The Spring Rain Fell on the Raimel Family
It was already quite late, and a gentle breeze accompanied a light wave of rain.
The darkness enveloped the lower side of the city, with hundreds of small lights sparkling like a glowing orchestra.
These lights gleamed from the towering buildings, and although it cannot be said that they reached thousands, their number still counted in the hundreds.
The Raimel family's main palace stood at the top of the mountain. Though it was a mountain, it wasn't of overwhelming height, just a few dozen meters, giving the single mountain a touch of human civilization.
On a high balcony overlooking the buildings, stood a figure not merely a man, but more like a lost spirit searching for its place in this world. His expression carried a mixture of loneliness and contemplation.
This moment stretched on, the man engrossed in himself as his eyes gazed at the falling raindrops, his mind drifting far away until he didn't notice someone approaching until they spoke.
"Lord Sayron, everyone has arrived and is waiting for you." A guard stood behind him, two meters away, lowering his head slightly as he spoke respectfully.
"I'll be there soon. You may leave," the man, Sayron, did not glance at the guard behind him. His eyes were deeply focused on the view before him, one that he may never see again.
"Your command." The guard left obediently.
Another week passes. The man closed his eyes again, these words carrying the weight of the days he had spent in this strange world, a world where he began a new life in a strange body. In fact, it started as a chapter of a fantastical tale.
When Jackson first regained consciousness in his new body, he was overwhelmed by deep confusion and silent astonishment, as if his former life had been stripped away by an unseen hand and thrown into a painting created by a writer's brush.
The world he once knew, with its glass buildings and crowded streets, had become a distant ghost, replaced by a world dripping with power from its thick stone walls and saturated with the scent of ancient times.
The air was filled with the clinks of swords and the muffled cries of weary soldiers, as if the very ground spoke in a language of conflict.
Jackson paused for a moment, sensing the weight seeping into his limbs, a new body bearing stories that weren't his, and a spirit now inhabiting him like a strange visitor in a cold palace.
Sayron Raimel, the man he had suddenly become, carried the burden of a life mingled with triumphs and tragedies.
He was the patriarch of the Raimel family, one of the noble houses whose power swayed between glory and curse in the southern region.
Fifteen years ago, fate's fierce winds had swept through his life, shattering an entire family, leaving him alone to face the harshness of life on his own.
Sayron's character was the opposite of Jackson's, who had everything, only to lose it all.
Jackson felt the pain creeping into his limbs, as if the body were reminding him of its boundaries, which he had yet to know.
His pulse throbbed in his skull like the noise of an internal battle, and his joints creaked in protest, as if they rejected his existence in this body that did not belong to him.
The muscular tension that overtook him, the deep pain that felt like whips stinging his soul, was not just a trial for the body, but a symbolic ritual for crossing into this cursed reality.
This body, now his as Sayron, carried memories that weren't his, but they flowed into his mind like water seeping into the earth's ravines.
Several other families watched with keen senses, as power and ambition intertwined in a deadly dance between families, and the Raimel family was just one player in this dance among dozens.
Jackson gazed from the palace's high balcony, where the city stretched below in the moonlight like a sea of rocks and shadows.
As he stood there, he wondered if this was his chance to rewrite the destiny that was denied to him in his previous life, or if he would remain trapped between two truths fighting over him like two hungry wolves.
He exhaled deeply and turned his back on the seemingly quiet city, taking his first steps toward the grand hall, where political talks and the snake-tongues of those wrapped around ambitions of power awaited him.
At that moment, Jackson was not just the man reborn, but part of a much larger story.
What did he want?
What does he want?
What will he get?
Jackson had no idea. He was lost, as if any path he chose would be blocked.
Jackson descended the heavy stone steps, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the cold ground, like soft breaths vanishing into the vastness of the ancient palace. The night covered the place with its mystery, and the decaying candles cast a flickering light, drawing dancing shadows like ancient ghosts.
Jackson ran his hand along the rough walls, touching a history carved into the stone, untold stories, and tragedies covered in the ashes of time. The oil paintings of kings and warriors seemed to watch him with cold eyes, overflowing with pride and cruelty, as if marking the contours of the legacy into which he had been born without choice.
Jackson spent two weeks in this world, mostly reading books, adjusting to his new body, and especially trying to build interactions with others. Despite his high position, he did not care for it as the previous owner of this body had.
The Raimel family had an organized schedule of meetings since its establishment. Every week, the family held meetings between the managers to discuss the family's internal affairs and analyze everything that had happened during that period. Every month, a larger gathering took place to discuss all the major events, with the attendance of the family's top leaders.
Jackson continued walking until he reached another massive door.
There stood two guards with unrecognizable faces, wearing gray armor that reflected the metallic coldness of the place. They were as still as stone, unmoving, as if they were part of the scene itself. With stern eyes, they exchanged a quick glance with Jackson before speaking in unison, "The supreme commander of the army, Sayron Raimel, may enter now."
