Rain.
That was the last thing he felt—cold water soaking through his shirt, blood pooling beneath his head, and the small body trembling in his arms.
The car had come too fast.
His student had frozen in the middle of the crosswalk. He had moved without thinking.
A crunch. A flash of pain. Then—nothing.
No sound. No light.
Only silence.
...
.....
...
.
Then—breath.
Not a gasp, not a cough—but a deep, controlled breath, as though he were waking from a meditation, not death.
His body felt… different. Taller. Stronger. Warmer. He was lying in a bed, silk sheets beneath his fingertips, the scent of herbs and incense hanging in the air.
And still—no light.
He opened his eyes.
Nothing.
Not even blackness.
Just... absence.
A woman's voice cut through the void. Cool, crisp, practiced.
"Cain Von Crestrion. You are awake."
His brow twitched. The name pulsed in his chest like it had always belonged to him. Cain.
"I... suppose I am."
Memories surfaced like bubbles in dark water. Fire. Screams. A battlefield wreathed in lightning. A sword plunged into the heart of a behemoth. A shattered tower.
Magic.
Then war.
Then—peace?
"You were wounded during the Final Siege," the woman continued. "Mana surge damage to the eyes. The Emperor has declared your war service complete. You are officially retired."
Cain sat up slowly, the sheet slipping from his bare chest. Muscles he didn't recognize moved with fluid strength. He flexed his hand. It was unfamiliar—larger than he remembered—but it obeyed him perfectly.
"...And the academy?" he asked, calmly.
"You have been appointed as a professor at the Imperial Academy by Imperial Decree," she answered. "The title of Count has been restored to your name. You are the last of House Crestrion."
Cain turned his head toward the voice. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her mana—disciplined, faintly enchanted. A mage of high status. Servant or scholar.
"You said… Count?" he asked.
"Yes, my lord. The Emperor himself saw to it. Your estate has been reestablished. A carriage waits to take you to the capital."
He sat in silence, absorbing the truth.
He had died.
And been reborn.
No—reincarnated. With new flesh, new power… and a past that didn't belong to him, but now was him.
Cain Von Crestrion. Archmage. War hero. Noble.
Blind.
His lips curled faintly.
"I see," he murmured, amused at the irony. "Or rather, I don't."
Later…
The carriage rattled through the mountain pass, pulled by beasts that breathed frost. Cain sat alone, dressed in formal black, gloved hands folded over a polished obsidian cane.
He traced what he could remember of this world.
His memories—Cain's memories—bled into his own. His Earth life and this new one coexisted, layered but distinct. The battlefield visions were vivid. So was the pain. The cost of magic. The price of command.
And yet, despite the power, Cain had always been alone. A child soldier. A prodigy. A living weapon for the Empire.
Until now.
Now, he was free. Blind, but free.
The Imperial Academy came into view—not that he saw it, but he felt it. A colossal arcane construct in the sky, humming with layered enchantments. Like a fortress built upon a spell.
The driver announced, "We've arrived, Count Crestrion."
Cain stepped out, boots tapping against crystal stairs. Wind rushed by, thick with mana.
A new life awaited him.
And no one here knew who he truly was.
Not yet.
---
To be Continued...