The cold glow of his phone screen illuminated his face in the darkness of his room. His thumb scrolled rapidly, devouring the latest chapter of *"The Twilight of Heroes"*, the web novel he'd followed religiously for years. But then came the penultimate chapter.
*"Seriously?"* he muttered through gritted teeth, fingers trembling over the screen. *"They killed off the entire hero party just like that? And over some stupid mistake during the final battle?"*
He couldn't hold back. He opened the comments section and typed furiously:
**«User: [Magus_Errant] — Is this a joke? You ruined years of character development in two paragraphs. The side characters didn't even get a proper ending. Pathetic.»**
He closed the app with a grunt, but before he could turn off his phone, a notification popped up. A reply from the author himself:
**«Author of "The Twilight of Heroes": If it bothers you so much, why don't you write it yourself?»**
He was about to fire back—when a sharp pain suddenly pierced his chest. He gasped, vision blurring. *"A heart attack? Now?"*
Then, only darkness.
---
When he came to, something was wrong.
The ceiling above him wasn't his own. It was too high, adorned with frescoes of winged beasts and warriors wielding swords of light. And strangest of all—his body felt… small.
*"Hah! Finally awake, sleepyhead?"*
A girl with silver hair and golden eyes—too much like his own—grinned down at him with playful mockery.
*"Did you faint again, Alaric? The tutor said you were weak, but this is just sad."*
*Alaric.* The name echoed in his mind like a distant memory. Then, like a dam breaking, the flood of recollections hit him:
—He was **Alaric von Drachenherz**, the third son of the Drachenherz ducal family, one of the most powerful houses in the steam-powered Empire of Valtoria.
—The girl smirking at him was **Seraphine**, his older sister.
—And this… was a world where magic, mythical races, and steam technology coexisted.
But the most important realization?
He had **died**. And now, he was living in the body of this frail noble child.
*"Wha…?"* he tried to speak, but only a childish mumble came out.
Seraphine laughed. *"Wow, you're really out of it. You should rest. After all…"* Her smirk turned mischievous. *"..."In a few months will be your first test of magical aptitude."*
**Magic.** That word sent a strange shiver through him. But he said nothing, only nodding slowly—hiding the storm of thoughts now raging inside.
Because though he didn't know it yet, this was only the beginning of a much larger story.
---