Jin Runcandel POV:
Uwaaah. Uwaaah.
"What… is that sound?"
Jin's fading consciousness clung to the last threads of life. The battlefield of the Akin Kingdom was silent now, choked in dust and blood. His body lay in ruins, sliced clean at the waist by the blades of those he once trusted.
His sight blurred. His strength gone.
Only sound remained.
And it was crying. A baby's cry.
"Is someone… alive?" Jin wondered, numb to the pain. "Is a child surviving this nightmare?"
The thought stung deeper than the wound. He couldn't save anyone—not even a child. And that knowledge buried itself beneath the shame already choking his soul.
But the crying didn't stop.
It was sharp. Raw. Piercing.
And then—he realized.
"That… sound is coming from me."
The world shattered.
Instead of death, Jin was pulled into a whirlpool of light and silence—a void between timelines. No sword. No throne. No legacy. Just... rebirth.
He gasped his first breath as a newborn.
Senses scrambled. Limbs frail. Mind fractured—but aware.
He had memories. Of swords and blood. Of betrayal and triumph. Of Runcandel… and what he became.
Jin Runcandel had been reborn.
But before he could make sense of this miracle, he heard it again.
Another cry.
Not his.
Not echoing.
Distinct.
He turned his head—or tried to—feeling the soft swaddle at his side. Then he saw him.
Another infant.
Same silver-black hair.
Same flame of life.
His... twin?
Jin's newborn heart beat painfully hard.
"A twin? That's impossible."
In his previous life, he was the youngest. Alone in status and station. There was no twin. No mention. No shadowed brother.
Yet here this child was. Lying beside him. Breathing calmly. Crying less. Eyes flickering open with unsettling clarity.
"Why didn't I know…?"
The guilt hit Jin like a blade.
Was this soul erased from his timeline? Hidden from memory? Denied a place in the world he dominated?
And more terrifying—was this child stronger than he'd ever been?
Jin felt it in the air around him. Magic. Depth. Power.
The infant stirred, shadows coiling softly beneath his blanket. Jin's breath hitched.
This child wasn't ordinary.
He was fate rewritten.
Jarden POV
The first thing he felt was weightless noise.
Not the buzzing of city lights or the hum of electronics. No heartbeat monitors. No computer fans. Just… muffled crying. And then breath. Tiny. Sharp. His own.
Jarden opened his eyes.
It should've been impossible. He remembered dying. The jolt. The pain. The absurdity of meeting ROB. The laughter. The agreement. The wishes.
"Twin of Jin Runcandel," he had said. "Shadow Monarch powers. Sword and magic talent. Let me rewrite the world."
And now—
Soft blankets. A silver mobile dangling above him. Warding glyphs etched into the nursery ceiling. Shadows clinging to the corners like quiet observers.
He was here.
He had made it.
Jarden didn't cry. He couldn't. There was no panic, only clarity. His mind—though locked in an infant's body—remained intact, protected by divine contracts.
Then he heard the other cry. The louder one.
A newborn, just as raw.
He turned his head slightly—still difficult, still awkward—but enough to glimpse the boy beside him. Silver-black hair. Wild eyes. Soul blazing.
Jin.
A jolt shot through Jarden's chest—not magical, just emotional.
He was watching a legend reborn. The youngest son of the Runcandel clan. A boy destined to wield forbidden power, walk a lonely path, and reshape the fate of swordmasters.
But this time… he wasn't alone.
Jarden stared at him—his supposed brother. His twin. The one whose story he had memorized from forum threads, novels, fan translations, manhwa panels. He knew Jin's trials. Knew what the boy would face. But the timeline had shifted. Jin had returned with memories, if that wild gaze was anything to go by.
He remembers… just like I do.
This world wasn't static. It was fluid now—dangerous.
Every step would be new.
A creak of the door.
Chiron Runcandel entered like silence given form. His gaze scanned both cradles. His expression didn't change. But something in the air tightened.
Jarden felt it. The pressure. The judgment. He wasn't supposed to exist.
Chiron said nothing.
Jin stopped crying.
And Jarden simply stared, wide-eyed.
No fan translation could've prepared him for this. No redraws. No power fantasy tropes.
This was real.
And the game had begun.
Jarden POV
One hundred days had passed.
Jarden could now wriggle across the nursery rug with decent control—a small but satisfying triumph, considering his body was still years away from proper swordplay or spellcasting.
But movement wasn't his concern.
Information was.
Even in silence, he observed everything: servant rotation schedules, training drills of the older siblings glimpsed through open doors, the quiet footsteps of the matriarch, the books locked behind enchanted glass. Even the way Chiron Runcandel glanced at the twin cradles—never at him for too long.
It confirmed one thing.
He wasn't supposed to exist.
A deviation. An anomaly.
No records in the novel or manhwa mentioned Jin having a twin. And Jarden had consumed every panel, every paragraph. He'd memorized the political families, inheritance structures, magical theories, even the layout of Sword Grave.
And yet… this version of the story was different.
It wasn't just Jin who had been reborn.
This was a new timeline.
Jarden lay in his cradle quietly while Jin babbled to himself across the room. His twin had been alert since day one—murmuring in his sleep, waking with intense eyes. And occasionally, Jin would look at Jarden with something like confusion. Recognition. Doubt.
"He doesn't know me," Jarden thought, eyes half-lidded. "He remembers his life… but I wasn't in it."
That realization struck harder than expected.
In his past life—on Earth—Jarden had admired Jin's character from a distance. Complex. Tragic. Sharp. But now, standing beside him in cradle form, he felt something awkwardly close to guilt.
I'm rewriting someone else's story. He was born alone. Fought alone. And I'm the variable fate never told him about.
He looked at his own hands—chubby, soft, useless.
His powers were sealed until age ten. ROB had made that clear. Until then, he had to survive, observe, and decide what sort of future he was building.
Not as a fan.
Not as a copy.
But as a twin.
As the shadow that walks beside the sword.
Jarden closed his eyes. There would be time. Time to plan. Time to speak. Time to understand this restructured destiny.
But for now… sleep came first.