Chapter 6: Awakening

The light faded, and Lance gasped his first breath in his new body. Not the first cry of a newborn, but the sharp inhale of a seventeen-year-old boy awakening from a dream. He lay on a simple bed in a modest room, moonlight streaming through an open window.

[System Alert: Anomalous Incarnation Detected]

[Standard Reincarnation Protocol: Bypassed]

[Physical Age: 17 years, 2 months, 15 days]

[Warning: Unauthorized Timeline Manipulation Detected]

[Source: Ring of Summoning - Triple Dragon Configuration]

Lance sat up slowly, his mind reeling. This wasn't right—he should have been reborn, should have started over as an infant. That's how it had always worked, according to the gods. But here he was, already seventeen, his memories intact.

The Ring of Summoning pulsed on his finger, its three dragons seeming to move in the moonlight. A note lay on the bedside table, written in Moga's distinctive, flame-like script:

*"The rules have changed, young king. The vessel was prepared, the timeline altered. Some would call it blasphemy, but the deep places care little for divine protocol. You have one year until your powers fully awaken. Use it wisely—they're already hunting you.*

*-M*

*P.S. The family believes you're their son. Best not to contradict centuries of implanted memories."*

The note crumbled to ash the moment Lance finished reading, the particles dissolving into the air like dark starlight. He took in his surroundings, the room telling the story of an aspiring adventurer. A practice sword mounted on the wall, its wooden blade marked with countless nicks and scratches from training sessions. A shelf lined with worn bestiaries and dungeon guides, their spines cracked from frequent use. Maps covered one wall, dotted with pins marking local dungeons and their difficulty ratings. A leather practice dummy stood in the corner, its surface scarred from blade practice and what looked like basic magic exercises.

He flexed his fingers, marveling at the unfamiliar calluses. This body knew weapons—muscle memory kicked in as he mimicked a sword stance, his form perfect despite never having trained a day in his previous life. His reflection in a nearby mirror caught his attention. Athletic build, short silver hair with a slight wave, purple eyes that seemed to hold flecks of gold in the moonlight. A thin scar traced his left forearm, and his mind supplied the memory: a training accident three years ago, Sara scolding him while healing the wound.

The memories felt both foreign and familiar, like songs heard in childhood suddenly remembered. This body had lived seventeen years of life, building relationships, training, dreaming of following in Adrian's footsteps. Yet Lance's consciousness remembered dying on rain-slicked pavement, remembered the Hallowed Grounds, remembered Moga's promises.

[System: Physical Integration Progress - 73%]

[Adjusting Neural Pathways...]

[Aligning Muscle Memory...]

[Warning: Dual Memory Sets Detected]

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"Lance?" A soft voice called from beyond his door, followed by a gentle knock. "Are you awake? You were thrashing around in there. I heard you from the garden."

The voice triggered an avalanche of memories: Sara tending her healing herbs in that same garden, brewing potions at the kitchen table, practicing combat medicine on his training injuries. His sister—no, this body's sister—was one of the town's most promising healers. The memories showed her progression from clumsy attempts at healing scraped knees to mastering complex restoration magic.

"I'm fine," he called back, the words feeling strange yet natural on his tongue. This voice was deeper than his old one, with a slight accent he recognized as Etherian Eastern Common. "Just a dream."

The door creaked open, its hinges protesting in a familiar way—another memory surfaced of trying to sneak out for late-night training, that same creak betraying him to Sara's watchful ear. She stood in the doorway now, autumn-red hair tied back in a healer's braid, her apprentice robes bearing the green stripe of a certified combat medic. Dark circles under her eyes suggested recent late nights at the healing ward.

"Another nightmare about him?" The concern in her voice carried years of shared grief.

Lance's brow furrowed. "About...?"

Sara sighed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped with familiar weight—how many times had she sat here, healing his training wounds, sharing town gossip, or simply being the protective older sister this body remembered? She reached for a frame on his nightstand—silver-worked metal, a gift from Adrian before he left, the memory supplied unbidden.

The photograph inside showed three children posed in front of the town's adventurer guild. Sara, maybe twelve, already wearing apprentice healer's robes. Lance at seven, clutching a wooden practice sword with determined eyes. And Adrian, fifteen and impossibly tall for his age, wearing the bronze badge of a certified dungeon diver. His eyes... Lance felt his breath catch. Those eyes held the same ancient knowledge he'd seen in his void vision, though younger, less burdened.

[Memory Fragment Detected]

[Timeline Inconsistency Found]

[Warning: Original Data Corrupted]

"It's been ten years," Sara said softly, running a finger over the photograph's surface. The glass was immaculately clean—she must dust it daily. "Best adventurer this town had ever seen. Youngest to solo a C-rank dungeon. Everyone thought he'd become a legend." Her voice caught, old pain surfacing. "Instead, he just... vanished. Into the deep dungeons, they said. Never came back. Not even a body to bury."

The memories hit Lance in waves: Adrian teaching him basic sword stances in the backyard, correcting his grip with patient hands. Long evenings by the fireplace, listening to tales of dungeon dives that had the local bards begging for exclusivity rights. That last morning, Adrian ruffling his hair, promising to return with stories that would "make the gods themselves lean in to listen." The way Sara cried for weeks after the search parties returned empty-handed. The way their parents' hair went gray overnight.

But something felt wrong about these memories. They were too perfect, too clean. Real memories had rough edges, contradictions. These felt crafted, like a story told so many times it replaced the truth. Yet the emotions they carried—the love, the loss, the admiration for Adrian—those felt genuine.

[System Alert: Memory Conflict Detected]

[Original Timeline Data: Corrupted]

[Implanted Memory Status: Stable]

[Warning: Deep Registry Access Restricted]

[Emotional Response: Genuine]

"Well," Sara stood, smoothing her robes with practiced healer's precision, "you should get some rest. Big day tomorrow. The whole town's talking about your first dungeon expedition." Her smile turned worried. "Harper's team has a good reputation. They'll watch out for you. Just..." She paused at the door, knuckles white on the frame. "Be careful in there, okay? The deep places... they're different now. More dangerous. We already lost one brother to them. I couldn't bear to lose another."

After she left, Lance lay back on the familiar-yet-strange bed, his mind spinning with dual sets of memories. The weight of the Ring of Summoning felt heavy on his finger as he opened his status window:

[Status Window]

Name: Lance Seraphis

Age: 17

Level: 1

Class: Unawakened

Current Level Cap: 50 (Full Unlock at Age 18)

Blessing Status:

- Babel Tongue: Limited (Etherian Language Only)

- Skill Absorption: Restricted (Lower Tier Monsters Only)

- Infinite Growth: Locked (Awaits Full Awakening)

Special Status:

- Bearer of the Ring of Summoning

- Soul Synchronization: 89% Complete

- Memory Integration: In Progress

- System Access: Basic Functions Only

[System Notice: Full power activation requires reaching age of maturity (18)]

[Warning: Premature activation may result in system instability]

He spent an hour testing basic system commands, learning what he could and couldn't access. The ring pulsed occasionally, seeming to respond to certain thoughts or memories, but its true power remained frustratingly out of reach.

Sleep crept up slowly, his new body's rhythms asserting themselves. His last thought before drifting off was of Adrian's eyes in the photograph—young but ancient, kind but knowing. Why did they match the man from his vision? What secrets had his brother found in the deep places? And why did Lance feel like his own fate was somehow bound to those same depths?

The Ring of Summoning pulsed once in the darkness, three dragons chasing each other in an endless circle, as if counting down the moments until tomorrow's expedition would change everything.