The rain was cold, but it wasn't what made him shiver.
Ren Arkwright stood at the edge of the rusted bridge, the storm around him thrashing like a reflection of the chaos in his heart. The swollen river below roared like a beast, welcoming him. Daring him.
His school uniform was torn. His left eye was swollen shut. His knuckles were scraped raw from punching a wall—not out of rage, but to feel something. Anything.
The taste of iron lingered in his mouth from the latest beating. Today, they hadn't even waited until the others left school. They'd dragged him out into the hallway, laughed as they made him beg, broke his phone, and filmed the whole thing.
"Loser."
"Should've died with your parents."
"Kill yourself, freak."
He'd heard it all before. A hundred times. A thousand. But something about today had crossed a line.
Maybe it was the way no one helped. The way the teachers averted their eyes. The way his homeroom advisor whispered, "Just ignore them, it'll pass," as if the bruises would heal lies.
Or maybe it was just the truth: no one would care if he disappeared.
Ren stared at the raging water below. It promised oblivion. Silence. Peace.
He closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. To no one. To himself.
Then he jumped.
Silence.
Darkness.
A void beyond thought, beyond pain. He didn't feel his body. Didn't feel time. Only a distant echo in the back of his mind, repeating like a broken record:
"I don't want to be weak anymore."
Then, from that darkness, a voice answered.
"Very well."
Light bloomed like the birth of a star.
Ren found himself floating in a void of shimmering threads—billions of them stretching across infinity, weaving and twisting through time and fate. He wasn't in his body, but he was aware—more conscious than he'd ever been. Like his soul had been peeled bare.
A figure emerged from the radiant strands.
Not male. Not female. Not even human. A presence of overwhelming majesty—cloaked in golden light, eyes like galaxies, voice like the sound of eternity itself.
"You are Ren Arkwright. Mortal. Broken. Abandoned."
"You sought release through death. Yet your soul refused to scatter. It screamed defiance. Longing. Rage."
"And thus, I offer you a choice."
Ren didn't speak. He couldn't. But the question poured into him like molten truth.
"Vanish… or begin again."
"Reincarnated in a world beyond your understanding. A realm of magic, war, and gods."
"And in that world, I shall grant you a gift—a system, born from the Loom of Fate itself. A system without limits. One that will let you grow infinitely… should you have the will to endure."
Ren's breath caught in his throat—though he had no lungs.
"…Why?" his soul finally asked.
"Because the Loom has chosen you, Sovereign Candidate."
"Will you accept the trial?"
The memory of fists. Of laughter. Of blood in his mouth.
Of screaming silently as he fell.
"I don't want to be weak anymore," Ren whispered. Louder this time. Stronger.
"I'll accept."
The being extended a hand of glowing thread. "Then awaken, Ren Arkwright. The path to power begins."
In the next moment, the void shattered.
In a distant world, far from Earth, under the twin suns of the kingdom of Elyndra…
A boy opened his eyes.