichor, as if made of rotting shadow. Spines of jagged bone jutted from its back. Its face—or what passed for one—was a maw of teeth, twitching as it sniffed the air.
Ray's eyes narrowed.
Tier 7. Portal-class Dravanian Beast. No records. No known weaknesses.
And it was coming for them.
"Shit."
Ray dropped the kid.
He didn't even feel guilty.
He reached into his ruined chest rig and pulled the plasma grenade—Type-GX. Overload enabled. It would take everything in a fifty-meter radius.
He glanced at the sky, at the smoke-choked stars beyond the burning skyline.
So much for reaching fifty.
So much for ever knowing what System he would've gotten, if he'd had the chance.
So much for seeing his sister again.
Ray grinned.
A crooked, bloody smile.
"If anyone up there's listening," he muttered, "I better get reincarnated as a fucking dragon."
Then he pulled the pin.
White heat consumed the world.
And everything went black.
---
Silence.
A cold, absolute stillness.
Ray expected death to feel heavy. Like weight pressing down on his chest. But instead, there was… nothing. No pain. No body. Just his thoughts. Drifting.
"Is this it?"
His voice didn't echo. It didn't exist. But he heard it, somehow.
A moment passed.
Then a voice—old, layered with centuries—whispered:
"Not yet, child. Not yet."
And the darkness began to shift.
------
Chapter 2: The Gods' Debate
Ray floated in the void. It was… peaceful. Far too peaceful.
There was no up. No down. No direction, no sense of time. Just endless space, an infinite sea of nothingness. The cold didn't bother him. He couldn't even feel his body anymore.
But the silence was maddening.
For what felt like hours, he was left alone with his thoughts. His last memories—his death, the explosions, his broken world—flickered like fading embers. He had been sure he was dead. He'd accepted it, in the last moments.
So why am I still here?
Before he could contemplate further, the calm was shattered by voices—loud, authoritative, ancient.
"The boy's soul is not to be wasted."
The voice rumbled through the void like thunder, shaking the very fabric of existence. Ray instinctively tried to focus on it, but his vision remained blank.
A second voice, higher, with an edge of command, responded:
"He is a failure. Weak, with no real potential. He died because he couldn't even save a single soldier."
The air grew dense, oppressive. Ray felt the pressure build against his chest—though it didn't exist. His mind strained against the voices, trying to make sense of them.
"A human soul does not grow strong from ease. You underestimate him, Hera." This voice was softer, but carrying an undeniable weight of experience. "There is more to him than you can see. He fought until the very end. That has merit."
"Merit? A mere flicker in the flames, extinguished before it could burn bright. We have no time for such weaklings."
"Perhaps you do not, but the mortal realm does. The God of Humanity has made his choice."
Ray's head swirled with confusion. God of Humanity? He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't move. It didn't matter. He could still think—he could still understand.
"Enough." A third voice, commanding and final. This one did not debate. "He will be reborn."
Ray's heart—or what could still be called his heart—skipped. Reborn?
But before he could respond, the voices continued their argument, their tones filled with ancient weight. They were beyond his comprehension, discussing things far larger than anything a mere mortal could grasp.
The sharp voice of Hera spoke again.
"You would give him a chance? After everything? His death means nothing to me."
"It means everything to Aetherra." The final voice broke in. "The war between realms has begun. I will send him back. You will not stand in my way."
"What makes you think he can do anything?" Hera spat. "He has nothing."
"He has something more powerful than any of you realize."
The conversation paused, silence hanging heavy in the air.
"He will carry my blessing. The System will guide him. The Domain will serve him. Let him be reborn."
Ray didn't understand what they were talking about, but something inside him—something primal and deep—told him this was important. His fate was being decided. A choice was being made for him.
The older, softer voice spoke again.
"Let us test him then. If he survives, he will fulfill his purpose. If not, he will simply fade away, and the war will have its answer."
A pause.
And then the God of Humanity spoke once more, his voice firm, unwavering.
"He will not fail."
