The sky roared with distant thunder, golden streaks of lightning cutting through dark clouds over the cliffs of Aetherion. Rain pounded against jagged rocks, its rhythm nearly drowning out the faint groans of a young boy lying still at the base of the precipice.

Cassian Bronteskýlos, heir to the Storm-Kings, had fallen.

His once-glorious golden armor, emblazoned with the Thunder Eagle, was battered and broken. Blood pooled around him, seeping into the wet earth as divine energy flickered weakly from his wounds. His breath came in shallow gasps, growing weaker with every passing moment.

Through blurred vision, he saw monstrous shapes emerging from the shadows. Demons—creatures born from the abyss, their twisted forms barely contained by reality. Their gleaming fangs and glowing red eyes locked onto him, sensing the last traces of his divine power.

He tried to move, to summon the storm's might one last time, but his strength was gone. He was only fifteen, far too young to die. His mind clung to memories—the towering halls of Aetherion, his father's commanding presence, his mother's warm embrace. He had been raised to rule. Now, he would die alone at the bottom of the world.

No… this can't be the end…

But the heavens did not answer him.

A shadow loomed over him. The lead demon stretched out its jagged claws, ready to claim his soul.

Then—

A blinding light erupted from Cassian's chest.

The earth trembled. The air vibrated with power.

And in that moment, Cassian Bronteskýlos was no more.

________________________________________

Far beyond the physical realm, a lost soul drifted in the void.

Loukas had no recollection of how he had died. He only knew that he once lived in a different world, in a different body, before the darkness swallowed him whole.

Now, something was pulling him back.

He was being reborn.

________________________________________

Pain.

A sharp, burning pain surged through Loukas as he gasped awake. His lungs convulsed, sucking in air like a drowning man surfacing for the first time. He clawed at the damp ground, struggling to understand what had just happened.

His body felt wrong.

He sat up slowly, his limbs aching. The storm had passed, leaving only a faint drizzle in the gray sky. Blood stained his hands. But more than the physical pain, there was something else—a foreign energy crackling beneath his skin, like restrained lightning.

Then he saw his own reflection in a puddle.

Golden eyes stared back at him. His hair, once dark, was now a wild storm-kissed silver. His skin bore glowing sigils that he had never seen before. He touched his face in disbelief.

This was not his body.

Memories not his own surged into his mind. Cassian Bronteskýlos—a name heavy with power, a name that came with enemies.

The truth settled over him like a storm cloud.

He was not Cassian.

But he was alive.

And now, he had a second chance.

The storm had passed, but the world remained eerily silent. The air smelled of wet earth and lingering ozone, the remnants of divine power still crackling in the atmosphere. Loukas—no, Cassian—pushed himself up from the muddy ground, his limbs trembling under the unfamiliar weight of his new body.

His golden eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings. He was at the bottom of a ravine, surrounded by jagged cliffs that loomed overhead. The rain had carved deep grooves into the rock face, forming a treacherous landscape that seemed impossible to climb. At the top, shadows flickered—the demons were still there, searching, waiting.

He needed to move.

Forcing himself to his feet, Cassian winced as pain shot through his ribs. His armor was shattered, his body covered in wounds that should have killed him. Yet, here he stood, alive but different. He felt the storm's energy coursing through his veins, raw and unstable, as if his very essence was at odds with itself.

A cold breeze swept through the ravine, carrying whispers of distant voices. He turned sharply, instincts heightened. Trees loomed in the distance; their twisted branches shrouded in mist. He was not alone.

Taking a slow, steady breath, Cassian stepped forward. His boots sank into the damp soil, his movements unsteady. He needed shelter, a moment to think, to understand what had happened to him. The memories of the fallen heir still clashed with his own, fragments of a life he had never lived.

Who was Cassian Bronteskýlos?

And more importantly, who was he now?

A flash of light flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned his gaze downward and noticed faint sparks of energy crackling along his fingertips. The storm magic of the Bronteskýlos bloodline still lingered within him, but it felt… unrefined. Unstable. He clenched his fist, trying to summon a fraction of its power, but nothing came.

So, I have the body of a god-marked heir, but none of his strength?

A sharp rustling in the underbrush snapped him out of his thoughts. His pulse quickened. He crouched low, eyes scanning the area. Something was watching him.

Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. Cloaked and hooded, their features obscured, yet their presence commanded an air of authority. The stranger's voice was low, almost amused.

"So, the Storm-King's heir lives after all."

Cassian's grip tightened. He had no idea who this person was, but if they knew of his identity, that meant danger. Or opportunity.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the uncertainty clawing at him.

The figure took a slow step forward, tilting their head. "That depends on… Who are you?"

Cassian's heart pounded in his chest. He had no answer.

Thunder rumbled once more, the air thick with tension.

The stranger let out a chuckle, lowering their hood slightly to reveal sharp, calculating eyes. "You look lost. Confused. Tell me, what do you remember?"

Cassian hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "Not much," he admitted. "Only fragments."

The stranger folded their arms. "Then you are of no use to them. But you might be of use to me."

Cassian took a cautious step back. "Them? Who are 'they'?"

The stranger ignored the question and instead extended a hand. "You should come with me. This ravine won't stay safe for long."

Cassian glanced toward the cliffs where the demons lurked. His instincts screamed not to trust this unknown figure, yet he had no allies, no knowledge of where he was, and no real alternative.

He exhaled sharply and took the offered hand.

The stranger smirked. "Good choice."

As they began to move through the ravine, Cassian couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a deal with something far more dangerous than demons.