CHAPTER 1
The Weight of a Final Breath
Elias Thorne's world narrowed to a single sound.
A sharp, metallic click.
Faint—so faint he almost wrote it off as the courthouse's old vents settling. But his instincts, sharpened by years of reading lies as easily as others read ink, froze him where he sat.
…He'd heard that sound before.
Not in a courtroom.
Not in the halls of Cortalis Justice Tower.
Not at home beside the river.
No—he'd heard this click only once in his life.
The day he pulled a murderer's gun right out of the man's own hand.
His breath hitched. The documents on his desk softened at the edges as cold crept up his spine like wet fingers.
No. Not here… not now.
The sound came again.
Not a gun cocking—smaller.
Sharper.
Trigger engaged.
He rose slowly, but didn't turn.
He'd met too many men whose smiles were fake and whose intentions were fatal. He knew when he'd already been cornered.
He exhaled, breath shaking.
Then—
Heat.
A pinprick of burning light, centered in his back.
Small. Precise.
Then the pain hit—wild, expanding outward like fire ripping through dry grass. It split muscle, shattered breath, stole the world right out from under him. Elias staggered forward and clutched his desk, fingers white, files sliding like startled birds.
He couldn't speak.
Couldn't call for help.
Couldn't face the shadow behind him.
He knew only one quiet truth:
Someone had come to kill him.
And they'd already succeeded.
Copper filled his mouth.
Warmth rolled down his ribs.
He dropped to his knees, papers drifting around him like slow-falling snow.
His last thought should've been rage.
Judges in Cortalis died for political reasons all the time. Assassinations weren't unheard of—just unpredictable. But Elias felt no anger. No vengeance. Not even fear.
Only… regret.
Not for dying.
He'd lived cleaner than most—even in a city that dirtied everything it touched.
He regretted the unfinished cases.
The truths still half-buried.
The promise he'd made to a young protégé who had trusted him too much, too deeply.
He tried to whisper a name—
But his lungs collapsed beneath the burning in his chest, and his voice vanished.
His vision dimmed.
He let his eyes fall.
And the last thing he felt was a presence.
Not warm.
Not cold.
Just… waiting.
As if something beyond the edge of the world had been expecting him.
The Moment Between
There was no tunnel.
No light.
No voice.
No blessing.
Death felt less like falling and more like sliding through the back of his own consciousness.
Memories fractured:
a silent courtroom a young man's determined eyes the crack of a gavel a flicker of steel a promise not yet kept a life cut in half
They folded and unfolded, tangled and untangled, looping through him like threads pulled by invisible hands. Time warped. Space twisted. Emotion thinned.
He saw his childhood.
His first judgment.
His hardest verdict.
The faces of defendants—innocent, guilty, terrified, furious.
Then nothing.
And then—
A voice.
Not heard.
Felt.
You are not finished.
He reached toward the sound, but his mind slipped through it like mist.
You have not delivered your final verdict.
A pull gripped him—not gentle, not harsh, but absolute.
A force threading him through the smallest opening in the universe.
He didn't resist.
The darkness split—
Awakening
Weight hit him first.
Not death's weight.
Not age.
Not fear.
Something softer.
The weight of breath in a young body.
His palms tingled.
Warm air brushed his face.
His heartbeat was fast—too fast—and his chest felt strangely light.
He opened his eyes.
A ceiling stared back.
Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The faint smell of antiseptic clung to the room—hospital-like but… cheaper.
Too uneven.
Too mild.
A dorm?
His vision sharpened.
Not a hospital.
Not a courtroom.
Not his office.
Not anywhere he'd known.
He lay on a narrow bed, stiff mattress, thin white sheet bunched near his chest.
He sat up.
His arms felt wrong.
His hands—
Too smooth.
Too young.
He touched his cheek.
No deep lines.
No age.
No history.
What in the world…?
He forced himself to stand. His legs trembled like they weren't used to him. He moved to the small mirror above a desk.
He froze.
A stranger stared back.
A young man—barely nineteen—with dark brown hair falling unevenly across his forehead. Quiet, deep brown eyes clouded with confusion and something older.
He lifted a hand.
So did the boy in the mirror.
Same movement.
Same hesitation.
This isn't my body.
The truth slammed into him with the weight of a verdict he'd never wanted to deliver.
I'm alive.
Somehow.
In someone else's skin.
He backed up, gripping the desk. Textbooks leaned against each other neatly. One title faced outward:
Foundations of Judicial Theory — 2nd Edition
He froze.
Judicial theory.
Another read:
Introduction to Advanced Law Studies
A university.
A law school.
Footsteps passed outside his door. Voices drifted—students chatting about schedules, exams, a new VR lab.
VR.
Virtual reality…
He barely had time to steady himself before—
A knock.
"Kian? Hey—ya up? Class starts in ten."
Kian.
That was this body's name.
Elias tried to answer but the word clashed with him.
Elias Thorne was dead.
Kian was alive.
And now he was both.
Or neither.
