Chapter 1: A Second Life in Crimson Flame

The rain never stopped that night.

Explosions echoed in the distance as fire lit up the urban skyline. Lucien Gray, decorated special ops commander of the United Earth Defense Corps, gritted his teeth as he sprinted across the collapsing battlefield. Drones fell from the sky like metal angels. The skies burned orange, lit by missile trails and arcane plasma—a desperate war fought with stolen technology and last hopes.

His unit had been wiped out. The military commander was dead—ambushed. And now, Lucien had taken charge, rallying the final defenses against the invading horde of augmented insurgents. His body ached, his vision blurred, and the gun in his hand shook from the recoil of too many shots fired without rest.

Yet he fought.

He always fought.

“You’re our last hope,” the commander had said with his dying breath. “Make it count.”

But as the enemy unleashed one final weapon—a bio-magical warhead that tore through matter and soul—Lucien stood his ground to buy his comrades time.

And smiled.

“At least… I won’t die running.”

The blast hit.

And everything went dark.

---

He expected pain. Silence. Oblivion.

Instead, there was warmth.

A strange, serene warmth that wrapped around him like a silken cocoon. He tried to move but felt weightless. He heard something—a voice. Not mechanical commands, not war cries or alarms… but a lullaby. A woman’s voice.

Soft. Gentle. Real.

Then came the blinding light.

His eyes opened slowly—blurry, unfocused. And above him… was a beautiful woman with golden curls and tears in her eyes. Her smile trembled with joy and awe.

“My little star… my Lucien…” she whispered, holding him to her chest.

A man leaned over her shoulder—tall, proud, draped in a regal black cloak embroidered with a silver phoenix. His gray eyes were sharp, but full of emotion as he touched the baby’s head.

“He bears the mark,” he said solemnly. “He’s ours. Our son. The heir of House Vaelthorne.”

Lucien tried to speak. He tried to scream.

What is this? Why can’t I move? Why do I feel so small—so weak?

Memories surged—gunfire, blood, Earth, the battlefield…

Then it hit him like a blade to the soul:

He had died.

And now… he was reborn.

---

Weeks passed in surreal confusion.

He was just a baby, helpless in body, but his mind—his soul—still bore the scars and knowledge of his previous life. He cried not from hunger, but frustration. Desperation. Disbelief. At night, he’d stare at the elegant ceiling and whisper internally to himself: Where am I? Why am I here?

And slowly, the pieces came together.

This was a world of nobles and kingdoms. Magic flowed like rivers through the land. Knights, sorcerers, and mystical beasts walked openly. His father, Duke Alaric Vaelthorne, was one of the kingdom’s most powerful lords—the Supreme Commander of the Royal Army. His mother, Lady Elenora Vaelthorne, was the Marchioness of the western provinces, a political force known for her brilliance and fire.

And he… he was Lucien Vaelthorne, their only son.

A noble child born under a sacred star. A life of privilege and prestige. But far from idle wealth, he saw something else:

A second chance.

He wouldn’t let this life slip through his fingers like the last. He would uncover the secrets of this world, master its magic, and wield it—not for war or death—but to build something real. To protect the people he would come to love.

Beneath the moonlight, swaddled in royal silks, the soul of a fallen warrior gazed up at the stars.

And for the first time in years—perhaps lifetimes—he whispered inside:

“…Thank you… for letting me start again.”

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