Ashen opened his eyes.

  His body felt light. His prison clothes were gone, repced by simple training clothes that felt thin against his skin. The air smelled different.

  His heart skipped.

  He sat up slowly. The rough bed creaked beneath him. Wooden walls surrounded him, old and worn, and a small candle flickered quietly on the table beside him. The sight froze him in pce.

  This was his old room.

  His breathing quickened. How? Just moments ago, he had been dying. The pain, the betrayal, the execution—it had all been real. He could still remember the cold steel, the weight of chains, the way their eyes had looked at him.

  Ashen stood up and walked toward the cracked mirror.

  A young face stared back at him. Smooth skin. No scars. No marks of battle. No proof of the life he had lived. He raised a trembling hand and touched his cheek.

  He had become younger or traveled back in time. “Did that thing send me back to the past?”

  His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. He could feel it now—how weak his body was. Everything he once had was gone. The years of brutal training, the strength he built with blood and pain—all of it gone.

  He was back to nothing.

  But something was different.

  This time, he knew the truth.

  The Eternal sun—they weren’t saviors. They controlled everything from the shadows. They used people like him as tools. And the moment he learned too much, they killed him.

  Now, he is back. He grabbed the candle tight enough it broke.

  “every single one of you will pay," Ashen said with his teeth gritting.

  Ashen took a deep breath, forcing his racing thoughts to calm. He had time.

  He would get stronger.

  He would never be their pawn again.

  He sat on the bed. It was uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the luxury to care. Comfort wouldn’t give him power. He sits calmly and takes some time to think everything over. But it was obvious first he needed strength—no, he needed to regain what he had lost first.

  And currently the fastest and best way was the underground arena.

  There, he could fight and Harden himself before taking the next step.

  Ashen stood and stepped outside.

  The moment he did, the stench of the slums hit him hard.

  Rotten garbage. Alcohol. Cigarette smoke.

  Drunk men y sprawled across the road. Mud and filth coated the streets. This pce sat right beside a massive garbage field where the rich and commoners alike dumped their trash. Children rummaged through it, pulling out broken toys to py with. Older people searched for torn clothes they could still wear.

  This wasn’t new.

  This was the daily life of the slums.

  Ashen walked past it all, expression hard, until he reached an abandoned building a short distance away. Inside, the air was cold and damp. He gathered rags and wood, tying them together to form a crude doll. He picked up a stick to use as a sword.

  Then he began to train.

  His movements were clumsy at first. His body didn’t respond the way it used to. Muscles burned. Breathing grew heavy. But he didn’t stop.

  He needed this.

  If he went straight to the arena like this, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Even if his body was weak and inexperienced now, his mind wasn’t. He still remembered the techniques. The footwork.

  So instead of brute force, Ashen focused on technique.

  Hours passed.

  He leaned back against the cold stone wall, chest rising and falling rapidly. His entire body ached from training, sweat soaking through his clothes. Pain pulsed through his limbs.

  The Eternal Sun had betrayed him.

  He had given them everything. His loyalty. His blood. His life.

  And they had thrown him away like trash.

  Now, he had another chance.

  And he wouldn’t waste it.

  Ashen clenched his fist, staring at his trembling hand. His strength was pitiful compared to before. The knowledge was there, buried deep in his mind—but his body was that of a malnourished teenager.

  “First, I need to train more,” he muttered. “Without power, I’m nothing.”

  The mysterious hand. Whatever had sent him back—it had given him a chance, but not answers. And he wasn’t foolish enough to rely on something he didn’t understand.

  Strength wasn’t just raw power.

  It was knowledge. Influence. Resources.

  The sun was already beginning to set by the time Ashen headed home. Hunger twisted painfully in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he had no money to buy food.

  Then he heard a voice behind him.

  “Ash, come here!”

  Ashen turned, recognition fshing in his eyes. “uncle. Did you call?”

  “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you all day,” the man said warmly. “Anyway, I passed by a shop earlier. A dy was throwing away some bread and food, so I asked her to give it to me and I saved some for you.”

  Ashen looked down at the bread.

  It wasn’t fresh. It didn’t look pleasant. But it wasn’t unpleasant either.

  When hunger hits, everything tastes good.

  “Thanks, uncle,” Ashen said quietly. “I really appreciate it.”

  “No worries, boy. Just take care of yourself.”

  He returned home and ate slowly. It wasn’t the first time someone had helped him like this. He used to help others in exchange for food—that’s how he survived. He lives alone in a small house with nothing but a hard bed and small table beside him. The slum was his home, people here like his family.

  Ashen is gd to see them again,but he doesn't have the time to spend with them.

  A few days passed.

  His body was still weak, but he had pushed it as far as he could. His techniques were sharper now. Cleaner. As refined as they could be in such a short time.

  Now, Ashen stood in front of the underground arena.

  This was it.

  The pce where he would test himself