The final day of selections had arrived.

The Golden Scale Academy buzzed with activity, its halls filled with participants from across the region. Voices echoed off the ancient stone walls, bouncing between pillars and fading into the high ceilings.

Footsteps pounded against marble floors, a continuous rhythm of urgency and nerves. Somewhere in the distance, a crowd was already gathering, their excitement bleeding through the walls like a coming storm.

A blonde-haired boy walked alone through the corridors.

His name is Jr. Steven.

His eyes were covered by a white blindfold, the fabric clean but worn, tied carefully behind his head. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand brushing against the wall to guide him.

His steps were cautious, measured, each one placed with the care of someone who had learned the hard way that the ground was not always where he expected it to be.

To most, he was just the blind boy. The weak one. The easy target.

His presence in the academy was tolerated but not welcomed.

Someone shoved him from behind.

The blonde-haired boy’s body, frail and unbalanced, crumpled to the floor. His palms scraped against the cold stone, the rough surface biting into his skin.

His blindfold shifted slightly, but he did not adjust it. He did not reach up to fix it. He simply lay there for a moment, feeling the sting in his hands, the ache in his knees.

The culprit sneered and spat,

"Watch where you are going."

Junior said nothing. He had learned long ago that words were useless against people like this.

He simply pushed himself up, his arms trembling under the effort, his muscles protesting the strain.

The footsteps retreated. The bully was gone, already bored with his victim.

He let out a quiet breath and continued walking.

In the distance, cheers erupted. The sound was immense, waves of voices crashing against the academy walls, surging and falling like a living thing.

It came from the direction of the main courtyard, where the selection participants were gathering.

"Dawnflame Grace!"

"Dawnflame Grace!"

"Dawnflame Grace!"

The name echoed through the corridors, carried by dozens of voices. Then another name followed, just as loud, just as fervent.

"Silver Moon Prince!"

"Silver Moon Prince!"

"Silver Moon Prince!"

Junior ignored the chants. He had heard them before.

Stories of two participants who had already made names for themselves, even before the selections began.

Their reputations had preceded them, spreading through the academy like wildfire. He did not care. He had his own concerns.

He continued toward his dormitory.

...

Life as a blind [Bronze 1] ranker was not easy. His body was weak, his muscles weirdly underdeveloped, his bones fragile.

An [Iron 3] ranker could defeat him in a fight.

His talent, by all external measures, was poor. The instructors did not expect much from him.

His peers did not respect him. He was invisible to most, a nuisance to others.

But Junior knew the truth.

Progression was tied to the soul. And his soul was not sixteen years old like the rest of his peers.

Three years ago, he had been blessed. Or cursed.

He was not sure which.

His mental age had grown to over three hundred years, trapped inside a thirteen-year-old body.

The natural balance of life had been disrupted.

His physical vessel could not keep up with the weight of his soul. Every moment was a struggle between who he had been and who he was now.

And yet, in just three years, he had reached [Bronze 1].

If he didn’t have this disadvantage, he knew how terrifying his growth rate would be.

He shook his head and dismissed the thought. There was no point in wasting time thinking about useless things.

He reached for the door to his dormitory.

-BOOM

The sound came from the direction of the cheers.

Loud and explosive.

Followed immediately by screams.

Junior froze. He could not see anything, but he could feel the change in the air.

The atmosphere had shifted, thickening with something that made his skin crawl.

Just moments ago, he had felt the warmth of the sun on his face.

Now, cold rain began to fall, droplets striking his skin, his shoulders, his blindfold.

The temperature dropped. The air grew heavy.

"Strange," he muttered.

"Arghh, help me!"

A voice desperately called for help.

Junior turned his head toward the sound.

He could feel something else now.

A strange hostility emanated from that direction. His mana stirred inside him, restless, as if it wanted to clash against something, something mana itself hates.

His heart sank.

"Wraiths?"

He could feel it now.

