The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a monotonous buzz that mixed poorly with the stale smell of instant noodles and cheap cleaning solution. Eryon Evans stifled a yawn as he leaned on the convenience store counter, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was barely past eleven at night, and already he felt as though he'd been here for an eternity.
"Hey, watch the front, will you?" his coworker mumbled, slipping past to the back room. "I've gotta sort the new shipment."
"Sure," Eryon said, sarcasm lacing his tone. "Take your time. I'll just be out here, singlehandedly running the store, as always."
His coworker didn't respond—likely too tired to deal with Eryon's brand of humor. It was a standard night for him: low pay, few breaks, a leaky roof that occasionally dripped onto the candy display, and the hum of flickering lights that kept him on edge. Yet, Eryon had gotten used to it; a stagnant routine was better than nothing. At least it paid some of the bills. Barely.
A jingle signaled a customer's entrance. In came a middle-aged man in a soaked raincoat, clutching an umbrella that dripped water onto the tile floor.
"Welcome," Eryon greeted in a half-singsong, half-deadpan voice, mustering a polite nod.
The man didn't look particularly cheery. He eyed the coffee station, grabbed a paper cup, and poured himself something that barely qualified as coffee. Eryon waited behind the register, fiddling with the store's promotional keychains—buy two get one free, if anyone cared. Eventually, the man plodded over, set the cup down, and mumbled, "Just this."
Eryon scanned it, the register beeping in the near-empty store. "That'll be two dollars," he said. The man fished for change, handed it over, and left without a word.
"Don't mention it," Eryon muttered to the man's back. "Have a nice night, or not. Your call."
A gust of cold, wet air swept in as the door shut. Eryon blew out a breath, counting down the hours until close. He let his mind wander, idly considering how it all came to this: working part-time gigs, watching life pass him by. His parents had all but disowned him for underachieving. His ex had left, claiming he had "no ambition." Every day felt like a stinging reminder that he was just… stuck.
Still better than being homeless, he thought, pushing aside the gnawing regret. But not by much.
A Nightly Ritual
By midnight, the few straggling customers vanished, the rain outside intensifying to a steady downpour. Eryon sighed and began his typical closing routine: restock the aisles, wipe the counters, toss out any expired goods. His coworker had gone home after finishing inventory, leaving him alone.
He was sliding the mop across the scuffed floor when the door chimed again. He looked up to see a man in a bedraggled suit, dark bags under his eyes, stumbling in from the cold. The poor guy looked half-dead.
"Coffee station's to the right," Eryon offered, leaning on the mop. "It's not great, but it's hot."
"Thanks," the man murmured, shuffling toward the dim corner.
A few minutes later, the man paid for his coffee, offered a small nod, and slipped out into the tempest. Eryon locked the doors behind him and flipped the sign to CLOSED. A deep exhaustion settled in his bones. Just another day… or night, he thought.
It was almost 1:00 AM by the time he finished. He shrugged on his tattered jacket and stepped outside, grimacing at the chill that instantly soaked through his clothes. Streetlights illuminated the roads in a hazy glow, dancing reflections on the flooded asphalt.
Missed the last bus again. Perfect. He peered at the schedule pinned to the nearby post—yep, the final bus had run an hour ago. He was stuck walking home in the cold, windy downpour.
"Could life get any better?" he muttered, setting off down the deserted sidewalk with a bitter chuckle. "At least the puddles get to enjoy my company."
The wind howled, rattling nearby shop signs and bending streetlamp posts. Eryon hugged himself to ward off the worst of it, stepping carefully around growing streams of water.
He'd gone three blocks when he heard it: a high-pitched scream, faint against the rain. He paused mid-step, scanning the darkness. In the distance, headlights glowed ominously, a truck speeding far too fast for these slick roads.
Then he saw her—small, maybe eight years old—standing petrified in the middle of the street, as though fear had frozen her in place. Panic ignited in Eryon's chest.
"Hey!" he yelled, waving his arms, but his voice was lost in the hiss of rain.
The truck horn blared, tires screeching. Eryon's instincts roared to life. He sprinted forward, ignoring the sting of icy water splashing up his legs, ignoring the monstrous headlights careening closer. The girl was rooted to the spot, trembling.
No time to be logical. Just move.
Heart hammering, he dove for her, shoving her body hard onto the curb. She hit the sidewalk with a startled cry but was safe from the truck's path. Eryon, however, couldn't save himself. The headlights swallowed him, the horn's blare rattling in his skull. A single, monumental impact—
So this is it, Eryon's mind whispered in the instant before darkness took him. Figures I'd only do something worthwhile right at the end. Typical me.
He felt no real regret in that moment, only a strange mix of relief and final resignation. At least that girl gets to live.
Then everything went black.
When next he opened his eyes, the rain and darkness were gone. No pain assaulted him. Instead, he found himself standing in a vast expanse of white light, weightless, his torn and soaked clothes replaced by clean attire. He blinked rapidly, disoriented."This some afterlife waiting room?" he murmured, mustering wry sarcasm even in the face of the impossible. "Guess the décor's nice if you like blank canvases."
A soft laugh echoed, and he turned sharply. A radiant figure formed of pure light took shape, neither male nor female, emitting warmth that calmed his racing heart.
"Greetings, Eryon Evans," it said, voice melodic and echoing in the emptiness. "Be at ease."
He swallowed. "You… know my name. Are you—?"
"A god, perhaps, or a keeper of souls. Think of me as such if you wish," the entity replied. "Your life has ended, but you have been deemed worthy of rebirth."
"Rebirth?" he echoed, throat tight. "Why me? I'm… a nobody."
"You may think so," the being said gently, "but your final act saved a young life, capping a life strewn with hardship and disappointment. Your soul shone with kindness, even if you rarely received any in return. A debt, in a sense, is owed to you."
