I was in the middle of writing a chapter for my novel when I died from a heart attack. Instead of finally resting my soul, I got transported into the novel I was writing, and that novel, wasn't really peaceful.
Well, it's been a month since then, and I've learned some stuff here. I'm Cain Roylus, son of Alden. Turns out, he has finished conquering the whole continent and married Claire, who is now my mother.
I have pinkish-colored eyes and dark purple hair. I've got no idea what my magic is, and I've got no idea why I got reborn here or how the hell Alden took over the continent. I was planning to kill him in the last chapters after all.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps, and Alden walked in, looking pale as ever, and his crimson eyes blank. Looks like he never got back his sanity fully.
I pretended to be asleep, so he just kissed me on my cheek and left the room. The next morning, we had a family dinner, and for some reason, I could already walk and talk at one month old. Newbie novelist logic strikes again, huh?
Well, the first five-ish years of my life were: walk, talk, sleep.
At five, Alden started training my body.
At six, I could train on my own, for a bit, like 1 hour at most.
At seven, everything took a solid turn.
One day, while in my bedroom, a maid walked in and told me that my father was calling me. After dressing up, I left the room and walked into the hallway, which seemed endless. On the walls were portraits of my ancestors. All I could feel was pity, since I was the one who killed them mercilessly, just by using a phone.
As I stepped into the resplendent throne room, its grandeur mirrored the vivid imagery I had crafted within the confines of my novels. The opulence of gold adorned every corner, casting a regal glow upon the surroundings. There, seated on the magnificent throne, was Alden—the embodiment of a character born from my imagination. To his side, Claire radiated a quiet grace, her presence adding a touch of warmth to the regal ambiance.
The air in the room seemed to crackle with unspoken significance, and my gaze met Alden's as he regarded me with a seriousness that mirrored the complexities of the narrative I had sculpted.
"Cain," his voice echoed through the hall, a blend of authority and contemplation.
I looked at him without speaking a word.
"After thinking for a while, your mother and I have decided to send you to the imperial school," his voice echoed through the room yet again.
I always had bad social skills, but had to reluctantly agree to this. Yes, I was scared of the character that I wrote. I mean, what could a seven-year-old boy's body do against a warlord? Oh man, I dug my own grave at this point.
The next day dawned with anticipation. As soon as I woke up, I had to change my clothes to that of a school's.
The fabric of the uniform, a blend of rich silk and fine threads, embraced my form with tailored elegance. The imperial crest, intricately embroidered in gold, adorned the chest—a symbol of prestige and heritage. As I fastened the buttons, the ensemble exuded a sense of belonging to a prestigious lineage, a visual manifestation of the world-building intricacies woven into the narrative.
The cut of the uniform, a harmonious blend of tradition and modernity, spoke to the essence of the imperial school. The regality of purple, a color associated with power and ambition, resonated with the aspirations that drove my character, Cain, and now, in an unexpected twist, my own journey within the narrative.
The uniform bore subtle details—a delicate pattern along the collar, a nod to the artistic sensibilities of the empire. The sleeves, tailored with precision, added a touch of sophistication, while the imperial insignia on the cuff hinted at the interconnected threads of destiny that wove through the imperial school's storied history.
Soon enough, a carriage had arrived, full of gold that cost almost more than a mansion. My parents said their goodbyes to me, and I left. I left the palace for the time which I didn't know. It could be months, could be years, could be centuries even. Yeah, centuries are too much, but anyway, I left for the new journey.
When I arrived near the school, it shined in quartz, more shiny than the sunlight. Its each pillar had different details; some had bones of fallen warriors, some were full of rare gems. I wondered who came up with this because it definitely wasn't me.
A lot of passersby had bowed when seeing me, to avoid that, I boosted my confidence and finally took the step into the school.
And the halls full of red carpets, portraits, high-ranking nobles, quartz, yes more quartz, welcomed my sight.
The doors of the imperial school, adorned with intricate carvings that echoed the grandeur of Arythia's history, stood tall and imposing. Each door, a portal to knowledge and refinement, bore the crest of the academy—a regal emblem that whispered of centuries of scholarly pursuits and noble legacies.
As I traversed the expansive halls, the echo of footsteps reverberated against the marble floors, creating a cadence that seemed to harmonize with the weight of imperial history. The walls, adorned with oil paintings depicting the triumphs and challenges of bygone eras, unfolded like a visual chronicle of Arythia's ascent.
The ceiling, a masterful mosaic of intertwined vines and gilded motifs, stretched overhead, imparting an air of opulence that transcended the mundane. Illuminated chandeliers, suspended with a graceful decadence, cast a warm glow upon the corridors, their intricate designs reflecting the meticulous craftsmanship synonymous with the imperial aesthetic.
A lot of people bowed after seeing me, so I rushed into my classroom, which was written on my uniform. 1-A, obviously; I'm a prince after all.
I hoped the classroom would look a bit normal, but no, it was full of marble too. There, people welcomed me. I doubt it was on their free will, though.