The Regressed Heir of Ravencrest

Ethan’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy and swollen. His mind reeled through a thick haze, struggling to piece together where he was as warm, magical golden light filtered softly through the room.

The first thing he noticed was the ceiling above him. Dark, polished beams framed intricate arcane patterns carved into pale stone, each rune glowing faintly beneath layers of enchantment. Elegant crystal lamps hung between them, their subdued radiance filling the chamber without casting a single harsh shadow. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, embroidered with the crest of House Valerian, while deep-colored furnishings and finely crafted wooden panels gave the entire room an air of quiet grandeur.

Everything about the chamber spoke of wealth and refinement—the kind that could only belong to one of the Empire’s great noble houses.

Then, the memories hit him all at once.

The death of Count Thorn. The crushing pressure, the sudden arrival of the Mage Saint. And finally... the grand foyer of the Valerian estate, where he had locked eyes with Isabella right before his body gave out.

His heart spiked instantly, thumping hard against his ribs.

Gripping the edge of the plush mattress, Ethan placed his palms against the sheets and tried to push himself up. The moment his core tightened, a sharp, piercing pain flared across his torso, cutting through his mind like a hot blade.

"Uhh..." A low grunt escaped his lips as he froze.

"Don’t force yourself," a gentle voice spoke up.

That was when he noticed three pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying degrees of intensity.

At the edge of the bed stood Isabella. Beside her, Rune had been resting his head near her hand, but the cub’s ears instantly perked at the sound of Ethan’s voice. Nearby, leaning casually against the wall with her arms crossed and a mischievous smile on her face, stood Iris Valerian.

The moment Ethan opened his eyes, Rune leaped off the bed’s edge and scurried to his side, letting out a soft, relieved whine as he nudged Ethan’s arm with his nose.

"You finally got up, kid," Iris said, her violet eyes glinting with quiet amusement.

Isabella stepped closer, her eyes searching his face with a mixture of quiet concern and soft curiosity. "Are you okay?"

Looking straight into her eyes—so alive, so close—Ethan momentarily forgot that the Mage Saint was standing just a few feet away.

"Y-Yeah... I’m fine."

"Ahem."

A deliberate, sharp cough broke the silence.

Ethan snapped back to reality, realizing Iris was watching the two of them with an insufferably sly grin. Isabella flushed softly, taking a hasty step back as a faint pink dusted her cheeks, while Ethan quickly coughed into his hand to regain his stoic demeanor.

"Isabella, leave us for a moment," Iris commanded gently.

"Yes, grandmother." Isabella bowed her head politely, offering Ethan one final, lingering glance before turning and stepping out of the chamber, the heavy oak doors clicking softly behind her.

Once the door closed, silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket.

Ethan leaned back against the headboard, his face returning to its usual unreadable mask as he looked directly at the Mage Saint. Iris didn’t speak immediately either, her sharp gaze scanning him as if trying to peel back the layers of his soul.

The tension in the room grew thicker with every passing second.

Finally, Iris broke the quiet. "Severus would be proud to know his grandson turned out to be even more of a monster than he was."

Ethan’s expression remained utterly calm, though the mention of his grandfather sent a quiet ripple through his thoughts.

Ethan had never met Severus Ravencrest in either timeline. His grandfather was a living myth—a man who stood as the sole Knight Saint in House Ravencrest besides the First Patriarch himself, who had obliterated one of the Four Great Evils and stood among the strongest figures of his generation. Yet, one day, after passing the title of Marquis to Ethan’s father, Adrian, Severus had simply vanished without a trace. Neither House Ravencrest nor the Imperial Crown had ever found a single clue regarding his whereabouts.

"It seems you don’t know much about your grandfather, kid," Iris observed softly, noticing his silence.

"Why are you doing this, Lady Iris?" Ethan asked, his voice steady and even.

The corners of Iris’s lips curved upward into a smirk. "You seem remarkably calm in front of me."

With a subtle flick of her wrist, a tiny glass vial appeared in her hand out of thin air, filled with a shimmering, golden liquid.

"Now take this," she said, leaning forward and extending the vial toward him.

Ethan stared at the glowing liquid, making no move to take it.

