Darkness.
An endless void stretched in all directions, consuming all light, all sound, all sensation. Kieran Voss floated weightlessly, his consciousness lingering on the precipice of oblivion.
Then came the pain.
A searing force gripped his soul, yanking him through the void like a puppet on broken strings. His mind screamed, memories fracturing, thoughts unraveling—until, suddenly, he felt a body. A heartbeat. Breath. His senses returned in a violent rush, flooding his mind with unfamiliar sensations.
He opened his eyes. A crude wooden ceiling loomed above him, rough and splintered. The scent of damp straw and mildew filled his nostrils. His body—small, weak, frail—ached with a dull exhaustion, as if he had not moved in days.
Kieran inhaled sharply, forcing his mind to stabilize. The last thing he remembered—
Galactic Patrol.
He had been a Hunter, one of the elite enforcers maintaining order across the star systems. He had spent centuries honing his mind, his combat instincts, his ruthless efficiency. He had waged wars, crushed rebellions, and outmaneuvered foes both human and alien. He had been at the pinnacle—until it all ended in fire and betrayal.
His ship, ambushed in deep space. A battle fought in the void, torn apart by energy lances. A sensation of falling… and then nothingness.
Now, he was here. Reborn. Transmigrated.
He clenched his small fists, his expression cold. His former power was gone, his advanced technology reduced to mere memories. He was weak again—mortal, powerless. But experience? Knowledge? Those could not be stripped away so easily. "Where am I?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.
He sat up, muscles trembling, and took in his surroundings. A tiny, squalid room. A thin mattress of straw. A cracked wooden table. A single rusted lantern casting dim light. His body, that of a malnourished youth, bore bruises and scars, clear signs of hardship.
A wooden door creaked open. A figure entered—a gaunt, elderly man with a face carved from stone. His dull eyes flickered with disdain as he tossed a bundle of cloth toward Kieran's feet.
"You're finally awake, brat. Get dressed and get to work. No food until you earn it."
The man turned and left without another word.
Kieran exhaled slowly. Weak. Powerless. Humiliated. But he felt no frustration, no despair. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
This world was new, but its rules were not. It belonged to the strong, to those who climbed relentlessly, without hesitation or mercy. He had done it once before. He would do it again.