Chapter One: Crimson Betrayal

The sky wept crimson as the final echoes of the Great War faded into history. Dragons soared no more, their fiery roars extinguished. Demons, once near invincible, had been subdued by an alliance of desperation—elves, dwarves, humans, and other races, united for survival. Among the victors stood the Feyrnor Clan, now hailed as one of the most powerful clans in the realm. But this glory was born of blood, treachery, and sacrifice.

In the aftermath of the war, heroes became legends, and legends became tools. One such tool was Kaelith Veynar, an illegitimate child of the Feyrnor Clan. His prowess in battle was unparalleled, his loyalty unyielding. Yet, for all his deeds, Kaelith was nothing more than a weapon—a hound bred for war. His bastard heritage was a stain his clan never let him forget.

Kaelith had endured it all: the ridicule, the scorn, and the countless impossible missions. He rose above it, becoming the Feyrnor’s most fearsome warrior. But when the tide of war shifted and the demons turned the world into their battleground, Kaelith became more than a soldier. He became a savior—or so he thought.

Betrayal’s Shadow

The war’s end brought not peace but betrayal. Kaelith, accused of conspiring with the demons, faced judgment from the very people he had saved. No defense could shield him from the storm of lies. His comrades—men and women he had fought beside—turned their backs. The patriarch of the Feyrnor Clan, Lord Dravik Veynar, delivered the final sentence. Kaelith was branded a traitor.

The punishment was merciless. His nails were ripped from his fingers. His teeth shattered. His bones broken and mended only to be broken again. His tongue was torn from his mouth to silence his protests. In the end, Kaelith was executed, his broken body discarded like refuse.

But death was not the end.

The Skill of Rebirth

Unbeknownst to Kaelith, among the hundreds of scrolls he had memorized during his lifetime, one contained a forbidden technique: the Chrono Reversion. When his heart ceased to beat, the scroll’s power activated. Kaelith’s soul was pulled from the abyss and cast back in time, into the body of a newborn.

Kaelith awoke to the cries of infants. He lay in a cradle, surrounded by other illegitimate children of the Feyrnor Clan. Their fates were sealed from birth—tools to be forged, used, and discarded.

Disbelief clawed at Kaelith’s mind. His last moments of agony still lingered, yet here he was, reborn. The words of the clan echoed in his memory: “From the moment a child is born into the Feyrnor, their trials begin, and they will not end until their death.”

The Valley of Swords

At six months, every Feyrnor child faced their first trial: the Valley of Swords. It was both tradition and a test. The valley was a narrow gorge, lined with countless blades embedded in the walls. A single misstep could mean disfigurement or death. Only those who emerged unscathed were deemed worthy of the clan name.

Kaelith’s infant body trembled as he was carried to the valley. He knew what awaited. He had survived the Valley of Swords once before in his previous life. But this time, he was determined to do more than survive. He would conquer it.

As the patriarch’s voice thundered over the assembly, Kaelith stared at the valley ahead. Lord Dravik Veynar stood tall, his piercing gaze surveying the gathered infants as if weighing their worth. The names of other prominent clans who had risen after the war—Eryndor, Thalvik, and Braemorr—were invoked as reminders of the Feyrnor’s dominance.

Kaelith’s resolve hardened. He would not be a pawn this time. He would master every trial, rise through the ranks, and uncover the truth behind his betrayal. And when the time came, he would have his vengeance.

The signal was given. The infants were placed at the valley’s entrance. One by one, they began their crawl through the deadly path.

Kaelith, now armed with the memories of his past life and the skills he had once mastered, moved with precision. Every motion was calculated, every decision deliberate. Where others faltered, he persevered. By the time he emerged from the valley, bloodied but alive, the whispers of astonishment had begun.

The clan would remember this day, though they would not yet understand its significance. For Kaelith Veynar was not merely a child of the Feyrnor.

He was a storm, waiting to be unleashed.

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