Raiden's consciousness stirred slowly, as if waking from a long, dreamless slumber. His limbs felt heavy, weighed down by an unfamiliar lethargy. When his eyes fluttered open, he was met by a dimly lit, richly adorned ceiling. His breath caught. This was not the modern world he remembered.
"Where am I ?"
He sat up abruptly, only to wince as pain lanced through his ribs. His fingers instinctively pressed against his chest, feeling the firmness of unfamiliar muscle. He glanced at his hands—they were long, elegant, with pale callouses. He frowned. These were not his hands.
Raiden's mind whirled as foreign memories invaded his consciousness. This was not his body, not his life. His name—Raiden Rael, the disgraced son of a powerful clan—flashed into his thoughts, bringing with it a flood of emotions. The memories of this body revealed a world of cultivation, where spiritual roots determined one's future, and Raiden Rael, though born into nobility, had the weakest spirit roots of anyone in his family. A failure. A disappointment.
But that wasn't the entire truth.
Raiden swung his legs off the bed and stood, his body heavy, sore from disuse. His gaze landed on a polished silver mirror across the room, and his breath hitched. The reflection staring back at him was otherworldly, almost ethereal. His skin, a deep, rosy dark, glowed under the soft light. Platinum white hair, stark against his complexion, fell loosely around his shoulders. His eyes—sharp, glinting greenish-silver—were the kind that could cut through stone with a single glance.
He was, simply put, breathtaking. He exuded a quiet, dangerous beauty that felt almost unnatural, as if he belonged to another realm. He was mesmerizing to look at, but also unsettling. There was a power lurking beneath his striking appearance—a dormant strength waiting to be unleashed.
As Raiden moved closer to the mirror, the flood of memories and instincts coalesced into a single thought: his spirit roots weren't as useless as everyone believed. The faint energy within him wasn't weak; it was simply dormant, waiting for the right method to unlock it. A forgotten technique from his old life rose in his mind—an ancient scripture designed to cultivate growth-type spirit roots. This body wasn't cursed. It was a hidden treasure.
Raiden couldn't help but smile. He could grow stronger, stronger than anyone ever imagined, but he had to remain in the shadows, concealed from those who would destroy him before he reached his full potential.
Three days earlier…
Raiden's mind felt like it had been submerged in water, distant memories and unfamiliar sensations swirling together. But as his senses began to sharpen, he heard faint voices, muffled and distorted, as though they were coming from far away.
"Will he wake up?" a woman's voice asked, trembling with worry.
"The young master is in a deep coma," another voice replied, this one more assured. "But there is no mortal injury. He'll recover—though his weakened state makes it uncertain when."
The conversation faded in and out as Raiden struggled to orient himself. He felt something tugging at him, a foreign heaviness pulling his consciousness deeper into the abyss, but there was also a growing light, a warmth that filled him.
Raiden's head jerked as he gasped for air, eyes snapping open. His body trembled slightly as the memories of his former life rushed back with jarring force, merging with the awareness of his new reality. The woman's voice returned, much closer now.
"Raiden!" she cried softly.
His vision cleared, revealing a beautiful woman kneeling by his side. Her face was delicate, with soft features framed by dark hair that fell in loose waves. Raiden recognized her immediately—Elise, the mother of this body.
"Mother," Raiden said, though the word felt foreign on his lips. He hadn't spoken it in so long, not since… another time. But the emotions were real, shared between both his current self and the one whose life he'd inherited.
Elise's eyes welled with tears. "Thank the heavens you're awake! We feared you wouldn't recover this time." Her fingers brushed against his forehead, as though she needed the physical contact to reassure herself that he was truly alive.
"I… I'm fine," Raiden muttered, his voice weaker than he had expected. His throat was dry, as if he hadn't spoken for days. How long have I been unconscious?
"You've been out for four days," Elise said softly, as though reading his thoughts. "The family healer said you would recover, but…"
She didn't finish, but Raiden could feel the weight of her worry. He glanced around the room again, trying to piece together more of the scattered memories that flooded his mind. His family… no, this family, the Raels, was steeped in power and pride. Yet, as far as the outside world was concerned, Raiden Rael was nothing more than a failure.
The memories, now clearer, painted a grim picture of his past. He was the eldest son, yet his spirit roots, the core of one's power in this world, were abysmal—shallow, brittle, and incapable of proper cultivation. His family had written him off. Most of them, at least.
"Where is Seren?" Raiden asked. Even as the question left his lips, another wave of foreign emotion washed over him. Seren, his younger sister, had been the only one in this family to show him true kindness.
"She's with your father, in the main hall," Elise said, her tone shifting slightly, tinged with unease. "He'll want to see you soon."
Raiden nodded absently, though the thought of facing the patriarch of this clan filled him with trepidation. From the memories, he knew the relationship with his father had been strained, to put it mildly. The man had expectations, expectations that this body had never lived up to.
But this was a new beginning. Raiden was no longer the weak, despondent young master who had been written off. He was something else now. And he wouldn't let anyone—or anything—stand in his way.
Present day…
The energy hummed in the air as Raiden completed another cultivation cycle, drawing deep breaths as the warmth of his spirit roots flowed through him. The scripture he had remembered was working. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, but with each day, his strength grew. It was still early, still fragile, but the progress was undeniable.
He opened his eyes, a sharp glint of greenish-silver reflecting in the dim light of his room. He had no intention of letting anyone discover the truth—not yet. It was better if they continued to underestimate him, to dismiss him as the weakling they believed him to be.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. This time, the knock was more authoritative, almost cold.
"Raiden, the patriarch summons you."
Raiden's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. So, it begins.
He stood, adjusting his robes. He would have to be careful. If anyone suspected he was hiding his true potential, his enemies would strike before he had a chance to grow stronger. But Raiden wasn't afraid of them. He wasn't afraid of his father, of his clan, or of anyone who tried to stand in his way. He had knowledge, experience, and now, a power that was growing stronger by the day.
As Raiden walked out of the room, the flickering lantern light cast long shadows down the corridor, his platinum white hair glinting like moonlight in the dark. His thoughts sharpened. This world was far more dangerous than the one he had known before, but it was also ripe with opportunities.
If the Rael family wanted to continue underestimating him, they would soon learn the cost of their ignorance. Raiden had no intention of being weak. He would rise—quietly, steadily, and with a ferocity they would never expect.