As the darkness closed in, Alden felt his body begin to melt into nothingness. His senses dulled, his vision blurred, and the world around him faded into an endless void. He was slipping away, the weight of his existence lightening, his breath slowing, his heartbeat growing faint. The silence pressed in on him, thick and suffocating, as though the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to vanish completely. There was nothing but emptiness, and for a brief moment, it seemed like it would swallow him whole.
His mind, too, began to fade. Thoughts disintegrated into fragmented whispers, lost in the darkness of the void. He was no longer conscious of himself, his consciousness drifting like a leaf on a windless day. Time meant nothing, yet in that endless moment which felt like eternity, something pulled him from the this void. At first, it was faint—a soft pull, a whisper too distant to understand—but it grew stronger, undeniable. It was as though something was reaching for him, calling to him, pulling him back from the void.
Then, suddenly the void stirred and it seemed like it would break at a moment's notice when, suddenly, a voice so sinister that it seemed like it would make people go mad just by listening to it, difficult to guess if it was male or female, cut through the darkness—a deep but sinister whisper that seemed to pierce the void itself.
"You're here at last... the chosen one."
The words were spoken with an ancient certainty and anticipation, their weight hanging heavy in the air, but Alden couldn't grasp their meaning. His mind was too far gone to process anything beyond the pull, the force that kept drawing him back, back to something real.
The voice faded just as quickly as it came, leaving only the silence. But the darkness began to recede, and Alden felt the sharp sting of light. It was sudden, blinding—a flash of pure brilliance that seemed to sear his very soul. His body recoiled, as if trying to escape the intensity of it. His head throbbed painfully, his thoughts scattered, his body feeling unfamiliar pain. Just as he tried to make sense of what was happening, a sharp kick struck his head, sending his mind spinning. But before going unconscious, he saw a boy with blonde hair and red eyes sneering at him. He was saying something, but he couldn't process anything. And then, once more, everything went black.
---
When he awoke, it was slow, like surfacing from a deep sleep. His head was heavy and throbbing, his limbs sluggish and feeling unfamiliar. For a long moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The cold, oppressive void had vanished, replaced by a soft warmth. He could feel the softness of a bed beneath him, and the air around him smelled faintly of wood and hearth. The pain in his skull lingered, a dull throb that wouldn't let him forget the chaos of his last moments. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, but for a moment, he couldn't remember what.
With a groan, he tried to sit up. His body protested, heavy and weak. His head felt dizzy, the dizziness threatening to pull him back into unconsciousness. But he pushed through, dragging himself upright, only to be struck by a jolt of disorientation. The room around him was unfamiliar. Expensive decoration lined the walls. The furniture was expensive-looking and clean, without a single speck of dust. It was the sort of room one might expect a rich businessman to rest in—not someone like him.
He blinked, confusion deepening. 'Where am I?' This place—it felt familiar, yet foreign. As though he had read about it in some forgotten story, but couldn't quite recall the details.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the door to the room opened. A figure entered, her footsteps light, echoing softly on the polished floor. She was tall, with dark hair that fell like a river of night around her shoulders. Her eyes were deep red, and there was a quiet intensity to her gaze. She moved toward him without a word, her presence calm and indifferent, as though she were a part of the very air around him.
Without speaking, she handed him a bottle. The glass was cool in his hands, the liquid inside shimmering faintly in the blue shimmer. Its purpose eluded him. She studied him for a moment, her eyes unwavering, before turning and leaving as silently as she had come. No explanation, no comfort—just a quiet command to drink.
His mind raced, but before he could process anything, an explosion of pain tore through his skull. It was as though a thousand needles were stabbing into his brain, sharp and relentless. He gasped, clutching at his temples, but the pain wouldn't relent. It was as if his very thoughts were being ripped apart, memories—strange, unfamiliar memories—flooding his mind. They didn't belong to him, yet they felt like they had always been there, hidden deep inside, waiting to be awakened.
The pain was unbearable, a torment unlike anything he had ever known. But just as suddenly as it came, it began to ease. The memories settled, their jagged edges smoothing out, and the pain receded into a dull ache. What remained was a strange sense of familiarity—a feeling that these memories, though foreign, were his now.
He wasn't the man he had been. The truth came crashing down on him, and with it, the crushing weight of his situation. He wasn't alive by chance. He was someone else now. He was Alden Draven, the illegitimate son of a powerful noble family, a man who had always been forgotten, cast aside, and discarded by those who should have cared for him.
The realization hit him like a wave. He had transmigrated into this world, a world he had once read about with awe. "Chronicles of Unworthy Prince.'' The name had been a distant fantasy, a story he had escaped into in his youth. But now it was his reality. And in this world, he was nothing. He was not even an extra, not even mentioned in the novel. He was a discarded heir, ignored and unwanted, a stain on the Dravonia name.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots clicking against the floor. A tall figure entered, and Alden felt an unknown fear creep in. This was Roderick Draven, his older half-brother. His gaze was cold, his features sharp, his red eyes burning with disdain.
"So, you're still alive, rat," Roderick said, his voice sharp like a knife. "I thought you'd be dead by now."
Alden's body tensed, his heart racing. He knew this man—the perfect heir, the one who was loved, admired, and destined for greatness. Roderick was everything Alden could never be.
"I guess cockroaches don't die that easily," Roderick continued, his tone dripping with mockery. He took a step closer, his red eyes gleaming with superiority. "But don't get too comfortable. You're still nothing. Just useless trash unworthy of the Draven name."
Alden swallowed hard, his breath coming faster. The words stung, but he was powerless to fight back. To Roderick, he was invisible, insignificant. He was nothing more than a forgotten shadow in a family that had no use for him.
As Roderick turned to leave, his words echoed in Alden's mind. "Enjoy your borrowed time, Alden. You won't have long after all; that time is coming close."
Alden clenched his fists, his chest tightening with a mix of anger and fear. He was alive for now, but how long would that last? And in a world where power ruled everything, where did he fit? Would he ever find his place? Or was he destined to remain nothing, forever a pawn in a game he didn't understand?