Stroke.

Swish.

"You’re painting again?" Marellye asked, leaning over Harkin’s shoulder to see what he was working on.

"Yup," Harkin replied without even looking up. The brush in his hand kept moving, smooth and steady.

"That’s awesome!" Marellye beamed, her eyes lighting up as she stared at the canvas. She wasn’t just being nice either—his painting was genuinely impressive. Even their siblings agreed he had talent, and their mother? She was so proud she hung one of his paintings in the living room for all the guests to admire.

Harkin’s room was a reflection of who he was. Clean, orderly, and filled with creativity. The maids always found it spotless, which never failed to surprise them. His walls were lined with canvases, finished paintings, and shelves stacked with books. A huge, comfy bed took up one corner, but the real focus was his desk. There, alongside his paints and brushes, sat an array of intricately carved wooden sculptures, stunning for someone his age.

"Whoa, you finished this one too?" Marellye asked as she picked up a wooden carving of a girl. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the detail. "How long did this take you?"

"About a day," Harkin said, his focus still on his painting. He absentmindedly brushed his silver hair out of his face, the motion quick and practiced.

Marellye smirked, holding up the carving. "Hmm. Is this your dream girl or something?" she teased, laughing as she waved it in front of him.

Harkin froze for half a second before continuing his brushstrokes. Dream girl? Not even close. The carving—a girl smiling and raising her hand—was a tribute to his younger sister from his past life. She had passed away, and this was his way of honoring her. He wasn’t about to explain all that to Marellye, though.

"Definitely not," he said with a small smile, glancing at her. "It’s more of a representation of womanhood."

Marellye turned to him, her grin morphing into something mischievous. "Womanhood? What the... what do you know about womanhood, you little goblin?" she cackled, dying over as she laughed like she just heard the funniest joke in the world.

She get over to his side, still giggling, and squinted at his finished painting. "You’re killing me, Harkin. Seriously."

Harkin just smiled, letting her antics slide. Honestly, seeing his siblings this happy was enough for him. Still, he couldn’t resist poking back. "So, today’s your first day at the academy sis?"

"Yeah," Marellye said, finally stopping her laughter. She tilted her head and patted him. "Why? Got some words of wisdom for me, oh great sage?"

"Not really. Just curious," he said, keeping it casual.

Marellye groaned, throwing her arms up like the world was ending. "Ughhh, I’m so not ready for this. I mean, seriously, the academy? Me? Do they even know what they signed up for?"

Harkin chuckled, trying not to laugh too hard. "You’ll do great, big sis," he said with a grin. "You’ve got this!"

For a second, Marellye froze, her eyes wide, caught completely off guard by her little brother’s rare show of encouragement. But then—

"And by ‘this,’ I mean getting expelled on day one for talking so much that they can’t handle you."

No, he didn’t actually say that—it was just running through his head. He wanted to, though. It would’ve been funny. Still, the encouragement he gave her was genuine. It reminded him of his past life, back when he was just a high schooler. First days always sucked, filled with nerves and awkwardness. Maybe that’s why he could relate to what Marellye was feeling right now.

Marellye patted his back, giving him a soft smile. "You’re pretty good at this whole encouragement thing, lil’ bro," she said warmly.

Harkin just smiled back, watching her leave. Marellye waved one last goodbye before heading off to the academy.

The Lytherian Hall. That was the name of the academy his siblings attended. It was where most people started at 18, and honestly, it sounded like a fantasy version of college back on Earth. They offered courses like swordsmanship, arcane studies, art and literature, governance and diplomacy, and even craftsmanship. Harkin knew he’d be heading there too once he turned 18.

His siblings all had different paths. Laura, his eldest sister, studied swordsmanship and arcane studies—basically the classic warrior-mage combo. Lune, who had graduated three years ago on his 21st birthday, went with swordsmanship and governance. Makes sense; he was hopeless at magic but had a knack for leadership. Now Marellye was off to focus on arcane studies, fully diving into her mage ambitions.

