The Royal Sanctuary was small.
It wasn't a kingdom with towering castles or countless cities. Hidden deep within the mountains, it was one of the eight Draganute Sanctuaries scattered across the world.
Only around eighty Draganutes lived here.
To outsiders, they looked almost human, but only from a distance. They were taller and stronger, with curved horns rising from their heads, powerful tails behind them, and broad wings folded across their backs. They were the descendants of the Dragon God Ren... and one of the rarest races left in the world.
The sanctuary itself was peaceful.
Stone houses lined the narrow streets. Children once ran through them. Smoke from warm kitchens usually filled the air.
But today...
Everything was burning.
The peaceful silence had been shattered by the rhythmic thud of war drums echoing off the canyon walls. Outside the sanctuary walls, thousands of human soldiers surrounded the mountain from every direction. The smell of sulfur and wet earth hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the usual mountain breeze.
Rows of armored knights stood with shields raised, their polished steel glinting under the harsh midday sun.
Mages in blue robes gathered behind them, their hands glowing with unstable mana as they prepared powerful spells.
Flags carrying the symbol of the invading kingdom fluttered in the cold wind, snapping like whips.
There was no path left to escape.
The Royal Sanctuary had been completely surrounded.
At the center of the sanctuary stood the royal palace.
It wasn't as grand as the castles of human kingdoms, but it carried a quiet dignity. Built from white stone with dragon carvings decorating its pillars, it had protected generations of Draganute kings. The floor-to-ceiling windows were meant to let in sunlight, but today they only revealed the encroaching wall of soldiers closing the net.
Inside the throne room, the air felt thin, pressurized by the collective despair of the court.
King Drakonis stood silently before his throne.
His long crimson hair rested over black armor decorated with silver dragon scales. A royal cape hung from his shoulders, and a sword rested at his waist. He stood perfectly still, a pillar of composure while the world around him crumbled.
His calm face hid the weight pressing down on his heart. He was calculating the impossible math of survival, finding only zeros.
The doors suddenly burst open.
A young maid rushed inside, breathing heavily, her face pale with terror.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
She quickly bowed, her knees trembling against the cold stone.
"The Queen... the Queen is about to give birth!"
For the first time that day, the crushing tension in the room seemed to flicker.
A faint smile appeared on the king's face.
"So..."
He whispered softly, his voice barely audible over the distant roar of the battlefield.
"My son has chosen today."
Before anyone could speak again, the doors opened once more.
A royal guard stumbled inside, looking as if he had been dragged through a meat grinder.
His armor was covered in blood, dented and cracked from repeated impacts.
One of his wings had been badly injured, hanging at an unnatural angle.
He knelt on one knee, gasping for air.
"Your Majesty..."
"The human army has completed the encirclement."
"They've surrounded the sanctuary from every side."
"The western gate has already fallen."
Silence filled the throne room, suffocating and absolute.
Everyone lowered their heads. The news was not a surprise, merely a confirmation of their demise.
They already knew.
There would be no reinforcements.
The nearest Draganute Sanctuary was too far away, isolated by treacherous terrain.
Even if they received the emergency signal...
They would arrive days too late.
King Drakonis slowly closed his eyes. In that darkness, he said a silent goodbye to the life he had built and the legacy he was failing to protect.
When he opened them again, there was no fear.
Only resolve.
He looked toward one of the knights standing beside the throne.
"Gormen."
A tall knight stepped forward immediately, his hand gripping the hilt of his blade.
Unlike the wounded guard, his armor remained spotless, though his eyes were hollow with the knowledge of what was to come.
He placed a fist against his chest and bowed.
"Your Majesty."
The king walked toward him, his boots clicking sharply on the floor.
"Go."
"Try to speak with them."
"If there is even the smallest chance to avoid more bloodshed..."
"...take it."
Gormen nodded without hesitation, though his jaw was set tight.
"As you command."
The king placed a hand on his shoulder, a final gesture of camaraderie.
"I'll join you shortly."
Gormen looked surprised, his stoic expression cracking for a second.
"Your Majesty?"
The king's eyes turned toward the hallway leading to the royal chambers, where the cries of a mother could now be heard.
"My son is about to be born."
His voice became quiet.
"Perhaps..."
"...this will be the last time I ever see him."
The entire throne room fell silent.
Not a single person spoke.
No one tried to comfort their king because to offer comfort would be to acknowledge the truth.