And with that, Ray felt his existence begin to shift. The void around him grew warm, the space constricting until it felt like he was being pulled through a funnel.
He had no choice but to submit, the swirling energy enveloping him entirely.
---
Suddenly, there was light.
A blinding, unforgiving light.
Ray's body snapped into existence once more, but it was different. This time, he could feel it.
His body. His skin. His heartbeat. The rush of air into his lungs. The physical reality of being alive—reborn.
And then, as he adjusted to the sensations, he heard it.
"What the hell?!"
The words escaped from his lips before he could stop them. His voice—high-pitched, tiny, and squeaky—sounded unfamiliar. He was… small.
He blinked. His vision focused.
Everything was blurry at first. But then, slowly, things began to come into focus.
A crib.
He was lying in a crib.
Ray pushed against the soft, unfamiliar fabric of blankets. He was a baby. How?
Before he could process it, the light grew brighter still, and a voice—distinct, sarcastic, and annoyingly familiar—sounded in his mind.
"Well, well, well. Look who's back."
"Who… are you?" Ray's thoughts tumbled. But before he could try to make sense of it all, the voice answered.
"I'm your System, kid. Name's 15. And guess what? Your life just got a hell of a lot more interesting."---
Chapter 3: The Awakening – Gifts from the Divine
The moment Ray's soul was reborn, he felt the weight of a world beyond his understanding crash upon him. As his vision cleared, he was no longer a baby in his father's mansion. Instead, he found himself standing in an endless void, surrounded by shifting, ethereal lights. His breath caught in his throat—he wasn't alone.
In front of him stood three figures, their silhouettes towering and indistinct, their presence radiating immense power.
"So this is where we meet...," a calm, authoritative voice echoed in Ray's mind, causing his body to stiffen. It was the voice of the God of Humanity, the one responsible for his rebirth.
Another voice, younger and far more playful, followed, "I see our little experiment is awake. Good, good. You're going to have a lot of fun, little Ray!" The God of Mischief. Ray didn't know whether to be terrified or annoyed.
And then, there was the third voice, deep, ancient, and filled with sorrow. "May the threads of fate be kind to you, child. Your destiny is... more complex than you can imagine." This was the God of Death.
Ray blinked rapidly, his head spinning. "Wait... hold up!" His voice cracked, sounding more like a whiny complaint. "I get it, I'm dead, I'm in some kind of afterlife limbo. But... Why three gods? And who exactly are you guys?"
The God of Humanity stepped forward. "You are correct, Ray. You were called here because your world is at war. The barriers between realms are weakening. And it is time for you to wield your strength and reshape the future of both Aetherra and Dravania."
Ray scratched his head, confused. "Wait, wait. So you're telling me I'm supposed to be some hero or something? A chosen one?"
The God of Mischief chuckled, the sound like a playful wind brushing through a forest. "Oh, more like a mischievous pawn, I'd say. But don't worry. You'll enjoy it." The mischievous god was clearly relishing in Ray's confusion. This was going to be a ride.
The God of Death spoke softly but clearly, his voice like a shadow. "Your journey will not be easy. There will be loss, pain, and betrayal. But remember, Ray. Life... and death... are in your hands."
Ray blinked, standing there awkwardly as the three gods observed him. He felt an overwhelming sense of... something. Maybe it was power, maybe it was dread, but one thing was certain—this was going to be one hell of a journey.
"Great. So, what's the catch here?" Ray muttered under his breath. "You guys going to hand me a sword and call it a day? Or what?"
The God of Humanity smiled slightly. "Ray, we're offering you something far more powerful than any sword. You will receive the blessings of all three of us. Gifts that will shape your future and help you protect Aetherra from the coming storm."
Ray raised an eyebrow. "Gifts? So, I get some godly powers for free?"
The God of Mischief spoke next, his voice brimming with playfulness. "Oh, it's not that easy, kid. You've got to work for it. But yeah, we'll give you the tools. All we ask is that you fulfill your role in the grand design. How you go about it is entirely up to you."