One thing Harkin appreciated about his parents was that they never pressured their kids into picking certain courses. They gave advice when asked but left the decisions up to them. That freedom hit Harkin hard. Back in his previous life, Lucas never even got the chance to attend college. His parents had split before he finished high school, and the family went bankrupt soon after.

But if he had gone, he knew what he would’ve picked—art. That dream of pursuing something creative never really left him.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

At the dinner table of the Wilde family.

Three of them sat together, sharing a meal. For Harkin’s parents, it might’ve felt like just another family dinner. But for him, it was so much more. In his previous life, there was no one—just him eating alone. Now, even with his siblings away on their own journeys, he had something he never thought he’d get again: a family.

"Your mentor mentioned you’re starting to learn some sword techniques," his father said, pausing mid-cut as his sharp eyes turned to Harkin. Meanwhile, his mother kept eating, though she glanced at her son, clearly listening.

"Yes, Father," Harkin replied, trying to sound confident but avoiding direct eye contact.

"I just want you to know there’s no need to rush," his father said, his tone firm but supportive. "You’ve only been training for two years. Focus on where you are now, enjoy the process, and don’t feel pressured to be something you’re not ready for yet."

It wasn’t just words; it felt real, like advice from a father who truly cared. A warmth spread through Harkin—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Lucia, his mother, smiled warmly at him, clearly proud. "And I have some good news for you, Harkin," she said, her tone brimming with excitement.

Harkin perked up, curiosity lighting up his face. He tried to play it cool, but the anticipation was obvious. "What is it, Mother?" he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

His father, chewing his food, glanced at him with a faint smile, while his mother leaned forward, her excitement almost too much to contain.

"Your father and I will be away for a week to attend the opening of a museum in a neighboring region," she began, her voice rising with enthusiasm. "And guess what? We’ve decided to take you along with us!"

The trip was mostly about supporting his father’s noble friend, Duke Martin. It would take hours of travel in a noble carriage to reach the neighboring region. Despite leaving, Harkin’s father had already entrusted the region to his most trusted advisor, Hagan—a gruff, bearded man with both dwarf and human blood. Hagan would handle the paperwork and maintain peace in the region, as he always did.

For Harkin, this wasn’t exactly a vacation. It was more of a business trip, meant to strengthen alliances and benefit both parties involved. Still, it felt significant. In his past life, he never went on trips like this with family. This time, though, it was different—an opportunity to learn more about this world he was now part of.

Outside, a noble carriage waited for them to board. His mother, Lucia, had brought so much luggage it was almost comical. His father teased her, joking that she packed like she was leaving for a year-long vacation. Harkin just shrugged it off. If it made his mom happy, he is fine about it.

The museum they were headed to wasn’t just any museum—it was filled with historical statues, rare artifacts, and pieces of ancient history. All of it was curated and owned by Duke Martin in the neighboring region of Celey.

Clop-clop.

Clop-clop.

The two horses at the front of the carriage started their steady pace, flanked by two knights of the Wilde family riding alongside. Inside, Harkin sat across from his parents, Pholan and Lucia, who were seated next to each other.

As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets of the city, Harkin noticed people stopping to glance at them. Many bowed their heads, a sign of respect and gratitude. But as they left the city behind, the scenery shifted, and Harkin found himself staring at a sprawling, green landscape—something he’d rarely seen in his past life.

On Earth, nearly everything was swallowed up by towering buildings, endless commercial zones, and polluting factories. Here, it was entirely different. The world outside the window was alive, endless fields of green stretching as far as the eye could see.

"Shocked?" his mother teased with a smile, noticing his wide-eyed expression. "This region is famous for its vast greenlands, Harkin," she added warmly.

Pholan, on the other hand, was too engrossed in a stack of papers to join the conversation.

"It’s... amazing," Harkin replied, still captivated by the view outside.

The view was serene. A few birds glided through the air, and the gentle wind sent ripples through the endless green fields. In the distance, a massive mountain stood tall, its presence captivating and almost surreal—a perfect scene to paint.

