The world spun, colors swirling in a chaotic dance. Keiran felt himself falling, the pull of an invisible force dragging him into the depths of oblivion. His senses were overloaded, every part of him disoriented, as though reality itself were tearing apart. Just as he thought he might lose consciousness, everything stopped.
Keiran staggered to his feet, gasping for air. The room around him felt oddly familiar, yet foreign. He was in a grand chamber, an imposing space filled with the quiet elegance of nobility. The walls were adorned with fine tapestries, depicting scenes of war and power, while the air smelled faintly of polished wood and aged leather. Sunlight filtered in through large, arched windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors.
He stood at the center of the room, his eyes scanning the rich surroundings. There was a massive four-poster bed draped in crimson silk, the sheets smooth and inviting. On the far wall, bookshelves reached the ceiling, filled with leather-bound tomes that seemed to contain the secrets of the world. An ornate desk sat near the window, with scrolls and maps scattered across its surface. The room was luxurious, regal, and undeniably his—yet it felt so unfamiliar.
As his gaze fell upon the full-length mirror on the wall, Keiran's heart skipped a beat. The reflection staring back at him was not his own.
The man in the mirror was tall, his features sharp and aristocratic. His hair, dark and slightly messy, framed a face that exuded confidence and youth—yet there was something heavy in the expression, as if this person carried the weight of untold burdens. His eyes, dark and intense, held a deepness Keiran could not understand.
Who... is this?
Keiran's hand instinctively reached up to touch his face, only to find it matching the reflection. The world seemed to tilt beneath him as reality collided with his new identity. His mind raced with confusion, but before he could fully process what was happening, a sharp pain seized his head.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, clutching his skull as memories, not his own, flooded his consciousness.
The images came in flashes—sharp, vivid memories that burned into his mind. He saw a grand mansion, perched high on a hill. The estate was surrounded by walls, with guards marching the perimeter, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Servants bustled about, attending to the needs of the family. This was Drakemount, the ancestral seat of the powerful Drakemount family.
The memories shifted, showing a tall, imposing figure—Darius Drakemount, the Duke of Drakemount, His father. Keiran could feel the overwhelming aura of power emanating from the man, a man who was at the peak of strength, revered and respected throughout the kingdom. Darius's presence was undeniable—his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes made him a figure of absolute authority. His aura was unlike anything Keiran had ever felt, as though the very land bowed before him. The Duke's power in aura manipulation was unmatched, making him a legend in his own right.
Beside Darius stood Cassandra Drakemount, Kaelan's mother—the first to love him. Keiran could see her now, a woman of ethereal beauty and grace. Her raven-black hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes radiated warmth and wisdom. She had been a steady force, a calming presence that balanced the fierceness of her husband. She loved her son with a quiet devotion that made Keiran's heart ache.
But those memories were fleeting, replaced by the image of Elena Drakemount, Kaelan's stepmother, the woman who had shattered everything. Elena was striking, her platinum blonde hair shining like the sun. Her icy gray eyes never seemed to warm, always calculating, always cold. She had come from a powerful family herself, and once she married Darius, she began weaving a web of influence around the Duke. Elena had never cared for Kaelan. The moment his mother died, she saw an opportunity.
Kaelan had been a gifted swordsman, known across the kingdom for his unparalleled skill with a blade. His strength in combat had earned him admiration and respect from every corner of the realm. He was destined for greatness, his aura powers and his talent with a sword making him a force to be reckoned with. He was the heir, and everyone expected him to one day become the next Duke.
But when his mother, Cassandra, died, everything changed.
Keiran could feel the overwhelming grief that had consumed Kaelan. His mother had been his rock, his guiding light. Without her, he had lost his sense of purpose. His once-great potential seemed to stall. The support he had once enjoyed evaporated, and the warmth he had once felt in his father's eyes turned cold. Darius had retreated into his own world, leaving Kaelan to face the storm alone.
And then there was Elena. She had seized the moment, capitalizing on her influence. She began undermining Kaelan, slowly but surely. She whispered poison into her husband's ear, convincing him that Kaelan was no longer fit to lead. Her son, Tomas—barely thirteen years old—was groomed to be the new heir, the future Duke. Elena used Kaelan's stagnation to her advantage, and slowly, the kingdom that had once praised Kaelan began to forget him.
Kaelan had been the kingdom's greatest prodigy, and his aura abilities had been said to rival his father's. But with the death of his mother, his world had fallen apart, and Elena had taken full advantage of that. Tomas, young as he was, was already showing signs of inheriting his mother's ambition and his father's cold determination. Kaelan's future was slipping through his fingers, and no one was there to help him.
The memories were painful, too painful. Keiran clutched his chest as though the grief of Kaelan's life were now his own. The weight of this new identity, the responsibility of Kaelan's life and legacy, pressed down on him. He struggled to breathe as the memories of Kaelan's death hit him—an untimely end, taken just before his coming-of-age ceremony, when he would have claimed his birthright.
But those memories were cut short, as Keiran found himself kneeling on the floor, his hands clutching his head, trying to hold onto the fragments of Kaelan's life. The pain subsided slowly, but the memories remained—alive within him, shaping his every thought.
He looked around the room again, the luxurious chamber that once belonged to Kaelan Drakemount. It was now his own, and with it came the legacy of the Drakemount family—its glory, its power, and its burdens. Keiran was no longer just a man. He was Kaelan, and Kaelan's story was his to continue.