Because everyone understood.
Today...
The Royal Sanctuary stood on the edge of destruction.
Meanwhile...
On Earth.
The Supreme Court of Delhi stood tall under the afternoon sun, a sprawling monolith of colonial architecture.
Lawyers in black coats walked in and out of the grand building while reporters waited outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the day's biggest names.
Among them, one man walked down the marble steps with a calm smile on his face.
He was Shorabh Sharma.
One of the finest lawyers in the country.
At just twenty-nine years old, he had built a reputation that many spent a lifetime chasing, fueled by sharp wits and an obsession with legal minutiae.
People called him many things.
"The Man Who Never Lost."
"The Voice of Justice."
"The Miracle Lawyer."
Shorabh simply laughed whenever he heard those titles, waving them off as exaggerated praise.
"I'm just doing my job," he would always say, adjusting his cuffs.
A young junior lawyer hurried after him, struggling to keep pace.
"Sir! Congratulations on another victory."
Shorabh smiled, though his mind was already moving to the next case.
"Thank you."
"The client is waiting to thank you. You should go," the junior replied.
Shorabh shook his head, looking up at the smog-filled sky.
"He doesn't need to thank me."
"He should spend that money on his family instead."
The junior could only smile, humbled by the man's genuine lack of ego.
That was exactly the kind of man Shorabh was.
He believed justice wasn't something to be sold to the highest bidder, but a standard to be upheld.
After saying goodbye, he loosened his tie and stretched his arms, feeling the phantom fatigue of a six-hour cross-examination.
"What a day..."
He began walking toward the main gates of the courthouse, ready to head home.
A few meters away, the heavy wooden doors of the holding cells burst open.
Two police officers were forcefully escorting a man in handcuffs. It was Vikram Singh, a ruthless crime syndicate leader whom Shorabh had just successfully prosecuted and sentenced to life without parole.
Vikram was thrashing against the officers' grips.
His bloodshot eyes darted across the courtyard and instantly locked onto Shorabh. They were filled with absolute, unhinged hatred.
"You think you've won, Sharma?!" Vikram shouted, his voice echoing violently through the marble hallway.
Shorabh stopped and looked at him calmly, showing no fear.
"I simply presented the facts. The law did the rest."
Vikram let out a deranged, bitter laugh.
"The law doesn't decide when a man dies!"
Suddenly, the criminal violently shoved one of the officers backward, catching the guard entirely off balance.
In the blink of an eye, Vikram snatched the officer's service revolver from its unclasped holster.
Panic erupted across the courtyard.
"Gun!"
"Get down!"
Reporters and lawyers screamed, scattering in every direction.
Shorabh stood frozen, his analytical mind struggling to process the sudden, chaotic turn of events.
Vikram raised the heavy revolver, pointing the barrel directly at Shorabh's chest.
"Let's see the law save you now!"
BANG.
A deafening crack echoed through the courthouse, silencing all other noise.
Shorabh felt a massive, burning impact against his chest, as if he had been struck by a sledgehammer.
The world around him slowed down to a crawl.
He stumbled backward, his vision tilting as his knees gave out. He collapsed heavily onto the cold marble floor.
Warm crimson liquid quickly soaked his crisp white shirt, spreading rapidly across his chest.
He could hear the muffled shouts of the police, the sound of a violent struggle as they tackled Vikram to the ground, and more officers rushing in.
But it all sounded so incredibly far away, like he was underwater.
His breathing became shallow and jagged.
He looked up at the ornate, towering ceiling of the courthouse.
"It really isn't fair..." he thought, his lips barely moving.
"So much left to do..."
He smiled bitterly, the pain slowly fading into a strange numbness.
"So..."
"This is how it ends."
Darkness.
No pain.
No sound.
Only endless darkness.
Somewhere within that darkness...
A baby's heartbeat echoed.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Shorabh slowly opened his eyes.
"Where am I?"
Shorabh tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and his vision was swimming in a sea of soft, indistinct shapes.
Slowly, two faces came into view, looming over him like giants.
One belonged to a tall man with long crimson-red hair. His sharp golden eyes carried both strength and sadness, reflecting a world of burdens. Curved horns rose from his forehead, while folded crimson wings rested behind his back.
Beside him was a beautiful woman with long orange hair flowing over her shoulders. She had gentle amber eyes, but they were filled with tears, her breath hitching as she looked down at him. Like the man, she also had elegant horns and folded wings.
