CHAPTER 13 The First Crack in Reality
The sky was still dark when Rian's eyes opened.
But this time, it wasn't the village sky… or the forest… or any world he recognized.
He was lying on a shattered marble floor, surrounded by endless darkness. Countless broken mirror pieces floated slowly in the void, each reflecting fragments of unknown landscapes—burning kingdoms, frozen oceans, collapsing mountains.
It was silent.
Silent in the way where even breathing felt loud.
Rian pushed himself up.
His breath shook.
"...The dream again."
Except it wasn't just a dream.
He knew that now.
Something inside him remembered this place.
A whisper curled behind him.
"You came sooner than expected."
Rian turned.
The white-haired man stood there again—tall, calm, and terrifying in a quiet way. His hair cascaded like moonlight, his eyes sharp like polished obsidian, and his presence felt… ancient. Not old. Ancient.
Rian clenched his fists.
"You showed me something yesterday," he said, voice low. "One moment. One memory. That wasn't a hallucination."
"No," the white-haired figure replied. "It was the truth. A fraction of what you once were."
Rian took a step closer.
"Who am I?"
The man didn't answer.
Instead, he slowly raised his hand and touched one of the floating mirror fragments. It flickered—then began playing like a moving scene.
Rian saw himself—but not as he was now. Taller. Older. His body wrapped in robes of obsidian-grey. His expression cold, detached, almost emotionless.
His eyes were not their usual color.
They glowed silver—like moonlight over a still lake.
He moved like a god among mortals, his steps silent, his gaze unshakable.
In that memory, the older Rian stood in the center of a ruined battlefield. Corpses of beasts and humans alike lay around his feet. His clothes were torn and bloodied, but he looked untouched—his posture fierce and proud.
Rian felt his heart pound.
"That's… me?"
The white-haired man smiled faintly.
"That was you."
"One percent of the truth you have forgotten."
Rian's throat tightened.
He watched the memory Rian lift his hand.
A mirror appeared behind him—vast, rippling like water.
From it, shadows crawled out, forming a massive figure—an ancient beast made of darkness itself. It roared, shattering mountains in the reflection.
And memory-Rian simply said one sentence:
> "Kneel."
The beast collapsed instantly, bowing in submission.
Rian's heartbeat was so loud it echoed in the empty void.
He was breathing too fast.
He wasn't just strong in his past life.
He was terrifying.
He was a monster.
He was someone the world feared.
Someone the world bowed to.
Rian took a step back.
"No. No. That can't be me. I'm just—"
The white-haired man cut him off.
"You are trying to be ordinary. But your existence was never meant to be ordinary."
He stepped closer, his voice quiet—but powerful enough to make Rian's bones feel heavy.
"You were a storm the world could not contain."
Rian looked down at his shaking hands.
A storm…
A monster…
A king…
Something like him…
Had lived before.
And now he was here again.
Reborn.
But why?
The white-haired man spoke softly.
"You lost everything. You lost yourself. But now… the world stirs. The mirror cracks. The forgotten awaken. And if you do not reclaim who you were…"
His eyes turned sharp—cold—warning.
"Then the world will destroy you before you are ready."
Rian's breath froze.
He understood.
This wasn't about power.
This was about survival.
If he remained weak—if he remained unaware—others would find him first. And they would kill him.
Because whatever he was in the past—
It was something people feared.
The white-haired man extended his hand.
"Come. I will show you more."
Rian hesitated.
Fear. Curiosity. Hunger.
All clashed inside him.
But his hand moved forward anyway.
Because something deep in him—older than fear—wanted to remember.
He touched the man's hand.
The mirrors around them shattered into thousands of light fragments.
And suddenly—
He was somewhere else.
—
He stood in a grand hall made of black stone and silver murals. In front of him sat a throne carved from polished obsidian. And on it—
Was him again.
The older Rian.
Eyes silver. Expression unmovable.
A crowd of warriors, mages, and strange beings knelt before him.
They spoke in unison:
> "We await your command, Mirror Sovereign."
Rian's pulse roared in his ears.
Mirror Sovereign.
That was his title.
His identity.
His past.
The white-haired man spoke softly beside him.
"You were the one who ruled the reflection of reality. The one who walked between worlds. The one who could command shadows, illusions, dreams, and truths."
Rian stared.
He couldn't breathe.
His past self raised a hand.
The hall trembled.
Reality rippled.
The world obeyed him.
Rian whispered, voice trembling:
"Why… was I reborn?"
The white-haired man looked at him, expression unreadable.
"Because the world killed you."
The silence hit like a hammer.
Rian's mind froze.
Killed.
Him.
If he was that strong—
Then what could have killed him?
Rian's voice cracked:
"What… what killed me?"
The white-haired man turned away.
"That, you are not ready to remember."
Rian stepped forward.
"I need to know."
"You are not strong enough."
"Then I'll get stronger."
The man paused.
His eyes finally softened.
Good.
There it was.
The fire.
The hunger.
The will to reclaim what was stolen.
The white-haired man placed a finger on Rian's forehead.
"Then wake up."
—
Rian gasped, sitting upright in bed.
Sweat drenched his shirt.
His heart hammered.
His hand shook—but his eyes…
His eyes were different.
They were sharper.
Clearer.
Awake.
Rian exhaled slowly.
"…Mirror Sovereign."
The words left his mouth like something ancient returning to its throne.
The door slid open.
Mira stood there, sleepy-eyed, rubbing her eyes.
"Rian? You okay? I heard you breathing weird."
Rian looked at her.
For a moment, he saw another lifetime… another world.
But then—
He smiled.
A gentle, real smile.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm okay."
He wasn't. He was far from okay.
But he was awake now.
The first crack in his forgotten identity had opened.
And no matter what was coming—
There was no going back.
Because the world that once feared him—
Had begun to notice his return.
TO BE CONTINUED