Memory flared violently in his mind. In his previous life, Iris had handed him a potion, claiming it would increase his strength. The moment he drank it, it felt like swallowing molten iron, accompanied by an agonizing sensation as if a thousand white-hot needles were driving directly into his mana pathways. The process had lasted several minutes—one of the most deeply traumatic experiences of his previous life. Though his strength had increased by a wide margin, he had never forgotten the experience. Iris, meanwhile, had simply laughed until she was clutching her stomach in tears, watching him groan through the pain.

"Hey, kid," Iris chimed, her eyes narrowing playfully. "When an elder offers you something, you take it gracefully... unless you want to do this the hard way."

Recognizing he had no leverage against her, Ethan reluctantly took the vial, unstoppered it, and downed the liquid in a single gulp.

The effect was instantaneous. A soothing, radiant warmth surged through his chest, expanding outward through his meridians. The severe, deep-seated tissue damage that the household healers hadn’t been able to fully mend began to knit back together at a visible pace. The heavy ache in his bones melted away, replaced by a gentle warmth that felt as comforting as a maternal embrace. Within minutes, days worth of agonizing recovery evaporated.

It seems she didn’t mess with the potion this time.

Iris straightened up, looking thoroughly satisfied with herself.

"Go wash up, kid," she said, tapping her staff lightly against the floor. "I’ll send my granddaughter to fetch you when dinner is ready."

Before Ethan could answer, Iris paused, leaning in slightly with a mischievous wink. "And try not to stare at her too much."

Ethan’s expression stiffened for a brief moment, caught off guard by the unexpected remark.

With a light laugh, her form blurred into a swirl of azure light and vanished without a sound, leaving Ethan alone in the quiet room with Rune.

Outside in the quiet corridor, Isabella walked slowly through the polished halls of the estate.

It had been two days since her grandmother had brought the bloodied boy without a word of warning. Yet, from the very moment she had set eyes on him, something deep in her chest had tightened. She couldn’t explain the feeling, nor could she find the words to name it. With every passing hour, that quiet, unbidden ache had only deepened. Even in her sleep, she had dreamed of the exact moment he had collapsed onto her shoulder, his warmth fading into unconsciousness.

Unknowingly, a tiny, faint smile bloomed at the corner of her lips as his image flashed across her mind.

Have we met before?

Back in the guest chamber, Ethan slowly stood up, placing his feet flat on the cold marble floor as he took in the familiar layout.

It’s still the same as the last time I came here...

Then, a darker realization shifted his thoughts: No. It changed after she left.

He recalled the bitter memory of Iris abruptly departing House Valerian in his past life. Like a bolt of lightning, the words Iris had just spoken about his grandfather connected with the memory of her departure.

In his previous life, Ethan had pondered his grandfather’s fate from time to time. Even his father, Adrian, had eventually resigned his search after decades of fruitless effort, assuming Severus had perished somewhere beyond the Empire. But years later, the Mage Saint herself had also abandoned her house, claiming she needed to uncover an ancient truth, only to vanish into the unknown without ever returning.

Did Grandfather really die? Ethan thought, his eyes narrowing in intense focus. Why didn’t the Mage Saint return in my previous life before the collapse of the North? Even if she ventured into the Forbidden Continent, a Saint of her caliber should have been capable of returning alive.

Is there a link between their disappearances?

In his past, he had never connected the two events, as Severus’s vanishing and Iris’s departure had occurred decades apart. But what if the distance between those events had only made the connection impossible to see?

Ethan stood in the silent room, the scattered pieces of a far larger, terrifying puzzle beginning to assemble in his mind.

———

Meanwhile—far beyond the lands recorded on any known map.

In a realm where light bled into eternal shadow, a fair-skinned man with flowing silver hair and piercing golden eyes—a being whose very existence seemed completely overlooked by the fabric of the world—stood silently.

Opposite him, enveloped in a dense, swirling black mist that stretched across tens of thousands of kilometers, stood a second figure. The man appeared to be in his late thirties, with dark, swept-back hair, his eyes closed as he stood motionless within the void.

"Severus..."

The moment the silver-haired man spoke the name, Severus Ravencrest slowly opened his dark blue eyes.

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