A Gift from the Divine
Images shimmered in the whiteness: glimpses of a medieval-fantasy world. Knights clashed with monsters in towering dungeons. Mages channeled elemental forces to shape reality. Towns and cities glowed at night under lampposts fueled by glittering magic stones, their color shifting like trapped starlight.
"This," the being explained, "is the Kingdom of Aedryn in a world where magic and swords shape destinies. Monsters dwell in labyrinthine dungeons, each guarded by creatures that drop magic stones upon defeat. These stones power entire civilizations—from basic street lamps in small villages (using low-rank stones) to royal teleportation gateways (requiring high-rank stones)."
Eryon stared in awe. "Huh, so no electricity, but you've got magic crystals that do the job?"
The being's soft laughter returned. "Precisely. Now, I will grant you certain blessings for your hardships, for your good karma, and your compassionate end. First, you shall have a System—like those in the games you once enjoyed. It will record your progress, provide quests, manage your statistics, and house a convenient inventory for storing non-living items."
A flicker of excitement sparked through Eryon despite himself. A system? It reminded him of the escapist RPGs he used to lose himself in. "So, a built-in game interface… That's pretty cool," he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Secondly," the being continued, "I grant you three rare affinities—Thunder, Shadow, and Chaos. They will lend you power in magic. Thunder is revered for speed and destructive force, Shadow grants stealth and illusions, and Chaos is feared for its ability to unbind other magics and disrupt the natural order. You must be cautious: some societies see Chaos as an evil omen."
Eryon's eyes widened. "That sounds… intense."
"It is a gift, but you must wield it wisely," the being cautioned.
Eryon exhaled. "I won't let it go to waste."
The being seemed to nod. "You have also earned the right to two personal wishes—for your soul's unwavering perseverance and the good you did at life's final hour. Speak them, and I shall weave them into your fate."
Two Wishes
Eryon's mind raced. This was a chance to break free from all the limitations that once bound him. He remembered the frustration of always hitting walls, of never being enough. Then he remembered the images of knights and mages, the mention of monsters dropping magic stones. A plan formed.
"First wish," he began, voice steady. "I want Limitless Growth. No matter how strong I become, I want no maximum cap—no invisible ceiling."
A glimmer in the being's radiant body seemed to convey approval. "An ambitious wish. But know this: limitless growth demands limitless effort. You cannot laze about and expect growth."
Eryon snorted wryly. "I learned that the hard way. I'm done with shortcuts."
"Then I shall honor your request," the being said. "And your second wish?"
He pictured the swirling illusions of dungeons, monsters, the magic stones that powered lamps and teleportation gates. He wanted a weapon he could rely on—one that grew with him, sealed to his very soul. "I want a Soul-Bound Sword, a growth weapon. One that's locked to me and gets stronger by consuming magic stones from monsters. If I'm going to fight, I might as well do it properly."
A low hum of agreement filled the space. "A soul-bound blade that evolves with each magic stone you feed it. Be advised, such a weapon will be locked until you reach the age of seven in your new life, so that you do not wield destructive power as an infant. The System's inventory will allow you to store non-living items safely, including magic stones you acquire."
A wave of relief and excitement coursed through him. "Good. I don't want to accidentally swing a baby-sized greatsword around."
The godlike being chuckled softly. "Indeed. Then it shall be done. You will soon find yourself reincarnated in the womb of Archduchess Liliana Reinhardt, in the Kingdom of Aedryn. Your father, Archduke Alaric Reinhardt, is a warrior of great renown. You will have a twin sister as well."
Eryon's heart fluttered at the idea of actually having a family that might—hopefully—care for him. "Thank you," he breathed, sincerity breaking through his usual sarcasm.
"Live well, Eryon," the being said, voice echoing with gentle finality. "Your new life will begin now."
Toward Rebirth
The whiteness around him pulsed, the being's form dissolving into golden motes. Eryon felt a tug in his very core, like being yanked into a swirling vortex. He managed one last half-grin.
"Guess this beats lying in the street," he quipped under his breath. Then the world vanished into brilliant light.
He came to in a place of soft murmurs and comforting warmth—the womb. Sounds were distant, muffled, but for the first time since he could remember, he felt… safe. No gnawing worry of rent. No bleak convenience store shifts. Just an enveloping sense of being cherished. Indeed, there was another presence curled beside him—his twin sister, though he couldn't yet comprehend her fully.
Slowly, a faint chime sounded in the recesses of his mind.
[System Initializing…]
[Affinities Detected: Thunder, Shadow, Chaos.]
[In-Built Inventory: Activated (Non-Living Items Only).]
[Locked Soul-Bound Sword: Will Awaken at Age 7.]
[Wish #1: Limitless Growth—Bound to Host's Effort.]
[Wish #2: Soul-Bound Weapon—Requires Magic Stones for Evolution.]
Eryon mentally exhaled. This was real. No going back. Despite being utterly weightless and formless in this embryonic state, he found himself grinning—somehow.Watch out, brand-new world, he mused. I'm Eryon Reinhardt now, and I'm not settling for the background role again. If there's a limit, I'm blowing past it.
He let the steady rhythm of his mother's heartbeat lull him, the hush of amniotic fluid gently rocking him into a dreamlike doze. Over the next months, he knew the world outside was gearing up for his arrival—a realm powered by magic stones, governed by might, filled with perils in the form of dungeons. But this time, he had the System, affinities few possessed, and the promise of a growth weapon to call his own.
Yes, he'd lost everything once—his life, his dreams. Yet he'd gained a second chance, courtesy of a mysterious deity who saw his final act of heroism and took pity on his lonely struggle. And for once in his existence, Eryon Evans felt a sense of burning hope.