The God of Death's voice grew colder. "Do not forget, Ray. Even a god's gift comes with a price."
Ray's expression soured. "Why does everything sound like a trap?"
The God of Humanity gave a calm laugh. "There's no trap, Ray. But to receive your gifts, you must choose wisely."
Suddenly, an ethereal glow enveloped Ray. He felt his entire being tugged in three directions—one light filled with life, another with laughter, and the final one with the cold embrace of death.
---
The Gifts
Gift from the God of Humanity: The Blessing of Strength
Ray felt a surge of power rush through his body. His muscles tightened and his senses sharpened. Strength. The ability to grow beyond his limits, to command the battlefield, and to defend those in need. A raw, primal force coursed through him, making him feel more alive than ever before. It wasn't just physical strength, though—he could sense it. It was the strength of leadership, of willpower, and of defiance. The ability to push forward, even when everything seemed hopeless. He could feel the weight of responsibility, and the potential it unlocked.
Gift from the God of Mischief: The Gift of Luck and Trickery
Ray felt a wave of chaotic energy wash over him. It wasn't something he could touch, but he could feel it twisting within him. His thoughts, his mind—it all felt sharper. He now had the gift of luck—the ability to tip the scales in his favor. Whether it was outsmarting his enemies or getting out of tricky situations, this gift would help him turn the tides of any battle. In addition, Ray was gifted with a special knack for trickery, illusions, and manipulation. His enemies would never know what hit them.
Gift from the God of Death: The Blessing of the Necromancer and the Domain of the Dead
Ray could feel a chill run down his spine as he was granted this final gift. It was like a shroud wrapping around him—a cold, dark presence that whispered of secrets long buried. He could feel the pull of death itself. His Necromancer class was awakened, and with it, the power to raise the dead, command spirits, and call forth undead minions. In addition, the Domain of the Dead formed in the back of his mind—a place where the dead could be gathered, where he could summon and control the forces of darkness.
Ray stumbled backward, overwhelmed by the raw power now pulsing within him. This... this is crazy. His head spun with all the new abilities and gifts. But despite the overwhelming flood of information, something else began to grow within him—a desire to prove himself, to test the boundaries of these powers, and to use them to protect his world.
---
The God of Humanity spoke one final time, "Ray, with these gifts comes great responsibility. But you are not alone. Use your powers wisely, and do not forget—there are greater forces at play."
The God of Mischief added, "Have fun with it, kid. Life's too short to be serious."
The God of Death's voice lingered, "Remember, Ray. In the end, all things must die. But not before they've had their chance to live."
With those final words, the light around Ray intensified, and suddenly, everything went dark.
---
Back to Reality
Ray awoke with a sharp breath. He was no longer in the void, but back in his family's mansion, lying in his crib. The sounds of the house—his family—filled his ears. His fingers twitched, and for the first time, he felt... powerful. He felt alive.
And it was time to start his journey.
---
In the coming chapters, Ray will begin to unlock the full extent of these divine gifts and dive deeper into his Necromancer abilities. He will face enemies, build his army, and start forging relationships that will shape the destiny of Aetherra, Dravania, and beyond. His world is only beginning to unfold, and Ray's tale is far from over.
------
Chapter 4: A New Beginning – The Power of the Dead
Ray's first sensation upon waking wasn't the warmth of his mother's arms, nor the soft linens of his crib. Instead, it was the raw, electric surge of power coursing through his tiny body. His eyes snapped open, and his heart pounded with a new awareness. I'm alive—again.
The room around him was still the same: pale stone walls, a ceiling of intricately carved wood, and the faint smell of incense burning somewhere nearby. The only thing different was the pulse of raw energy radiating from deep within him.
Ray raised a small hand—trembling slightly—and instinctively, he felt the pull of something distant and dark. His fingers twitched again, this time with purpose. A surge of cold air erupted from the tips of his tiny fingers, sending a chill through the room. As the air swirled around, he heard a faint whisper, like a breath across a forgotten grave.
