Darkness.
That was the last thing Valen remembered. The cold, unforgiving void that swallowed him whole, the sharp pain of betrayal, and the haunting look in his sister's eyes as she pulled the trigger.
Her expression was seared into his mind, a mixture of resolve and deceit. Used. Manipulated. Discarded. That had been his life as Ethan Cross.
But now… warmth.
Soft fabric pressed against his skin, a far cry from the hard streets and grim environments he once knew.
His limbs felt weak, unnaturally so, and his entire body seemed… smaller. Feeble. He struggled to move but found his muscles unresponsive as if they had never been used.
His eyes fluttered open, and immediately, he was bathed in the soft golden light of a grand chandelier overhead.
The ceiling was intricately carved with serpents coiled around blazing suns, their detailed design hinting at something ancient, something revered. This wasn't anything he recognized.
"Where am I?"
The thought hit him like a jolt. His surroundings were alien, and luxurious, yet unfamiliar. The fabric that cradled him was silken, rich in texture, and beneath him lay plush bedding.
He blinked, his vision clearing more by the second, but the strangeness of his situation only deepened.
This wasn't the cold and dark life of a killer. He wasn't in some dingy hideout or blood-soaked alleyway.
His mind sharpened as he began to take stock of everything around him—the gold filigree on the walls, the high ceilings, the distant murmur of voices. Who lived like this?
Another thing tugged at him, something more concerning than the surroundings—his body. It felt unfamiliar, not just weak, but smaller.
His limbs were tiny, lacking the callouses and scars that had once marked him. He tried to move his hand, and when it finally came into view, the sight confirmed his suspicions.
A child's hand. Soft, pale, and untouched by the world.
His heart pounded, a surge of panic rising. What happened to me? He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to feel like this.
The door to the room creaked open, interrupting his thoughts. A figure entered, and the soft rustle of fabric accompanied her approach.
A woman with flowing raven-black hair and eyes that glittered like amethyst jewels. She was stunning—impossibly beautiful, her features delicate but commanding.
Her long hair cascaded down her back, shimmering under the warm light, and her elegant gown spoke of wealth and power beyond anything he could comprehend.
She moved toward him with grace, her every step poised, and as her gaze fell on him, her face softened into a smile—a warm, loving smile that felt… genuine.
But there was something beneath that warmth, a hidden steel in her eyes, the kind that spoke of danger and ferocity.
"My precious Valen," she whispered, leaning down to him. "You're awake."
Valen.
The name reverberated in his mind, and suddenly, everything clicked. It was like a bolt of lightning striking his memory, triggering something buried deep within his subconscious.
Valen Aetheris. The name was familiar—not just from her lips, but from something deeper. A memory, no, a story.
The world he had found himself in, this name… it was from the novel. The very novel that had been his only solace during the dark times of his past life.
He had read it as an escape, as a distraction from the endless bloodshed. But how was he here? How had he become part of it?
His thoughts raced, connecting the dots. He had been transmigrated—reborn as Valen Aetheris, the sole heir to the Aetheris family, one of the most powerful noble houses in the empire. No longer Ethan Cross, the assassin.
Lady Isolde—his mother, according to the novel—reached out, brushing a hand gently over his cheek. Her touch was soft, but there was an underlying strength in her movements, a confidence born from her position of power.
As Valen processed everything, she lifted him slightly in her arms with practiced ease, cradling him as she reached for a silver cup on a nearby table.
The cup seemed to glow faintly with an otherworldly light, a reflection of its contents—treasure-infused milk, meant to strengthen him for the challenges that lay ahead.
This was a preparation, he remembered, for the Transcendence Ceremony that would occur when he was one month old.
The treasures his family possessed were beyond priceless, capable of igniting wars among lesser factions, but to the Aetheris family, they were nothing more than tools to ensure their heirs grew strong.
Isolde dipped a fine cloth into the cup and brought it to Valen's lips, allowing him to drink the elixir.
It was warm, rich, and as soon as it touched his tongue, a heat spread through his small body, burning through his veins like fire. Pain, sharp but tolerable. Nothing like the torment he had endured in his previous life.
As the liquid coursed through him, Valen felt his muscles tense and his skin prickle. The treasures within the milk were already working to fortify his body, preparing him for the ritual that awaited him.
His mother's amethyst eyes, which mirrored his own, watched him intently, filled with pride.
"You'll be ready soon, my dear," she murmured, brushing back a strand of her raven-black hair. "This is only the beginning."
Her voice was soft, loving, but Valen knew better. She was more than just a doting mother. She was Lady Isolde Aetheris, a woman both feared and respected across the empire.
Her reputation was one of beauty and ruthlessness, known for her fierce loyalty to her family and her willingness to destroy anyone who threatened them.
This is my mother, Valen thought, his mind already piecing together how he could use this to his advantage.
She would do anything for him, of that he was certain. And with her influence, he could rise faster than anyone else in this world.
The door opened again, and a new figure entered.
Lord Marcellus Aetheris, his father. The man was an imposing sight—tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-white hair that flowed down to his collar and eyes the color of the deepest ocean blue.
His features were rugged, chiseled, and his presence filled the room with a silent authority. He didn't need to speak to command respect—it was in the way he carried himself, his every step exuding power.
Valen immediately recognized the similarities. The silver-white hair, which would soon be his own, and his mother's amethyst-colored eyes, which were already staring back at him in the mirror of his crib.
"How is he?" Marcellus asked, his voice deep and steady, like a mountain unmoved by time.
"Drinking well," Isolde replied, her tone filled with quiet satisfaction. "He'll be ready for the Transcendence Ceremony."
Marcellus approached, gazing down at Valen with an intensity that betrayed a deep sense of pride. Though his expression remained composed, Valen could sense it—the silent acknowledgment of his importance, the weight of his father's expectations.
Valen wasn't just a child to them. He was the future of the Aetheris family, the heir to a legacy that even the emperor himself wouldn't dare challenge.
Valen's thoughts churned as he studied the two figures before him. His mother, fierce and protective, a woman whose love was as dangerous as it was comforting.
His father, stoic and powerful, the kind of man who didn't need to say much to be obeyed. Both of them were his tools now—resources he could use to cement his own power in this world.
And he would use them.
The treasure-infused milk continued to burn through his veins, the pain sharpening his mind as he focused on the future.
He could already feel the mana in the air around him, though he had yet to fully connect with it. The ceremony would unlock that potential, but for now, he would observe, analyze, and plan.
He was Valen Aetheris, but the ruthlessness and manipulative mind of Ethan Cross still lived within him. In this life, though, he would be in control. No one would use him ever again.
"Soon," Valen thought, his eyes gleaming with a darker edge. "Soon, I'll awaken. And when I do, this world will bend to my will."