In a world ruled by the "Gifted" — those born with divine powers — Civilians live in fear and shadow. At 14, a boy named Lumiel believed he was just another powerless Civilian. That is, until he began dreaming the lives of the dead.
These aren't dreams, but soul fragments — pieces of lost warriors, mages, and even monsters, all waiting for one thing: redemption. Each duty fulfilled grants him their power. And as more fragments awaken, one question remains — who is he, really?
A foreign battlefield emerged — broken ancient structures, piles of bodies in pools of blood, and flames licking the horizon. Lumiel stood in the center... or someone who looked like him.
Before him stood a man clad in old warrior armor, stained and cracked.
"Rymir, it's just us left," the man growled. "Draw your sword and face the consequences."
He charged. The blade flashed. Pain erupted — Lumiel saw the world split in half, just like his torso—
I gasped for air, bolting upright in bed, my hand flying to my chest.
My heart pounded like a war drum. Sweat drenched my back. I could still feel the fire on my skin, the slash across my body, the heat of burning structures…
But there was nothing.
Just the stillness of my room. The early morning sun bleeding through the curtains.
And silence.
But the pain — it felt too real to be a dream.
I rubbed my face, trying to steady my breath. "It was just a dream… right?"
But I could still see the man's eyes. Still smell the smoke. Still feel the blood on my hands.
No one has dreams like that.
Not unless they've lived them.
I sat on the edge of my bed, still frightened by the scene. My alarm had already rung twice.
It was 5:43 AM.
Too early to be awake. Too late to fall back asleep.
With a sigh, I stood, dragging my feet to the bathroom mirror. My reflection stared back — same dark hair, same tired eyes.
While checking myself in the mirror, a sudden figure appeared — a man wearing the same warrior armor from the dream, standing where my reflection should be.
I jumped back in shock, heart hammering in my chest.
Scared to look again, I mustered the courage to glance back. The man was still there, reflected in the glass, unmoving. Then, he spoke.
"Lumiel," the man said in a gloomy voice. "My name is Rymir — a soul of the dead who dwells beneath you."
Still confused, I asked, "How do you know my name? And who even are you?"
The man's eyes didn't leave mine as he spoke again.
"I am the soul of a great warrior, betrayed and hunted by my brother, Toru — the man from your dream. Filled with hatred and jealousy, he made a deal with a demon to kill me and steal my power. I died by his hand… and my palace was left in ruins by the fight."
I took a step back, nearly slipping on the tiles.
"This... this can't be real," I muttered, gripping the sink. "You're in my head, right? Some kind of hallucination or prank? I just had a weird dream, that's all."
Rymir didn't move — not that he could — just stood there in the mirror, his eyes heavy with centuries of pain.
"I am not a dream. Nor am I just a memory," he said calmly. "I am a fragment of a soul — and you are my vessel."
"Your vessel?" I repeated, my voice hoarse.
My heart felt like it would burst out of my chest. I wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or... something.
"Why me? I'm just a normal kid. I'm not even Gifted."
Rymir's expression darkened.
"You are not normal, Lumiel. Not anymore. The moment I awakened within you, your fate changed. There are more like me — many more — trapped inside. Waiting."
I looked down at my hands.
They didn't feel any different.
But something was different.