The early morning sun was just beginning to rise from the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow across the sky. It was peaceful—until the blaring, deafening sound shattered the tranquility like glass breaking. Riven's eyes snapped open, heart pounding.
Oh, right! The dying and reincarnation thing wasn't a dream, he thought looking around the room.
Also, seriously? Is this their idea of making sure people wake up early? Riven thought groggily, rubbing his eyes.
Honestly, couldn't they have just asked everyone to set their own alarms with their cell phones? Would that have been so hard?
Speaking of cell phones—wait, why hadn't he gotten reborn with his? Riven guessed that, perhaps, that would've been too much to ask for, considering he'd been given another chance to live. Another shot at life, a clean slate, a new beginning, blah, blah, blah!
But still, such little details—like his phone—still eluded them, no? Typical.
He rolled over, trying to ignore the shrill horn echoing through the dorm rooms. Vaelorian was gone from the room before Riven even woke up, probably off somewhere already training or doing whatever he did. Then came the announcement, crackling through the speakers with a tone that sounded way too cheerful for early morning:
"All campers are to be dressed and waiting in the training area within thirty minutes. Failure to comply will result in punishment—cleaning bathrooms for two weeks."
Great. Just what he needed. Riven sat up, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the unfamiliar weight of this fragile, useless body. It was a strange sensation—like waking up in someone else's skin. But he was used to getting dressed with one arm, thanks to all the fights he'd gotten into that left him with broken limbs. So, really, this was just another routine—albeit a much more frustrating one.
Riven went through the box of clothes and he was impressed. It seems they both have the same taste in clothings. The clothes were just his style but these were probably hundred times more expensive from the clothes he wore on his earth. Does this mean he's rich?
In no time, Riven managed to get dressed and head out. The training ground was bustling with kids and adults alike, all moving with purpose and intensity. The place was huge, filled with the sounds of grunts, shouts, and the clanging of weapons. Riven hesitated, literally unsure where to start. That's when his foot nearly landed him in trouble—because a kid with smoke billowing out of his nostrils snapped at him,
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
Before Riven could respond, a commanding voice boomed through the crowd.
"May I have everyone's attention?" Everyone turned toward the source of the voice.
There he was—Vaelorian, dressed in combat gear, standing tall beside a man with a stern look on his face. The crowd hushed, eyes fixed on the figures at the front. The man stepped forward, voice clear and authoritative.
"I would like to welcome all of you once again—both new and old campers. I am Commander Jacob Voss, and these gentlemen with me are here to train you over the next twelve months. Starting from my right, we have Vaelorian, our combat specialist..."
Suddenly, a voice beside Riven blurted out,
"He's hot, isn't he?"
The words hit Riven like a slap—he nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning, he saw a blonde girl, no older than fifteen, grinning with excitement. She was practically buzzing with energy.
What the hell, kid? Riven thought, annoyed.
Ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" she whispered hurriedly, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. "My name is Seraphina."
Riven blinked, trying to process her words. "I'm Riven. You're the girl from yesterday," he said, raising an eyebrow. She was the girl that asked about his gift.
"Oh my gosh, you remembered!" she squealed softly, her face lighting up.
"Yeah, I remember," he said, glancing back at the older men. "And who are you talking about?"
She leaned in conspiratorially. "Vaelorian! Isn't he hot and dreamy?"
Riven's mouth twitched. "Umm... isn't he a little old for you? What are you like, thirteen?"
Seraphina gasped, clutching her chest in mock outrage. "How rude! I'm fifteen, for your information!"
Riven smirked. "Right... and how old is Vaelorian?"
"He's twenty," she shot back, crossing her arms. "What's your point?"
He shook his head, amused. "You know what? Age is just a number. Go for it, girl!" His voice dripped with sarcasm, and Seraphina beamed, unaware of the mockery.
Vaelorian, observing the exchange, fought back a smile. He didn't need to hear the words to know Riven was up to no good—his expression betrayed it all.
Thanks to Seraphina's chattering, Riven entirely missed the boring speeches about training and rules. When they finally dismissed everyone, it was to go have breakfast. Riven used the excuse of needing to use the restroom to escape Seraphina's relentless gab. The girl just wouldn't stop talking!
He made his way to the mess hall, grabbed some food, and found a random table where others sat, indifferent to who he was. He ate quickly, eager to get to the first lesson of the day. That's right—he has to attend lessons. As if this whole thing wasn't already a nightmare.
When he reached the classroom, he was handed a schedule that made his jaw drop. Wake up, eat, lessons, training, lunch, more lessons, some free time, and then start all over again. For twelve whole fucking months!
What the fuck is wrong with these people? When do they expect anyone to have fun? Is this how the owner of this body lived? Ugh! No wonder the poor kid killed himself, Riven thought bitterly. It was all so monotonous, so relentless and boring!
He sat there, staring at the schedule, feeling overwhelmed and trapped in a cycle that didn't seem to have an end. Was this really what his new life was going to be? Just endless days of training and lessons?
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "God, this is going to be a long ass fucking year..." he muttered under his breath, the weight of it all pressing down on him like a stone.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a flicker of defiance sparked. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to carve out a little chaos—if only to remind himself that he was still alive, still fighting, still himself.
Because if there's one thing Riven knew, it's that no matter how bleak things seem, a little spark of rebellion can make all the difference.