’Miasma.’

Thick and suffocating, pressing against his senses like a physical weight.

And the wraith responsible was far too powerful for him to fight. He was not even a [Silver] ranker.

He would not last a second against a creature that could make the very air feel this heavy.

-BANG

A massive collision of mana and miasma shook the academy. The ground trembled. The walls groaned. Dust fell from the ceiling. Somewhere above, glass shattered.

Junior’s eyes widened beneath his blindfold.

"This power... an [Adamant] ranker has taken action?"

He did not wait to find out. He pushed the door open and stumbled into his room, slamming it shut behind him. His back pressed against the wall, his breath coming in short gasps.

He was too weak. Too slow. Too helpless.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until they threatened to draw blood.

’If only I were still a celestial.’

The thought surfaced unbidden. Three hundred years of memories. Power beyond imagination.

An empire built and lost. And now, this fragile body that could barely stand against a light shove.

The contrast was utterly laughable.

The clash outside continued. Mana and miasma collided again and again, each impact sending shockwaves through the building.

Then, suddenly, the [Adamant] ranker’s presence grew weaker. Fainter and fainter until it vanished entirely.

Junior’s blood ran cold.

"He... he’s dead?"

-BANG

The door to his room was kicked open. The wood splintered. The lock shattered. The frame cracked under the force of the blow.

A wraith stepped inside. Junior could not see it, but he could feel it.

The miasma was overwhelming, pressing against his skin, his lungs, his soul. It was like drowning in darkness, like being buried alive.

"I will not go down easily—"

He did not finish the sentence.

A cold hand pierced his chest.

The pain was immediate. Agonizing.

He felt the wraith’s fingers wrap around something inside him, then pull back. The hand withdrew, slick with blood.

The wraith turned and walked away without a second glance. Its footsteps faded into the chaos outside.

Junior collapsed onto the floor. His blood poured out, pooling beneath him, warm and wet. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

His consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind.

’I do not want to die.’

’Not like this.’

’Not yet.’

’If only I could become a celestial...’

The thought lingered as his eyes closed.

...

"Urghh."

Junior sat upright in his bed, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved. His heart pounded. His body trembled.

He took deep, ragged breaths, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him.

’What is going on?’

’Am I still alive?’

’How is this possible?’

’Did someone save me?’

The door to his room slowly creaked open. The sound was soft, almost hesitant, as if whoever was on the other side did not want to intrude.

Junior’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He scrambled backward, falling off the bed, hitting the floor with a painful thud.

The door pushed open wider. A middle-aged man rushed in, his face pale with worry.

"Junior! What is wrong?"

Junior lifted his blindfolded head.

"Uncle?"

The man knelt beside him.

"Yes, it’s me. Are you alright? I heard a crash."

The man helped him back onto the bed. Junior’s hands were still shaking.

He said slowly, his voice hoarse,

"Uncle, what day is it today?"

The man looked at him strangely.

"Did you forget? Today is the day the selection participants arrive at Golden Scale Academy. You said you wanted to participate, remember?"

"If you want to register, you need to go to the academy as well."

Junior fell silent and calmly accepted the reality.

’Participants arriving.’

’The selections.’

’That means... I have returned to the past.’

He had died. He was certain of it. The wraith’s hand went through his chest.

The blood was pooling beneath him. The fading consciousness. It had been real. He had felt it.

And yet, here he was. Alive. Unharmed. In his bed.

His mental age was over three hundred years. He had experienced war, betrayal, and the rise and fall of empires.

He had seen Celestials die like insects. He had faced the Sovereign of Eternal Flames herself.

He had learned to control his emotions, to think before he acted, to plan before he struck.

’I need help.’

He needed help. Someone with power. Someone with influence.

Someone who could stop the disaster before it happened.

Then he recalled the cheers on the final day of selections.

’Silver Moon Prince... Dawnflame Grace...’

’I should start with them.’