"It really is," his mother said, breaking the silence. Her gaze shifted to the oversized bag sitting next to Harkin. "What’s in that huge bag, Harkin?" she asked, pointing at it with mild curiosity.

Harkin blinked, pulled out of his thoughts, and glanced at the bag. "Just some paper and pencils for sketching, mother." he replied casually.

His mother’s face lit up with a smile. "Really? Well, maybe you can sketch something for your father and me while we’re here."

Her request hit Harkin harder than she realized. In his past life, he’d dreamed of drawing his family—complete, happy, together. And now, here she was, asking for a sketch as if it were nothing. He swallowed hard but kept his composure. "That’s a great idea, Mother," he said, reaching into his bag for his supplies.

His father glanced up briefly from the papers he’d been reading. Though he didn’t say anything, the subtle nod felt like quiet approval. Harkin settled into his seat and started sketching, his pencil dancing across the page as he captured his parents sitting side by side. The pose was simple, but Harkin poured his heart into every line, determined to make it special.

Five minutes later, he held up the finished drawing.

"Harkin, this is wonderful!" his mother exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she snatched the sketch from his hands. Her excitement was contagious. His father leaned in to take a closer look, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

"Harkin," his father said, his tone calm yet warm. "What do you want to be in the future?"

It was such a simple question, but the weight it carried hit Harkin like a punch. He hesitated, not out of doubt, but because he understood the responsibility tied to his answer. Back in his past life, he’d never had the courage to be honest with his parents. Fear of rejection and disappointment had kept him silent.

But this time? This time, he wouldn’t let fear win.

"Swordsmanship is exciting, Father, and it definitely taught me discipline," Harkin began, his voice steady. "But a sword can only tell one kind of story—a story of battle. A painter, though..." He looked up, meeting his father’s gaze directly. "A painter can tell any story they want with just a brush and some colors."

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want to be someone who creates, not just someone who fights. Maybe I can be both. But if people remember me for something, I want it to be my art."

As he spoke, a strange sense of liberation washed over him. Being honest, truly honest, felt like shaking off chains he hadn’t realized were weighing him down. His parents sat in silence for a moment, their expressions unreadable. Then, his father’s lips curled into a smile—not just approval, but pride.

His mother’s eyes softened, and she reached over to gently pat his hand. "That’s such a beautiful dream, Harkin," she said quietly, her voice full of warmth.

In that moment, Harkin realized something important: honesty might not always lead to the answer you want, but it opens doors that fear would have kept shut forever.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

After hours on the road, they finally arrived in the region of Celey, reaching the city of Deford.

At first glance, it wasn’t too different from Stacot. But Harkin couldn’t help noticing how the place seemed to breathe art. Statues of gods lined the streets, their stone faces staring down with a strange mix of grandeur and mystery. Each region had its own vibe, its own identity, and the stark contrast between them fascinated Harkin.

"Duke Wilde is here with us today for the grand opening," Duke Martin announced, his voice brimming with pride. Heads turned immediately toward Harkin’s family, the air in the room shifting slightly.

The museum itself wasn’t overcrowded, but everyone inside screamed high status—expensive clothes, casual sips of wine, and the kind of practiced smiles only nobles seemed to master. It didn’t take much for Harkin to realize he was the only kid in the room, surrounded by middle-aged men and women who looked more like walking bank accounts than art enthusiasts.

Still, the art made it bearable.

"To officially open the first museum in Hargalond, we invite Duke Wilde to the front," Duke Martin declared.

Harkin watched as his father stepped forward, receiving polite applause. It was a grand gesture, sure, but Harkin knew it was also the kind of move politicians loved. The ceremony wasn’t just about cutting ribbons—it was about status.

"The Compendium of Creation," the Duke announced, unveiling the name of the museum.

As the crowd dispersed to explore the exhibits, Harkin drifted toward the art, letting his feet guide him. The paintings, the statues, the artifacts—they were fascinating, but something was tugging at him. Something he couldn’t ignore.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a towering statue. It depicted a gaunt man with long hair, his tattered clothes hanging off his frail frame. His chest was bare, his arm raised as if reaching for something, and yet... there was an eerie stillness to him. Something about it felt off—not in a bad way, but in a way that made Harkin’s skin crawl.