"Did... did I just do that?" Ray mumbled, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. Okay, so necromancy... cool, but a little spooky, right?
Ray wasn't sure if it was his imagination or a lingering effect of his divine gifts, but he felt like a presence had answered him. He closed his eyes, focusing, and in his mind, a dark, vast landscape appeared before him—a place that seemed to stretch endlessly, a kingdom of forgotten souls and shadowy figures.
His Domain of the Dead.
The necromantic realm was not like any land he'd expected. It wasn't desolate, nor was it filled with wailing souls. Instead, it was a strange, serene place—a calm void filled with swirling wisps of fog and ancient ruins. Ghostly figures, bound to the land by his power, slowly drifted by like lost memories.
Ray smiled, almost feeling a sense of belonging here. I've got a whole kingdom, huh? Not bad.
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: Summoning.
He focused on that thought—on raising the dead. The images of bones and ancient, dust-covered remains filled his mind, and before he could even realize what was happening, a soft click echoed in the room. His tiny hand reached out instinctively, and before him, a pile of bones began to stir.
The bones clicked and rattled as they reformed into a skeletal figure, its empty eye sockets gleaming with the faintest light. The skeleton rose slowly, its limbs creaking as they connected together, and then it bowed before Ray—who was still lying in his crib.
A wide grin spread across Ray's face. "Holy crap, this is awesome!"
The skeleton, dressed in ragged remnants of armor, stood silently, waiting for further orders. It was his first undead minion, a creation from the bones of a nearby graveyard, raised with nothing but his will.
"Alright, you," Ray said, his voice full of glee. "I guess I should name you. You're… Bob. Yeah, Bob the Skeleton!"
The skeleton raised its arm in acknowledgment.
So this is how it's gonna be, Ray thought with a smirk. I can just raise the dead, give them a name, and boom—instant army. He waved his hand, and Bob stood at attention, awaiting his next command.
---
The First Family Meeting
It was time to test out his new abilities in the real world. With his new minion by his side, Ray had to make an important decision. The manor was quiet, but his family would soon be waking, and he wasn't sure how to explain what had just happened. Then again, they might just think I'm a freakishly talented baby. Not like that's anything new...
Ray's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. His mother entered, smiling gently.
"Good morning, Ray," she cooed softly. "How are you feeling today, my little miracle?"
Before Ray could respond, Bob, the skeleton, awkwardly shuffled forward. His bones creaked with every movement, and the eerie clattering sound filled the room like a soundtrack to a horror film.
Ray's mother froze, her face pale. "Wha—what is that?!"
Ray's lips twitched as he held back a chuckle. "Uh, Mom, meet Bob. Bob the Skeleton." He waved his tiny hand toward the undead warrior, who gave an awkward salute.
Bob's grin—if skeletons could grin—was wide, unsettling, and very much deadpan. His teeth chattered as his jaw hung loosely, but he held the salute anyway, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
For a moment, Ray's mother stood there, completely speechless. Then, she slowly turned her gaze back to her son, who was still lying in the crib, looking utterly unbothered.
"Ray," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "You... you did this?"
"Yep!" Ray answered proudly. "It's my first undead. I'm calling him Bob. He's gonna be the best minion ever."
Her eyes flickered between Ray and Bob, and she stepped back slowly, clearly unsure whether to laugh or scream.
"Well... that's certainly one way to greet the morning," she said, trying to maintain her composure.
Bob stood there, saluting, clearly proud of his new master's words. Ray felt a sense of satisfaction. The undead were going to be so useful. He wasn't exactly sure what Bob could do besides stand around and look spooky, but that was enough for now.
Ray's father entered next, his sharp gaze immediately landing on the skeleton. "What in the world is this?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Dad!" Ray said enthusiastically, as Bob shuffled closer. "This is Bob! I just summoned him, and he's gonna be my first ally in the army."
The father's expression flickered between disbelief and curiosity. "I didn't think you'd start so early, Ray. But it's good to see you taking your powers seriously."
