Prologue: The Blueprint of a Soul
My true existence began in a material plane far from here—a distant, peaceful world completely alien to the gears of magic that drive this current reality. In that world, which we called Téia, the landscape resembled Earth, but it was split across five massive tectonic plates and was structurally ten times larger. It was an era of cosmic exploration; we had massive oceans, deep-space mining stations, and had just begun harnessing antimatter for interstellar colonization.I wasn't a knight or a warlord back then. I was simply a university professor, a textbook geek who happened to have a passion for weapons and technology. I spent my days lecturing on human technological evolution, applied science, and mechanical engineering—breaking down the models, architectures, and systems that had shaped history.
Prologue: The Blueprint of a Soul
My true existence began in a material plane far from here—a distant, peaceful world completely alien to the gears of magic that drive this current reality. In that world, which we called Téia, the landscape resembled Earth, but it was split across five massive tectonic plates and was structurally ten times larger. It was an era of cosmic exploration; we had massive oceans, deep-space mining stations, and had just begun harnessing antimatter for interstellar colonization.I wasn't a knight or a warlord back then. I was simply a university professor, a textbook geek who happened to have a passion for weapons and technology. I spent my days lecturing on human technological evolution, applied science, and mechanical engineering—breaking down the models, architectures, and systems that had shaped history. I taught urbanization, public health, and infrastructure. My real name was Syrn.That peace was violently shattered when a tyrannical planar entity—a cosmic soul collector that preyed on the rifts of the Astral Plane—invaded our reality. People from my own planet, blinded by the lust for power, sold us out. Téia was consumed. Billions of souls were obliterated or twisted into planar abominations and demons. Those of us with more resilient minds were catalogued, kept as experiments, and used for the entity's twisted amusement.After enduring countless horrific trials, I was thrown into the Shifting Arenas—an interdimensional colosseum created purely for the sadistic entertainment of higher beings. In that arena, survival demanded either the evolution or the extinction of the soul. Faced with cosmic horrors and environments that fluctuated violently between solar flares and the absolute zero of the stellar vacuum, my mind was pushed to a deadly threshold. To survive, I forced my mind to adapt. I awakened Pyrokinesis to generate heat in freezing voids, and Cryokinesis to freeze raging plasma fires.As I won battle after battle, mastering the precise art of telekinesis to levitate and strike with dozens of swords simultaneously, I earned a title feared by my captors: The 100-Handed Warrior.But I knew the ultimate end of that arena was always death. I stopped fighting just to win; I began fighting to escape. In the depths of despair, my mind unlocked Psychometry and Precognition. By touching the stone walls of the arena and the blood-stained weapons of the fallen, I learned to read the past. I discovered that the entire pocket dimension was sustained by a Blood Crystal Artifact that channeled my captor's psychic link. Using flashes of precognition, I mapped the guards' patrol routes and calculated the perfect vector for escape.When the exact microsecond arrived, I sabotaged the energy flow and overloaded the crystal with my full elemental fury. The resulting explosion obliterated my captor’s mind and tore a rift right through the fabric of reality.My soul was hurled into the cosmic ether, fragmented and chaotic, until it collided with this material plane. I was on the verge of dissipating completely when I found a vessel. It was subtle, incredibly weak—the body of a newborn infant who had just succumbed to a cowardly poisoning. His name was Kaelen Vance, the son of a border lord.Driven by pure survival instinct, my psychic essence possessed the fragile, young vessel. Using my residual knowledge, I managed to purge the toxin and heal the child's flesh, but his original spirit was already gone.Even in this new life, my essence remains entirely foreign. I suffer from a complete Mana Rejection. My power cannot connect to the Magic Weave of this world. When I fight, I do not cast spells; I bend reality with my mind. I inherited every scrap of tactical knowledge from my centuries in the arena. My swords float around me, guided solely by the thought of Syrn. However, in this young, unconditioned body, I still have a long way to develop. It is a grueling process, but it is a new beginning—an opportunity that was once stolen from me.Because I was enslaved by entities that called themselves gods, I do not view the divinities of this world as sacred beings worthy of a bended knee. To me, they are just highly powerful entities demanding adoration in exchange for crumbs of power. When a cleric or a paladin cries out, "My god will save us," I challenge them. I do not accept empty dogmas.For me to trust a deity in this world, they will have to prove through concrete actions—not hollow miracles—that they actually care about mortals and aren't just another tyrant playing with pieces on a board. I demand mutual respect and partnership. Never servitude.
