[System Name: Origin Bloodline System]
[Status: Active]
[Bloodline Holder: Nerion Valdegar (Noah)]
[Origin Bloodline Purity: 40% (Can be increased)]
Ding!
[Please open the Heir's Status Window to view your progress.]
...
Nerion's eyes snapped open.
The carriage rocked gently over uneven stones, while the distant sound of market bells and the scent of rain-drenched grass drifted through the air.
His breath caught in his throat.
A rush.
A current of something... primal.
'That feeling... I'm finally sensing it—my body.'
A jolt of realization surged through him, followed by a strange mix of exhilaration and disbelief. It was more than mere sensation. It was awareness, creeping back into nerves that had long been silent.
The system... it was working.
Warmth erupted from his core. Not just heat—fire.
His heart throbbed like a war drum, each beat pumping searing vitality through frozen veins. His skin flushed, and his eyes burned with a sharp sting, as if they were shifting... evolving.
'What is this feeling, System?' he demanded, mentally bracing himself for the unknown.
[This is a natural process, Heir. The sensation of transformation—the return to your original form, stolen in your former life. Now, with willpower energy and proper materials present, the process has begun.]
Nerion inhaled sharply.
'It feels... incredible.'
Like a firestorm awakening inside him, the blood—his true blood—had come alive.
Two more days.
Just two more days until the first chain broke.
He opened his eyes wider, intending to assess their surroundings, but something soft halted him.
A warmth... not internal. External.
...Something was holding him.
'Oh no.'
He froze.
It was unmistakable. Silken warmth. Steady breath brushing against his chest. Arms curled tightly around him.
'No way.'
His eyes flared open.
And there she was.
Mia.
Her arms were wrapped around him like ivy clinging to a crumbling statue, her head resting gently against his hand, her entire body pressed against his in a way that was far too intimate—far too... intentional.
He didn't need to ask how this had happened.
Still, he had hoped she wouldn't cross this line.
It might have seemed sweet or romantic to some, but he had not developed any feelings for her yet. If he allowed this to continue, it would be nothing more than taking advantage of her emotions, and Nerion would never do that to someone who had helped him in his time of need.
"Mia," he said, his voice ice-cold and sharp enough to cut.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes flickering like butterflies waking from a dream. A soft smile graced her lips—peaceful, too peaceful.
Her joy stabbed at him.
Not because he hated her—far from it—but because it made what he needed to do even harder.
'Three hours. I was out for three hours and she did this? If I'd slept any longer, would I have woken up married?'
Mia blinked up at him, her expression innocent—fragile.
"Is something wrong, Nerion? Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to move?"
Her voice was gentle, laced with genuine warmth. Her cheeks still glowed, either from sleep... or from the thrill of holding him so close.
Nerion sighed, long and slow, suppressing the frustration knotting in his chest.
There was no point in lashing out.
"Mia. How much longer until we arrive?"
She lit up. His lack of rejection only fed the quiet fire in her heart.
She clutched him tighter.
'Shit...'
If only Nerion had realized sooner: silence was not a neutral choice—it was permission.
"We're already here, Nerion. You've been asleep for nearly five hours," she said, her voice honey-sweet and her smile unshakable.
He blinked.
'Five? That's... wrong. The System said three hours at most.'
His gut tightened.
'System. You said the merging would last about three hours. Why was I unconscious for five?'
[Correct, Heir. Integration was completed in exactly three hours. Circulation of Origin Blood began as planned.]
[However, your body required two additional hours for adaptation. Waking early would have disrupted the process.]
Nerion let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
'So it wasn't an error. Just... my body adjusting.'
Good. That meant the system was still reliable.
'Next time, inform me. I don't like surprises.'
[Understood, Heir. Would you like to view your current status and progress path?]
Tempting. Very tempting.
But not here.
'Not now. Wait until we reach a residence—or somewhere private.'
[As you wish, Heir.]
Nerion's eyes cleared. He glanced down—
Mia was still latched onto him like a panda to bamboo. In fact, she was somehow even closer now.
How was that even physically possible?
"Mia. I think that's enough hugging for now. Let's find somewhere more comfortable."
She hesitated.
Her arms twitched, as if reluctant to let go.
But eventually, she released him with a wistful sigh.
She would be patient.
Nerion noticed it all.
And he realized something:
'If I don't handle this right... she'll never let me go.'
He needed to act soon. Not out of cruelty—but out of necessity.
Because despite her kindness...
Mia was a chain.
A well-meaning, beautiful, terrifying chain.
And Nerion needed to be free.
Not because he hated her.
But because she would never understand the road he had to walk.
He wasn't just paralyzed in body.
He was bound.
By weakness. By the limits of being human. By the haunting memories of a world where power ruled and the weak wept.
Even on Earth, he had died chasing freedom.
Freedom from silence. Freedom from helplessness. Freedom from hearing—
"There's nothing you can do."
Nerion had seen nations wiped out.
He had seen mothers mourning the deaths of their children... wives collapsing over the corpses of their husbands... and fathers crumbling beside their lifeless sons, staring into empty eyes as if silently asking:
"What could I have done for you, my child?"
He had witnessed it all with his own eyes.
And the ones who caused those horrors?
They lived happily, guiltless, as if they hadn't just shattered the lives of thousands.
Some even justified it. They spoke of it as though it were their 'right'.
Nerion had never been one of the direct victims.
But watching it all unfold had made his heart burn with a pain he couldn't ignore.
He wanted only one thing:
'I never want that to happen to me.'
Ever.
People watched such tragedies and treated them like distant stories. They sympathized, cried for a while, and moved on.
They didn't realize something terrifying:
They could be next.
Nothing great lasts forever. Every empire, every nation that once rose and ruled... eventually fell.
Time passed. Power changed hands. And life kept spinning.
It was the cycle of the world.
And it never stopped.
Not for you.
Not for anyone.
The only question was:
'When will it be your turn?'
That was why Nerion knew:
He had to be ready for when his time came.
He couldn't afford to be weak anymore.
If someone had taken his mother—
His sister—
He would have become something... unrecognizable.
And if he allowed himself to care too deeply now—if he let Mia inside...
He would only lose more later.
He studied ancient legends not for stories, but for tools.
Anything to prevent that helplessness.
Just enough power to protect what mattered.
Was that too much to ask?
The world turned a blind eye to injustice every day. People suffered while onlookers offered hollow condolences and moved on.
No.
Not him.
He wouldn't forget.
He wouldn't accept it.
Even if it meant breaking hearts.
Even if it meant walking alone.
Even if he had to bleed for it all over again.
He would walk this path.
He had already died once for it.
And he would do it again if that was what it took to achieve his goal.
"Mia," he said, offering a faint smile to soften the storm in his voice, "can we go now?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Of course, darling!" she said, taking his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Mia smiled, but for the briefest moment, something in her eyes dimmed—as if some part of her had already sensed the distance between them.
But she didn't know.
She couldn't see the war behind his calm expression.
Nerion was walking a thorned path.
And he swore—no matter how long it stretched, no matter how much it hurt—
He would never stop.