Chapter 1 – The Ordinary End

A pale white glow filled the room, illuminating scattered notebooks, half-finished essays, and the faint steam rising from a forgotten mug of instant coffee.

At the desk sat a fifteen-year-old boy, hunched over his computer screen.

His brown eyes traced line after line of glowing text on a web novel forum, utterly absorbed in the story unfolding before him — another tale from the Fate universe.

His name was Ashton.

Among his classmates, Ashton was often teased as a nerd — a “smart ass” who spent more time with history books and fantasy novels than he ever did with sports or parties.

To most, he was an outsider, too quiet, too curious about things no one else cared for. But Ashton didn’t mind.

To him, stories of kings, heroes, and ancient wars were far more interesting than the shallow chatter of school life.

The idea of heroes who could defy gods, or kings who carried their people’s hopes, stirred something in him. He often wondered what he would do if given such power — if he, too, could stand on the battlefield of history.

With a sigh, Ashton leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. His chair creaked dangerously, and he muttered, “Man… my back’s killing me.” He stood, rubbing the soreness from his shoulders, and shuffled into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged freshly washed, droplets still clinging to his hair.

He slipped into his favorite red hoodie, worn soft from countless washes, and pulled on a pair of black pants. His reflection in the darkened window looked back at him — thin, slightly pale, with eyes that seemed older than his years.

He pocketed his worn wallet from the desk, the leather frayed at the edges, then unlocked the door.

A wave of cool air greeted him. The street outside was already swallowed by night, the flicker of a broken lamppost casting uneven shadows across the road.

“Wow… it’s dark already,” he murmured, locking the door behind him. His sneakers tapped softly against the pavement as he walked toward the local convenience store, hands buried in his pockets.

The warm hum of fluorescent lights welcomed him when he stepped inside. The store was nearly empty, just the soft buzz of the refrigerator units and the faint music playing from the radio behind the counter.

Ashton headed straight to the meat section, his eyes narrowing at the price tags.

“Damn… beef’s expensive today,” he thought with a grimace. His wallet didn’t hold much, and every purchase mattered.

At the counter, the clerk — a familiar face from countless late-night visits — looked up and smiled warmly. “Ashton! Don’t worry, I’ll give you a special offer today.”

Ashton chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Then I’ll gladly accept,” he said, returning the smile. He paid, waved goodbye, and stepped back into the night with a small bag of groceries in hand.

Outside, he slipped on his headphones, letting his favorite song fill his ears as he strolled down the dimly lit street.

The world felt calmer with music, the rhythm matching the steady swing of the bag at his side. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful, almost perfect.

He was halfway across the road when he noticed it — two blinding lights rushing toward him, faster than his brain could process.

Honk! Screech!

The roar of an engine, the screech of tires, and then — impact.

His body was flung violently against a nearby wall, the bag of groceries bursting open, eggs cracking, vegetables scattering across the asphalt.

Blood pooled, staining the concrete. His vision blurred, the sound of his music fading into broken static.

Truck… kun?

The absurd thought slipped into his mind, a final spark of humor as the darkness closed in.

A single tear traced down his broken cheek as the darkness closed in.

Chapter 2 – Rebirth

Before the beginning, there was nothing. No beasts, no sky, no stars.

Then Gaia, the will of the planet, shaped the surface into what became the World and its mirror, the Reverse Side.

From the Root—Akasha—flowed all existence, the source of every truth and possibility.

In that first age, the gods themselves walked the earth in human form, mingling freely with mortals.

Later magi of the modern era would call it the True Age of Gods and Humans, a time both wondrous and perilous.

Now, one hundred years had passed since the birth of the world.

In the stillness of a forest clearing, a figure lay on the grass. At first glance, one might mistake the youth for a girl, for the beauty was unnatural. Long silver-white hair spilled across pale shoulders.