"Erebus," a voice said suddenly, making Harkin jump.

He turned to find another kid standing beside him, probably around his age. The boy was dressed in noble clothes, clearly from a wealthy family. He was more taller than him, a 10 year old one.

"He’s intimidating, even as a statue," the boy added, pointing at the plaque at the base of the sculpture.

Harkin’s eyes followed the gesture, reading the inscription.

Erebus.

The God of Darkness. Not evil, not good—just a being who existed by his own rules. A keeper of balance between life and death.

Harkin stared back at the statue, feeling a shiver run down his spine. It was just a sculpture, but somehow, it felt alive.

"What family are you from?" the boy asked, his eyes scanning Harkin with genuine curiosity.

Harkin turned to face him. "The Wilde Family," he replied. "And you?"

"From Wilde?" The boy's eyes widened. "Then you're the son of Duke Wilde?"

Harkin wasn’t a fan of the question-then-question cycle, but he figured he had to play along. "Yeah, I am."

The boy nodded, a slight shift in his posture. "I'm a Wythe. You’ve probably never heard of us."

"A Wythe?" Harkin thought for a second, pretending to process the name. "Oh! The Wythe family owns a town in Celey, right?"

The boy’s surprise was obvious. "I’m surprised a kid like you knows about us, especially since we’re a lower-class noble family." He paused. "Anyway, I’m Darvian." He reached out a hand.

Harkin actually didn’t know much about the Wythe family. He only remembered the name from some papers his father had. "I’m Harkin," he said, shaking Darvian’s hand.

After shaking hands, they both turned back to the statue of Erebus.

"Are you into statues?" Harkin asked.

"No," Darvian replied quickly. "But I love Mythological Gods."

"Mythological Gods?" Harkin raised an eyebrow. He knew what mythology was, but did this world have real gods? Like, actual gods with powers?

"They’re the guardians of this world," Darvian said, his face lighting up with excitement. "Even though you can’t see them, we believe they’re watching over us from above." He pointed at the Erebus statue. "This god is one of them."

"So, they’re just... a belief?" Harkin asked.

"Yeah, but my father says that gods come down to the world sometimes and choose a body to inhabit, to help keep the peace. It's weird though, right? I didn’t believe it at first, but if dragons are real, then I guess extraordinary powers could be real too," Darvian said, almost as if convincing himself.

The two talked more about mythology for a few minutes before parting ways.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

"Mother, what do you know about gods?" Harkin asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Gods?" She paused, not looking up from her knitting. "Well, I know a little about them," she replied casually.

"Is it true that they come down to this world and pick a body to fight chaos?" Harkin asked.

"Where did you hear that, Harkin? From that kid earlier?" She asked, her tone turning serious.

"Yeah, I'm just curious. Sorry if I'm asking too much," Harkin said, realizing he might’ve overstepped.

"Well, gods are the creators of this world, and they do what they must to keep the peace," she explained patiently. "But as for your question, no, they don’t do that. They’re just watching us from above."

Harkin nodded, satisfied with the answer. He went back to painting, his mind slowly shifting as he drifted off to sleep.

zzzzzzz.

A dark place. Thick, suffocating smoke filled the air, like the kind that appears when you close your eyes—only this was different. The darkness was heavy, oppressive.

"They’re nearing... they’re nearing..."

"The gods of destruction... they’re nearing."

"They’ll destroy this world."

"And you must use this power."

Tu-tump.

Tu-tump. Tu-tump.

A dark core surged in Harkin’s mind, like a flash of memories that weren’t his own. A feeling of betrayal, of being overthrown. A sense of power that shook him.

Huff.

Huff.

And a name suddenly appeared in his memories.

"Erebus!" Harkin screamed, jolting awake, his hand clutching his chest, gasping for air as his heart raced faster and faster.