The rain poured down in sheets, blurring the city lights into a smeared painting of neon and grey. Franklyn Rei slumped against the cracked pavement, his breath shallow, pain blooming through his chest like wildfire. Sirens wailed in the distance—too late, as always.
He blinked up at the night sky, the cold rain mixing with the blood trickling from his side. "So this is how it ends... huh?"
He wasn't afraid—just... tired. Thirty-two years old, and what had he really done with his life? Overworked tech support engineer. No family. No love. No time. A mundane life on autopilot until it finally crashed headfirst into this alleyway mugging gone wrong.
His vision dimmed. His heartbeat slowed. The world grew cold.
And then—
Warmth.
Not the sterile warmth of hospital lights. No—this was different. Soft. Embracing. He floated, suspended in golden light, as a voice echoed through the void.
> "You have been chosen, Franklyn Rei. Your soul carries untapped strength, a will that refused to break. A second chance shall be given—one shaped by your choices."
> "Will you accept this gift? Will you walk a new path?"
He wanted to laugh, but his voice came out silent. A second chance? Is this some kind of cosmic joke?
But deep down, he wanted it. A chance to do things differently. To live without regret. To matter.
"Yes," he whispered.
The light brightened—blinding, yet comforting.
> "Then be reborn... as Franklyn Croft, fourth prince of the Faeloria Kingdom. A world of swords, sorcery, and strife awaits. Rise, young lion, and carve your legend anew."
And with that, the light consumed him.
---
Somewhere far away, in a chamber of polished marble and silk, a newborn let out his first cry. His tiny fists clenched with inexplicable strength. The midwives gasped, and a cloaked figure watching from the shadows narrowed his eyes.
"Another prince, eh?" the figure murmured. "Let us see what fate you bring to Faeloria."
The world had turned its page.
The Sword King's story... had begun again.