The rays of dawn bathed the training hall's stained glass windows in gold. The air smelled of damp earth and new leaves; spring was at its most serene. In the distance, the song of birds accompanied the sound of steel cutting the air with surgical precision.

  Aurelio moved with the elegance of a predator. Every strike, every flick of the wrist, every step... all calculated. His style wasn’t that of a child prodigy. It was that of a veteran. A king who once commanded armies and crushed kingdoms with his sword.

  "Are you at least going to let me pretend I can beat you someday?" joked Ryker, his instructor, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  "You’re doing well. For someone with your limitations," Aurelio replied with a slight smile.

  Ryker laughed heartily.

  "You’re still as arrogant as the first day, kid."

  Aurelio didn’t respond. He sheathed his sword with elegance and walked towards the exit of the hall. His black hair, with subtle reddish tips, moved with his motion. His dark blue eyes, intense and serene, showed no emotion.

  It was a perfect mask.

  Servants bowed their heads as he passed. He responded with superficial courtesy. At seven, his presence was as imposing as that of an adult noble. But no one knew the truth: that inside, the consciousness of a dead king calculated every step.

  In his room, he reviewed old magic books, grimoires, and imperial records. Not out of simple curiosity. He was looking for clues. Answers. Why had he reincarnated? Why in this world of magic and aura? Was it punishment or redemption?

  There was something inside him... a different energy. A power that seemed dormant but grew with him. His parents, nobles of high rank in the Empire of Thalgrion, attributed it to his lineage. But he knew it wasn’t just that.

  "This is something else... this has been with me since the other world."

  He spent the afternoon training his aura control in the gardens, under Lady Lirien’s watchful gaze, who seemed to notice that her son was... different.

  "Your aura is intense, but controlled," she told him once. "As if you already knew how to use it before you were born."

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  He just smiled.

  That night, a strange calm took over the estate. No warning. No reason. Lights began to turn off by themselves. The wind stopped blowing. Even the night sounds fell silent.

  Aurelio got up from bed, alert.

  He felt an unfamiliar presence. Precise. Like a dagger in the dark. He extended his aura gently, enough to detect, not provoke. And then he felt it.

  "They’re here."

  He turned toward the window, and at that moment, a shadow fell upon him.

  The needle sank into his neck with chilling precision. A cold burn coursed through his spine, disabling his body, piece by piece. His knees buckled, and he fell onto the polished marble like a puppet without strings.

  "Poison?"

  He didn’t recognize it. That worried him more than the pain. It wasn’t a common toxin; it had immobilized him without dulling his mind.

  He forced his vision through heavy blinks. The attacker wore a long dark cloak, with an embroidered emblem on the chest: a dragon devouring its tail. The insignia resonated in his memory, though he didn’t know why.

  He didn’t see the face. The mask was smooth, metallic, with no visible openings. But Aurelio memorized what he could: the exact pitch of their breath behind the filter, the slight nervous twitch in their left wrist when injecting him, the arcane perfume that clung to their cloak—jasmine and sulfur, a blend used in ancient concealment rituals.

  "You’re meticulous. Professional. Probably not leading from the front... but you give the orders. Sooner or later, your network will have a loose thread. And when I find it, I’ll pull until I find you."

  "The prodigy has fallen," the masked figure said, their voice distorted by a modulator. "Begin the aura core extraction."

  "Extraction...?"

  He tried to laugh but only managed a spasm. Idiots. They think my worth is in this body. They don’t know I’m a storm with memory.

  As the darkness enveloped him, he marked every detail like brands to fire: the cadence of footsteps, the magical vibration blocking his aura, the authoritative tone of the figure.

  "I didn’t see your face... but you’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet."