The world of Varema was once bathed in an eternal glow, a place where light and shadow danced together in harmony. But that balance was shattered when Lysian Valthor, the heir to an unimaginable legacy, sought to defy fate itself. He had dreamed of power, of dominion over life and death, of achieving immortality in a world that was ever-changing and unforgiving. But in that quest, Lysian made one fatal mistake.

The rituals he had performed, the bargains with gods long forgotten, the devouring of his own soul—all of it had been leading him to a singular point in time. A point where even his immense power could not shield him. He had forced the world to bend to his will, but fate, as always, had its own designs.

His last memory before the darkness overtook him was that of the celestial light—the very light he had once commanded—flickering violently, as if warning him of his hubris. And then, there was nothing.

The pain, the sense of loss, the unraveling of everything he had fought for—it was all consumed by the endless void.

But it wasn't truly the end.

There was an echo, a faint pulse that reached into the void, something stirring in the infinite darkness that stretched before him. A force, an unknown entity that whispered the very thing he had once feared: regression.

He felt his soul being torn apart and remade, his body being broken down into a form so small and fragile that it felt foreign. It was as if time itself had unraveled, pulling him back to a moment before his mind had been tainted by ambition. The years he had spent cultivating his power, the betrayals he had suffered, the lives he had ended—all erased.

But it was not a rebirth.

It was a prison.

His body was small, innocent, a child's form—a mockery of the man who had once been a legend. But his mind… his mind remained. His memories. His knowledge. The Duality of Fate system had not failed him. It had merely altered him, shifting him into something far more dangerous.

He was once again the Lightborn, but now, his very being was bound by shadows. The force that had pulled him back through time was not a blessing, but a reminder that the world had no mercy.

As Lysian Valthor blinked open his eyes, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of a small, cold room, he understood. The cruel joke had been played. The gods, the entities that had once knelt to his power, had ensured he was reborn not in glory, but in weakness.

A child. A mere shadow of the man he had once been.

He could feel the faint warmth of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the walls. The scent of rain lingered in the air, and the distant echo of laughter filled his ears. It was the sound of innocence. The sound of what he had lost.

Yet, Lysian was no fool.

The world had regressed him to this broken form, but his mind, his knowledge, and the Duality of Fate system still pulsed through him like an untamed fire. He could still feel it—the call of power, the hunger for immortality.

He was not done yet.

His body may have been a child's, but his soul was ancient, and his mind, a weapon forged through countless lifetimes.

Lysian Valthor, the Regressor of Light Son, would rise once more. But this time, he would not rely on brute strength. He would not demand the world bend to his will.

This time, he would play the game in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The light that once defined him would now be his weapon. And the shadows would be his sanctuary.

For he was not just a child reborn. He was the Harbinger of Fate, and fate, once again, would kneel before him.

The journey had just begun.