Aldric Varion's vision blurred as he staggered backward, the sword driven through his chest burning like molten iron. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by the slow, mocking clap of Kael the Wraith. His closest general, a man Aldric had trusted with his life, stood with bloodied hands beside the dark sorcerer. Betrayal, pure and simple.
"Do you see it now, Aldric?" Kael's voice dripped with venom. "Your reign ends today. Your kingdom will fall, and your name will be forgotten."
Aldric tried to speak, to curse them with his dying breath, but his strength failed. The light in his eyes dimmed as he collapsed to the blood-soaked ground. As darkness consumed him, only one thought remained: vengeance.
When Aldric opened his eyes again, the sky above him was a dull, cloudy gray. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving, but there was no pain, no wound. The battlefield was gone. Instead, he lay on rough, cold earth, surrounded by tall, ancient trees that swayed ominously in the wind.
"What...?" His voice cracked, sounding younger, weaker. He reached up to touch his face, his hands trembling. They were not the calloused hands of a warrior king but the soft hands of a youth, unscarred and untested.
He struggled to his feet, taking in his surroundings. This wasn't Varion, his kingdom. And these weren't his lands. His clothes were rough and threadbare, a far cry from the armor he had worn into battle.
"What is this place?" he muttered, panic beginning to edge into his voice.
He caught sight of his reflection in a nearby pool of water. The face staring back at him was unfamiliar—young, no older than twenty, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that hadn't yet seen the horrors of war. This wasn't his face. This wasn't his body.
Aldric stumbled back, his mind racing. Somehow, impossibly, he had been reborn.
His memories came rushing back in a flood: the battle, the betrayal, Kael's twisted grin as he delivered the final blow. And now, this...second chance? It didn't make sense. But he had no time to dwell on the how or why.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching through the underbrush snapped him to attention. Aldric's instincts, honed through years of battle, kicked in. He crouched low, his eyes scanning for anything he could use as a weapon.
Three men emerged from the trees, burly and rough-looking, their clothes ragged, their faces scarred. Bandits, by the look of them. The leader, a man with a thick, matted beard and a wicked grin, noticed Aldric and raised a crude iron sword.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the leader sneered, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the young man before him. "Looks like a lost lamb wandered into our woods, boys."
The other two men chuckled darkly, drawing their own weapons. Aldric felt the surge of adrenaline, the familiar rush that came before a fight. But he was unarmed, his body unfamiliar, untrained. He wasn't the warrior king anymore—at least, not in this form.
But he was still Aldric Varion, and he had no intention of dying again.
"Leave now, and I'll let you live," Aldric said, his voice steady, despite the pounding in his chest.
The bandits laughed, clearly amused by the young man's boldness.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," the leader said, stepping closer, sword at the ready. "But we're going to have to take more than just your coin."
Aldric's mind worked rapidly. He had no weapon, but he didn't need one. Not yet. He needed to outthink them, to use what little he had.
The leader lunged, swinging his sword in a wide arc, aiming to cleave Aldric in two. Aldric sidestepped, the move instinctual, honed by countless battles. The blade missed by inches, biting into the ground where he had stood. Before the leader could recover, Aldric slammed his elbow into the man's throat, cutting off his breath with a choked gasp.
The bandit stumbled, clutching his throat, and Aldric didn't waste a second. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisting hard until the sword fell from his grip. In one fluid motion, Aldric caught the sword and drove it into the man's gut.
The leader's eyes widened in shock and pain as he crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. The other two bandits hesitated, their confidence shaken.
Aldric pulled the sword free, the weight of it familiar and comforting in his hands. He pointed it at the remaining bandits.
"Who's next?" he asked, his voice cold.
The two bandits exchanged a glance, their bravado crumbling. They were used to preying on the weak, not fighting someone who could kill them without hesitation.
"Not worth it," one of them muttered, backing away slowly.
The other followed suit, and soon they were both running, disappearing into the trees, leaving their leader to die alone in the dirt.
Aldric watched them go, his grip on the sword tightening. He didn't care about them. They were nothing. What mattered now was figuring out where he was and how he had ended up here.
He wiped the blood from the sword and sheathed it in the dead bandit's scabbard, then began searching the body for anything useful. He found a small pouch of coins, a half-empty waterskin, and a scrap of parchment with a crude map drawn on it. The map showed a few landmarks—a village to the east, a river to the north. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Aldric glanced at the map, then at the sky. The sun was sinking lower, and he needed to move before more bandits came looking for their missing leader.
He started walking east, towards the village. As he walked, he focused on his breathing, on the feel of the ground beneath his feet, grounding himself in this new reality.
This body was weaker, less trained, but it would have to do. He'd have to start over, to rebuild his strength, his skills. But he would do it. He would rise again.
And when he did, he would have his revenge.
---
The village of Grayhaven was small, with only a few dozen houses scattered along a dirt road. As Aldric approached, he noticed the weariness in the villagers' faces, the way they kept their heads down and hurried about their business, as if afraid to draw attention.
He slipped into the village quietly, keeping his head low, blending in with the crowd. He needed information, a place to rest, and a plan. But first, he needed to understand where he was and what had happened to him.
He made his way to the village square, where a small market was set up. The vendors sold simple goods—bread, vegetables, and a few cheap trinkets. Aldric approached an elderly man selling bread, his hands trembling slightly as he held out a coin.
"Excuse me, where am I?" Aldric asked, keeping his voice casual.
The old man looked up, squinting at him. "You're in Grayhaven, lad. Small village, nothing special. What's a young man like you doing here alone?"
Aldric forced a smile. "Just passing through. Do you know where I could find some work?"
The old man shook his head. "Not much work here, I'm afraid. Most folk are farmers or hunters. You might try the tavern, though. Sometimes travelers pass through, looking for help."
Aldric nodded, taking the bread and handing over the coin. "Thank you."
He made his way to the tavern, a small, worn-down building at the edge of the village. Inside, it was dimly lit, with a few patrons sitting at tables, nursing their drinks. Aldric approached the bar, where a burly man with a thick beard was cleaning mugs.
"What can I get you?" the barkeep grunted.
"A room for the night, if you have one," Aldric replied.
The barkeep eyed him up and down, then nodded. "We've got a room. Two silver coins."
Aldric handed over the coins without hesitation. "Also, I'm looking for work. Anything that pays."
The barkeep raised an eyebrow. "Not much work around here, unless you're good with a sword. The local lord's always looking for new blood for his militia. Pays well enough, if you're not afraid of a fight."
Aldric's interest piqued. "Which lord?"
"Lord Darion. Rules over these parts from his keep a few miles north. Tough old bastard, but fair. He's been having trouble with bandits lately. Could be why he's looking for more men."
Aldric nodded, considering his options. Joining the militia could be a way to gain a foothold, to start rebuilding his strength and influence. And if this Lord Darion was truly as fair as the barkeep said, he might even be a valuable ally.
"I'll think about it," Aldric said, taking the key to his room.
The barkeep grunted in response, already turning his attention to another customer.
Aldric climbed the narrow stairs to his room, his mind racing. He needed to be smart, to plan his next moves carefully. He was in a new world, with new rules, but he was still Aldric Varion.