Crimson eyes, faintly glowing, hid beneath closed lids. The skin was smooth, the frame lithe yet strong—a beauty that transcended gender.

The boy stirred. His eyes flew open, and with a sharp cry he bolted upright.

“Damn you, Truck-kun!”

His voice echoed through the trees. Breathing hard, he blinked rapidly, then looked around in disbelief.

“Wait… how am I still alive? Where am I?”

Lowering his gaze, he froze.

The body before him was not his own. Pale skin, long hair, and an almost divine appearance replaced the ordinary frame he remembered.

“…This isn’t me,” he whispered. A nervous laugh escaped him. “Did I… did I just get isekai’d? Like in those novels I used to read?”

Nearby, a shimmer of water caught his eye. He stumbled toward it and knelt by a pond, peering into the reflection.

The face that looked back was breathtaking—crimson eyes sharp as jewels, white hair that gleamed even in shadow, features so fine they seemed carved by gods.

Ashton’s mouth went dry.

“…Damn,” he muttered, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m beautiful. Too beautiful. That’s… unsettling.” He struck an awkward pose, then immediately flushed, turning away. “Nope. Not doing that again.”

After drinking from the pond, Ashton gathered himself and began walking west, hoping to find signs of life.

Hours passed before relief finally washed over him—smoke in the distance, rising from a village.

“There’s people…” he sighed, shoulders relaxing. He approached carefully, but stopped short at the sight of guards by the gate.

They wore only simple cloth around their waists, crude spears tipped with sharpened stone clutched in hand.

Primitive, yet vigilant.

Ashton raised a hand nervously. “Hello! Sorry, but… do you know where I am?”

The guards stiffened. One barked, “Stop! This is human territory.

Gods are not allowed here!”

Ashton’s heart jumped. “W–wait, I’m not a god!”

“Don’t lie!” another guard snapped, his eyes narrowing. “That beauty… only gods bear such a form.”

Ashton scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I swear, I’m human. Just… weird-looking, I guess.”

The guards exchanged wary glances. Finally, one stammered, “…You’re… human?”

“Yes,” Ashton said quickly, nodding. “Definitely human.”

The guard studied him for a moment longer, then exhaled. “…Very well. If you seek shelter, you may enter.

But know this—your presence here will not go unnoticed.”

“Thank you,” Ashton said, bowing his head. He hesitated mid-step, then asked, “Could you… tell me more about this world? I’m not from around here.”

The guard frowned, but finally relented.

“Listen carefully. To the west lies human territory, where you now stand.

To the east dwell the demigods and demihumans.

To the north is the realm of the gods themselves.

And to the south…” His voice lowered. “…the lands of monsters and phantasmal beasts.”

Ashton nodded slowly, absorbing every word. “I see… thank you.”

As he walked into the village, his thoughts raced. The lore, the gods, the monsters—it was all too familiar.

“…Don’t tell me,” he muttered under his breath, a small, uneasy laugh escaping him.

“Did I actually get isekai’d into the Fate universe? Just my luck…”

He exhaled, forcing a smile. “This is going to be a pain in the ass.”

Chapter 3 – The Village of Ashes

As Ashton continued down the dirt path, his steps echoed softly against the silence of the settlement.

He had called it a “village” when speaking to the guard, but now that he was inside, he couldn’t help but frown.

“What is this…?” he whispered under his breath.

The huts were nothing more than crude shelters, sticks lashed together with mud, roofs patched with straw that barely held shape. The “streets” were strips of bare earth, scattered with bones and old ash from cooking fires. Smoke rose weakly from only a few chimneys—if they could even be called that.

“This… isn’t even a proper village,” Ashton thought, his chest tightening. His eyes swept over the people, and the sight made him stop in his tracks.

Thin, sunken faces. Hollow eyes. Men whose shoulders slumped as though crushed by years of labor.

Children with stick-like arms clung to their mothers, barefoot in the dust. Every gaze that turned to him carried the same mixture—curiosity, awe, and fear.