She carefully held the newborn baby against her chest, her touch incredibly tender.
A warm tear fell onto Shorabh's tiny face, shocking him with its temperature.
The woman smiled sadly, a broken expression.
"Oh... you poor little thing."
"You had to be born on such a cursed day."
Shorabh stared at her in confusion, unable to process the strange features of these people.
"What do you mean, lady?"
"Why are you saying something like that?"
He opened his mouth to ask, his brain firing off questions about the hospital, the gunshot, and the nurses.
"Waaah...!"
A loud cry escaped instead, shrill and utterly beyond his control.
The woman let out a soft laugh despite the tears on her face, her hand stroking his head.
"Look at him."
"He's trying to talk to me."
Shorabh froze, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
"What?"
"Trying to talk?"
"Wait..."
He looked down at himself, expecting to see his bloodstained business suit or the marble pavement of the Delhi court.
Tiny hands.
Tiny feet.
His body was wrapped in a soft white cloth, bound tightly to keep him secure.
"No way..."
"I'm... a baby?"
"Did I actually get reincarnated?"
His thoughts raced, panicking as he tried to grasp his own limbs, only to find them unresponsive and weak.
"And why do they have horns?"
"Wings too?"
"Where on Earth am I?"
Just then, the red-haired man stepped closer, his presence commanding even in this moment of vulnerability.
His gaze rested on the newborn for several seconds, weighing the future.
There was pride in his eyes.
But there was also pain, the look of a man who knew he would not live to see his son take his first steps.
He gently placed a hand on the baby's forehead, his skin cool and smooth.
"My dear..."
He looked at the queen, his voice cracking.
"Keep our son safe."
"I'll send the Royal Guard to escort both of you out of the sanctuary."
"I have to return."
The queen lowered her head, sobbing quietly into her hands.
"Dear."
She wanted to tell him not to go.
She wanted to beg him to stay, to forget the throne and the war and just escape into the mountains with them.
She wanted her husband beside her.
She wanted her son to grow up with his father.
But she knew.
The people outside needed their king, and he could not abandon them in their final hour.
She forced a smile, masking her agony for the sake of the child.
"Be safe."
The king smiled back, a tired, weary look that held a lifetime of love.
"I will."
He looked down at the newborn one last time, memorizing the small, alien face.
His voice became calm, resolute.
"Perhaps..."
"I won't survive today."
Shorabh's tiny body stiffened, a chill running through him that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
"But you must live."
The king gently stroked the baby's cheek, his touch surprisingly soft for a warrior.
"And remember this."
"Never desire revenge."
"This world is too small..."
"to spend your life carrying hatred."
He turned around, his cape billowing behind him as he marched toward the exit.
Without another word...
He walked toward the door.
The heavy wooden doors slowly closed behind him.
Boom.
Silence filled the room.
Shorabh stared at the closed door, his mind reeling.
Although his body had just been born...
His mind belonged to a grown man.
He understood exactly what was happening.
"No..."
"This isn't the time for emotional speeches!"
"We're surrounded!"
"Lady, take the baby and run!"
"Actually... I am the baby!"
"Just run already!"
He tried with all his strength to shout, to convey the urgency of the situation.
"WAAAAAAAH!!"
A loud cry echoed through the royal chamber, desperate and shrill.
The queen gently rocked him in her arms, thinking he was simply hungry or scared.
"There, there..."
"Everything will be alright."
Shorabh nearly lost his mind, his frustration mounting.
"No! Nothing is alright!"
"Please... run..."
But no matter how hard he tried...
The only sound he could make...
was the helpless cry of a newborn baby.
Suddenly...
A calm, emotionless voice echoed inside his mind.
"Voice of All Things synchronized."
Shorabh froze.
"Who's there?"
There was no reply.
A second later...
"Soul Record communication established."
His eyes widened.
"Soul... Record?"
Another line appeared inside his mind.
"Unique Skill: Origin acquired."
"Initiating survival protocol."
Shorabh's heartbeat quickened.
"A skill?"
"What is Origin?"
"Who's talking to me?"
The voice fell silent once again.
Outside...
The sounds of battle grew louder.
The palace trembled.
And for the first time since his rebirth...
Shorabh realized one terrifying truth.
He had entered a world where survival began the moment he was born.