There was no prayer in his final moment. Only betrayal, gunfire, and the quiet realization that power like faith always ends in the blade closest to one’s throat. He died as a ruler of the underworld, a man who had forged an empire from fear and conditional loyalty. Yet death did not close his story. Instead, he awakened as Cael Arthava, the youngest prince of the Kingdom of Eldervale—a realm sustained by prophecy, sanctified lies, and carefully curated belief. From the moment of his birth, Cael had been marked. A prophecy declared that he would become the ruin crowned in flesh. The Church of Light named him a future calamity, the nobility regarded him as a latent threat, and the people learned to fear his name long before they understood it. The body he now inhabited was meant to be fragile, disposable, obedient to a destiny already written. But the soul within him was not one that bowed to destiny.