“…Poor. Very poor,” Ashton muttered.

A small voice broke the air.

“Mom… is that a god?”

He glanced to the side. A little girl, no older than six, tugged on her mother’s ragged skirt, her wide eyes fixed on Ashton.

The words were innocent, almost reverent—but the reaction they sparked was immediate.

The mother’s face went pale. She dropped to her knees, clapping her hand over her daughter’s mouth in panic. “Quiet!” she hissed, voice trembling. “Don’t say that—don’t ever say that!”

The desperation in her eyes told Ashton everything.

In this age, to call someone a god was dangerous. Gods were not beloved protectors—they were tyrants.

Ashton’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, only giving the child a faint smile before continuing down the path.

He soon found himself standing before what seemed to be the largest hut in the village.

Calling it a house was too generous—at best, it was four crooked walls held up by worn logs, a roof of uneven straw sagging in the middle. Still, it was clearly the place of authority here.

“This must be it…” Ashton muttered.

He raised his hand and knocked gently against the wooden frame. For a long moment, there was silence. Then the door creaked open, and a man stepped out.

He was old, his beard streaked with white, his back hunched from years of burden. The moment his eyes landed on Ashton, the man froze.

Then, without hesitation, he dropped to his knees.

“P–please, my lord!” the elder cried, bowing so low his forehead touched the dirt. “Please, God, do not take our food. We have nothing left to give!”

Ashton blinked, stunned. Then he sighed softly, kneeling down and reaching out a hand. “Please, sir. Raise your head. I’m not a god.”

The elder froze, his eyes wide. “…You… are not?”

“No,” Ashton said firmly. He helped the man up with a gentle tug. “I’m just… a normal human. Just… too beautiful for my own good, I guess.”

The elder stared at him in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as though unsure what to say.

Finally, his shoulders slumped in relief. “A human…? Truly?”

“Yes,” Ashton nodded. He offered a small smile. “Truly.”

The elder swallowed hard, then gestured shakily. “Then… please, forgive me. I… I mistook you for one of them.”

Ashton chuckled lightly, though there was no humor in it. “Don’t worry. It seems to be a common mistake today.” He stepped closer, his expression softening.

“Elder… can you tell me about this village? About what’s happening here?”

The old man hesitated, then nodded grimly. “Very well… come inside.”

The inside of the hut was dark and cramped, lit only by a single clay lamp burning weakly.

The air smelled faintly of herbs and smoke. Ashton sat cross-legged on the dirt floor, while the elder lowered himself across from him, his frail hands resting on his knees.

“Our village…” the elder began slowly, voice rough with age. “We are simple people. Farmers, hunters. We once lived in peace, trading among ourselves.

But now…” His eyes grew shadowed. “The demi-humans come. They raid our stores, steal our grain, take what little we have.

Sometimes they take our men to work as slaves. If we resist, they kill.”

Ashton’s expression darkened. “Demi-humans…?”

The elder nodded bitterly. “Half-bloods. Children of gods and mortals.

Stronger than us, faster than us… they believe we exist only to serve them.

We cannot fight back. We barely survive.” His voice trembled.

“We thought… when we saw you… that perhaps you were another god come to torment us.”

Ashton leaned back, silent for a moment. Inwardly, his thoughts swirled.

So the humans are already under oppression. Barely a hundred years into the world, and they’re already being enslaved.

His hand curled into a fist. “Damn demi-humans,” he thought. “How dare they take the freedom of these people.”

His crimson eyes flicked toward the door, where faint whispers could be heard.

The villagers—men, women, children—were gathering outside, drawn by curiosity. He could feel their stares even through the thin walls.

“…No,” Ashton murmured under his breath. “They’re not just looking. They’re staring at my beauty.”

He dragged a hand down his face, suppressing a groan.

“I knew it. This is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

The elder blinked. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Ashton replied quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thinking out loud.”