He slowly pushed the door open, accompanied by the guards' voices, revealing the grand hall. The hall was like a massive cavern, drowned in darkness except for faint glimmers from the fires barely lighting the place.
At the end of the hall, a throne appeared, incredibly large, made of an unknown metal. The figure sitting on the throne was a man with strong features, though not entirely clear, yet one could sense the aura surrounding him. His eyes fixed on Jackson from a distance, as if he knew everything about him before uttering a word.
On either side of the throne, there were a group of men and women, dressed in luxurious clothes and decorated robes.
Despite the darkness, they reflected their high rank in the family, speaking in hushed tones. But as Jackson entered, silence fell over the place. All eyes turned to the newcomer.
This is worse than I thought. Anyone could feel the weight of the atmosphere and those piercing eyes measuring Jackson.
It felt as though a hyena had entered the lion's den.
Once Sayron had reached his current position, he gradually began withdrawing, isolating himself, and even the family matters had been handed over to someone else, making excuses each time, to the point where he hadn't attended any meetings for a long while.
The last meeting he attended was about seven months ago. Had he not been one of the three knights of this family, he would have been punished long ago.
"We've waited long enough," the man sitting on the throne said in a deep, powerful voice that shattered the silence. "Come, we have much to discuss."
This was the moment Jackson felt that everything might either begin or end in an instant. This is my first confrontation in this world.
After Jackson exchanged greetings, silence reigned in the hall for a moment, where everyone focused their gaze on the massive throne at the end. The throne was made of dark wood, decorated with golden edges, topped with the family crest, clearly symbolizing authority and respect. Behind the throne, banners representing the three families rose, but the Raimel family's banner dominated the scene.
From the throne emerged Mirajen Raimel, a man with stern features and a calm gaze, bearing signs of strength and experience on his face. He wore loose black attire that reflected light in every direction, giving him an imposing presence. He stood for a moment, then took wide steps toward Jackson, his eyes fixed on him.
Miragen said in a deep, serious voice: "Sairon Rimel, son of the Rimel family... everyone here has come for a purpose, but before we prepare for the future, we must face the past."
'That look, I know it,' Jackson stood firmly, but he felt an increasing inner tension. Memories of the past began to surface in his mind-his father's looks, his speeches, the look of disappointment on his father's face-all were similar to this man.
Am I afraid? Sairon was momentarily shocked by the thought.
Miragen continued: "Years ago, your father played a great role in protecting our clan, but he always believed that strength alone is not enough to maintain peace. Do you understand what I mean by this?"
Sairon took a deep breath, trying not to think about the past, and replied: "I know that well, my lord. My father taught me that strength is not in muscles or weapons, but in the ability to make the right decisions at critical times. That is what I want to achieve."
"Wise words... but they were spoken by your father, and I don't need a mere repeater!" Miragen cast any semblance of friendliness aside, exerting a powerful presence in the hall, specifically directed at Sairon. Miragen was also a knight, like Sairon.
Sairon, facing Miragen's serious gaze, said in a steady voice: "I know well what I am saying, Lord Miragen. From my experience, I have learned that strength doesn't come from controlling others but from facing oneself. We do not live in a world of absolute rights and wrongs, but in a world full of shadows that need us to shed light on them."
Miragen laughed mockingly and said: "Shadows, you say, but I tell you that those who stay in the dark will miss the opportunities in front of them. My experience has taught me that true strength comes from controlling everything, from being able to move things as you wish. People think that power means physical strength or money, but the truth is that power is controlling destiny."
'He really is like my father,' Jackson felt a bitter constriction within him.
"Is controlling destiny truly what you seek?" Sairon said challengingly. "You speak of power as if it's something to be possessed, but I have learned that true power is knowing when to let things take their course. Since I lost my mother at the age of five, I stopped believing that I could control everything. I learned that some things cannot be changed, and some losses build in us something stronger than any physical power could."
Miragen was silent for a moment, then responded coldly: "I don't believe loss builds a person. Loss weakens you, leaves you exposed to the world. The experience you went through may have made you see life through a flawed perspective."
Jackson did not want to continue pursuing this argument as he knew well that he could not convince someone who resembled his father, so he tried to shift to the main topic.
Cain did not falter under this pressure as he somewhat expected it. A person of Miragen's standing acting personally for more than half a year without yielding any results was part of Jackson's calculations: "Lord Miragen, all this is part of my plans."
Sairon was originally a humble figure uninterested in power, which made others not take him into consideration-that was what he thought.
"Your plans! What part of your plans includes neglecting family matters for seven months? Do you realize that your actions have negatively affected the family? Now, Lord Sairon Rimel, enlighten us with your plans."