Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting the city in a muted gloom. Rain fell steadily, pooling in the cracks of the asphalt and distorting the flickering glow of streetlights. Elias Dorne walked alone, his hood drawn low, his steps slow and deliberate. The cold stung his fingers, but he barely noticed.
For thirteen years, he had found refuge in The Chronicles of Ascension. It wasn't just a story—it was his sanctuary, his anchor. When reality became unbearable, its world of kingdoms, magic, and mysteries gave him a reason to hold on.
Tonight, that sanctuary was coming to an end.
A faint buzz pulled him from his thoughts. Stopping under the awning of a closed café, he pulled his phone from his pocket. His breath caught as he read the notification:
[Update: The Chronicles of Ascension – Final Volume Released!]
The culmination of years of devotion lay just a tap away. His fingers hovered over the screen, but he hesitated, his heart aching with bittersweet anticipation. Would Aelric overcome the final trial? Would the mysteries finally unravel?
"I'll never know…" he whispered, his voice tinged with regret.
A sharp scream tore through the rain. Elias's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto a young girl standing in the middle of the road. Her wide, terrified eyes reflected the blinding headlights of an oncoming truck.
Time slowed.
The rumble of the truck's engine grew deafening. The horn blared, echoing through the storm. Elias's heartbeat thundered in his ears, each second stretching into an eternity.
Without hesitation, he ran.
The rain blurred his vision, his legs pounding against the slick pavement. The screeching of brakes and grinding of metal filled the air. He reached the girl and shoved her to safety just as the searing light swallowed him—
—and then, the impact.
The force slammed into him, sending him sprawling across the asphalt. Pain lanced through his body, sharp and unrelenting, but it felt distant, like the echo of a fading memory. The rain washed over him, mingling with the warmth of blood pooling beneath him.
His phone lay inches away, its screen flickering faintly. The title of the final chapter hovered there, tantalizingly close yet forever beyond his reach.
So close… yet I'll never know.
A weak, bitter chuckle escaped his lips. As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, his thoughts lingered on Aelric, on unfinished tales and second chances. Perhaps some stories don't end… they begin anew.
And then, silence.
---
Warmth. Soft and enveloping.
Elias's eyes fluttered open, a faint gasp escaping him as golden light flooded his vision. A grand ceiling stretched above him, adorned with intricate carvings and lit by a massive chandelier that sparkled like a constellation. The scent of lavender and polished wood filled the air, rich and unfamiliar.
His body felt strange—small, fragile. His tiny hands clenched instinctively, and confusion twisted through him.
This… isn't my body.
"Welcome to the world, young master Lucien Verelion."
The soft, reverent voice sent a chill down his spine. Lucien Verelion. The name echoed in his mind, foreign yet weighted with significance. His wide eyes darted around the room—towering marble pillars, embroidered tapestries, gilded furnishings. Everything was vivid, real, yet eerily familiar.
It clicked. This was Aranthia, the central kingdom of The Chronicles of Ascension.
But something was wrong. Lucien Verelion didn't exist. In all the chapters he had devoured, the Verelion family had no youngest son.
A shadow fell over him, and he turned his gaze upward. A tall, imposing figure stood nearby, his sharp features and piercing eyes radiating authority. The Duke of Verelion. One of the Four Great Dukes of Aranthia, known for his unyielding will and ruthless ambition.
The duke's gaze narrowed slightly, as if studying a puzzle. "You carry the blood of Verelion," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Yet there's… something unspoken in your gaze."
Lucien's tiny fists trembled as unease settled deep in his chest. Why am I here? Why as someone who wasn't even part of the story?
His mind reeled, grasping at the threads of the webnovel's plot. If Aranthia was as I knew it, then what role could I possibly play? Was I a ghost in a story, or something far worse?
Suddenly, his vision flickered. A faint, glowing symbol burned itself into his mind—a shape unfamiliar yet haunting. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a faint warmth in his palm and a sharp throb at his temple.
The chandelier above cast shifting patterns across the walls, its light refracting like shattered stars. As Lucien stared into the glow, one thought crystallized:
This world isn't what it seems.
And so began the tale of Lucien Verelion, the boy who was never meant to exist, in a world where fate had been rewritten and ancient secrets lay waiting to be unearthed.
The end of a dream was only the beginning.