Ray's father wasn't particularly fazed by the undead, being a warrior himself. However, the presence of this bizarre new power did pique his interest.
"Well, if you're going to build an army of the dead, you'll need more than just skeletons, Ray. Be mindful of how you use your power," he added with a tone of warning.
Ray smiled slyly. "Oh, trust me, I have plans for much more than just skeletons." He glanced at Bob. "Right, Bob?"
Bob gave a rattling nod.
---
Testing More Powers
The rest of the day was spent experimenting with his new abilities, and Ray found himself excited by the potential of his powers. He had more than just the ability to raise skeletons. He could call forth zombies, bind spirits to his will, and even create soul-bound contracts that would allow him to form pacts with the living.
As Ray grew more accustomed to his powers, he found himself slipping into the comfort of his Domain of the Dead. There, he summoned undead beasts, creatures twisted by death's touch, ready to do his bidding.
---
The First Test
Later that evening, Ray stood in front of a small patch of forest near his family's home. With Bob by his side, he began the incantation to raise an undead Dire Wolf—a fearsome, monstrous creature that had once roamed the mountains.
The earth trembled as the creature's massive form emerged from the dirt, its glowing red eyes fixed on Ray.
Bob gave a loud salute. "Sir, what's the plan?"
Ray grinned. "Let's see how well these creatures fight."
And so, with his first beast at his command, Ray began the training—testing the strength of his army, and honing his power over death itself.
---
ToChapter 5: Beginnings of Growth
Age: 3 to 4 Years Old
Ray awoke with the first light of dawn filtering through the small cracks in the wooden beams above his bed. The warmth of the blanket wrapped snugly around him felt safe and familiar, a sharp contrast to the foreign world he had woken up in after his rebirth. For a moment, he closed his eyes again, letting the soft sounds of his family echo around him—his father's heavy footsteps, his mother's gentle humming, and the occasional crackling sound from the hearth. The world felt safe... for now.
But safety wasn't something Ray had been given in his past life. He had died, been reborn, and now, in this strange new reality, he was determined to make sure he didn't waste this second chance. His memories of his previous life still haunted him, a faint whisper in the back of his mind, but today wasn't about the past. Today was about the future.
With a small sigh, Ray kicked the blankets off, his tiny limbs a little stiff from yesterday's training. At barely three years old, he was still small, his arms and legs pudgy, but there was something growing inside him. Something strange, yet powerful. He didn't understand it yet, but his powers were awakening—slowly, cautiously, like a baby stretching for the first time.
"Ray! You better be up!" his father's voice boomed from downstairs. There was no mistaking the command in his tone, but there was also something else, something that could only be described as faint pride mixed with unspoken expectation.
Ray rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud. With a grunt, he stood, stretching his small body as he trudged to the door. As he stepped out of his room, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat filled the air. His stomach growled in response, but his training was far more important today. There would be time to eat later.
His father stood in the small practice yard just outside their modest home, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the early morning light. The man was a living mountain of muscle—at least to Ray's childlike perspective. A Level 12 warrior, strong enough to cleave through the toughest of opponents, yet he was there, waiting for his son, eyes as sharp as ever.
"Ray," his father barked, his voice low and commanding, "grab the wooden sword from the shed. Today, we train. No exceptions."
Ray nodded, already knowing what was coming. His father had a simple approach to training—no excuses, no rest, and always pushing him to be better. Every day since his rebirth, Ray had been subjected to intense drills, forced to train his body, learn the ways of combat, and eventually master the art of the sword. While it wasn't his first love, Ray understood that it was important. His father had always insisted, "Strength comes in many forms, but power is only useful when you know how to use it."
He grabbed the wooden practice sword, still a bit heavy for his tiny hands, and stood before his father, trying to mimic the stance he had been shown. It was awkward, his tiny arms trembling as he tried to hold the weapon straight.
His father eyed him, a slight frown forming on his face. "Posture, Ray. You need to keep your back straight and your grip firm. A sword is an extension of yourself. If you can't hold it properly, you'll be useless in battle."