He opened the door. A tall student with messy curls stood there, backpack hanging off his shoulder.
"You alright? Ya look pale, man."
Elias—Kian—forced a small nod. "Didn't sleep well."
"Figures. New semester an' all that. Ya comin'?"
Instinct urged him to hide.
To understand first.
But the judge in him moved forward.
Observe now.
Judge later.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I'm comin'."
As he stepped into the corridor—into a life that wasn't his—one thought followed him like a whisper:
His heart wasn't racing from fear.
It was racing because this path felt familiar.
As if it had always been waiting.
CHAPTER 1 — Part 2
Kian followed the student down the hallway, steps steady but carrying someone else's rhythm. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like soft static, the carpet swallowing every footfall.
He felt watched.
Not by the student.
Not by anyone around him.
Something deeper.
Something beneath reality itself.
Not hostile.
Not kind.
Just… observing.
Waiting.
He pushed the feeling aside. Intuition had shadowed his life as a judge, but this wasn't intuition. This was a thread tugging at his chest.
The student turned and smiled lightly.
"Oh yeah—welcome back."
Kian blinked. "…Back?"
"Yeah, man. Ya were out for a while after that faintin' spell."
A fainting spell.
Convenient. Clean. A neat excuse for his disconnection.
"I don't faint often," Kian said slowly, letting uncertainty color the words.
"You do now," the student laughed. "Professor thought you pushed yourself too hard studyin' early for the judicial placement exams."
Judicial.
Placement.
Exams.
The words chimed like something familiar hitting glass.
"Right…" Kian murmured.
"Come on—Varlen hates lateness."
Varlen.
Another name he'd never heard.
They entered a larger building. Sunlight painted the floors in gold. Students moved everywhere—laughing, chatting, alive.
Too alive.
Kian inhaled slowly. He had once been the oldest soul in every room—steady, deliberate, constant. Now surrounded by youth, he felt… unmoored.
Unsettled.
The student led him up a short staircase to a door marked:
JUDICIAL FORMALITIES: THEORY & APPLICATION
Kian hesitated.
This…
This felt like home.
Yet nothing here belonged to him.
"Kian?" the student asked softly.
He forced himself forward. "Just adjustin'."
Still out of it from fainting?"
"Somethin' like that."
Inside, he took a middle seat. Students glanced but didn't linger.
Refreshingly harmless.
The door snapped open.
A tall man strode in—sharp suit, sharper eyes.
Varlen.
His gaze swept the class with quiet judgment.
Kian stiffened.
The man evaluated the room the same way he used to.
Varlen began lecturing—discretion, evidence, frameworks, interpretation.
Kian didn't take notes.
He already knew every principle.
He had lived them.
Still, he had to be careful. Too much knowledge would expose him.
Varlen paused mid-sentence.
His eyes locked onto Kian.
Kian's heartbeat squeezed.
Varlen's head tilted, as though trying to place something he shouldn't recognize.
"You," he said clearly. "Mr. Thorne."
Silence fell.
Kian straightened. "Yes, Professor?"
"What is the foundational purpose of judicial discretion in pre-trial assessment?"
Kian knew the answer too well.
But Kian the student shouldn't.
He injected hesitation.
"…It's for evaluatin' evidence and makin' sure pre-trial procedure stays within constitutional fairness."
Varlen studied him a moment longer—
Then nodded. "Acceptable."
Kian let out a slow breath.
That had been close.
Lecture resumed, the room settling back into its rhythm.
But Kian's mind churned.
Who killed him?
Why reincarnate?
Why here?
Why this surname?
Who called to him in the darkness?
The thread in his chest tugged again—soft, deliberate.
By the end of the lecture, Varlen reminded students:
"The VR Justice Lab will be central this semester. Anyone seeking a judge-in-training position should participate."
VR.
Something in Kian thrummed.
Two lives…
Immersion…
Realism…
After class, the student grinned. "You gonna try the VR lab? Folks say it's so real it feels like livin' two lives."
Kian froze.
Two lives.
He managed a quiet, "Maybe."
"Well, see ya later."
Kian stepped into the hall alone.
Sunlight swept the corridor in warm light. Voices blurred like distant echoes.
The watching presence stirred again.
A pulse in his chest.
Soft.
Answering.
He pressed a hand to his ribs.
It didn't stop.
He inhaled.
If VR was another world—another place where identity could shift—
Then maybe he wasn't trapped at all.
But he also knew this:
If he stepped into that VR world, something fundamental would change.
Something irreversible.
A shadow flickered across the hallway window.
Kian turned sharply—
Nothing.
Just his reflection.
Young.
Alive.
Not him.
And behind his eyes—
A trace of the judge he once had been.
He whispered, barely audible:
"I'll figure it out. Who killed me… why I'm here… what kind of magic this is… an' what I'm supposed to do next."
The presence pulsed again.
Listening.
Waiting.
Kian walked toward the exit—steady, deliberate.
Unaware that the first thread of his new life had already been pulled.