Ray gritted his teeth, his small fingers clutching the hilt of the sword tighter, willing his body to obey. His father stepped closer, his large hand reaching out to adjust Ray's stance, positioning his body exactly the way it needed to be.
"Better," his father muttered, stepping back. "Now, swing."
Ray tried, his arms lifting the sword with all the strength he could muster, but the weight of the weapon seemed to double as he brought it down. The movement felt awkward, clumsy, and though his father said nothing, the look in his eyes told Ray everything—he wasn't impressed. Not yet.
He swung again, this time with a bit more precision, a little more power behind the strike. The wooden sword cut through the air with a whoosh, but still, Ray's muscles were no match for the skilled warriors his father had trained with.
"Again," his father said, voice gruff but not unkind. "You're stronger than this. I know it."
Ray huffed out a breath, his hands sweaty as he prepared for another swing. His arms felt like lead, but he refused to show any signs of weakness. I can do this, he told himself, even as his muscles screamed in protest.
As his sword came down again, something stirred deep within him. There was a strange heat that pulsed inside him, a thrum of energy that felt foreign yet natural, all at once. The sword... it trembled in his hands, as if it were alive, reacting to the surge of energy.
His father stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he observed the small fluctuations in the air around Ray. "What was that?" he asked, his voice curious, but with a hint of caution.
Ray, still holding the sword, blinked in confusion. The energy was gone, fading as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the feeling of exhaustion in its wake. "I... I don't know," he mumbled, looking at the sword in his hands. Had it been his power? Or something else?
His father frowned but didn't comment further. "We'll work on that later. Focus on your body first. Power comes from discipline."
Ray nodded, even though a part of him longed to explore that strange sensation, the magic he had felt flickering within him. He didn't understand it fully yet, but it was the first real sign of his potential. He could feel it—the magic that slept inside him, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
---
The Quiet Moments
Later, after the training session ended, Ray sat quietly at the dinner table with his family. His father was in his usual brooding silence, his mother smiling as she placed a plate of food in front of him. Grandma was the only one who noticed the quiet frown that had settled on his face.
"Something on your mind, Ray?" she asked, her voice soft, but filled with wisdom. She had always been the one to comfort him when his father's words had been too harsh or when his training had felt too overwhelming.
Ray hesitated before answering. "I felt something today. During training. Like... like my sword was reacting to something inside me. It was strange."
His grandmother smiled knowingly, her eyes twinkling. "That's the start of it, dear. The power within you. Magic isn't something you can force, but you'll learn how to harness it, little by little. Don't rush it."
Ray nodded, the quiet reassurance in his grandmother's voice giving him hope. For the first time since his rebirth, he felt like he might actually be able to accomplish something great.
---
The Beast Tree Awakens
Later that night, as the household settled into a quiet calm, Ray retreated to the small corner of their property where his Domain had begun to take root. It wasn't much—a patch of land that stretched only a few meters in every direction—but it was his. Within this space, he could feel a strange connection to the earth itself, a link that tethered him to his abilities as a Necromancer.
He closed his eyes and focused, reaching out with his mind, letting his power ripple through the air. And then, it began. From the center of his Domain, a small, withered tree began to grow—its bark dark and twisted, its roots slowly wrapping around the land. This was no ordinary tree; it was the beginning of something far greater.
The Beast Tree.
Ray watched, fascinated, as the roots twisted deeper into the ground, drawing from the land itself. The tree's branches began to stretch out, forming the first of his undead army—his first summon. A skeletal wolf, its bones gleaming under the faint light of the moon, emerged from the soil. It stood tall and proud, its glowing eyes locked onto Ray as if it had been waiting for him all along.
Ray grinned. "Welcome to the family."
The wolf growled softly, the bones rattling as it shifted its weight, but Ray could feel the connection—the loyalty, the bond that tied them together. This was his first step in building his army.
And Ray knew, in that moment, that his journey had truly begun.
---