Today is a bleak day.

An incredible torrential downpour unlike anything seen in centuries has struck the Lumenhart duchy, with gushing winds rampaging against tightly-shut windows and quickly erected barricades keeping wooden doors from bursting open. "Auurgh..." Groaning and moaning in discomfort, I rose myself from the ground, having fallen down with a rather amusing thud.

Thunder cracked in the distance, or maybe it was just the wind howling, my throbbing head making me feel about as delirious as a mouse that'd just been shot with a rock by some kid at a playground. "Uuughh..." I grasped something roughly, with as much force as I could muster, it was hard, and cold, and stuck to what looked like an antique table of some sort.

Flashing lights burst in from the window as the glass cracked and pebble-sized ice rolled across the planks. "What... where am I?" Looking around, I seem to have found myself in some sort of... attic? Maybe a storeroom built high up? Why would anyone do such a thing?

Another flash, and my headache was right back where it thought to belong. "ARGH!" I was back on the floor again, splashing and sloshing around in gnawing confusion and with a rampant, powerful migraine. "W... who, am I?!" I looked around again, forcing myself to stand.

... which turned out to be a mistake, as my body recoiled in protest of such a rash action, eliciting a rather gruesome growl of discomfort from my stomach before I lurched all over the floorboards, pinking green fluid coating my otherwise noble clothing.

And yet, I did manage to stand.

Taking in a deep, surprisingly fresh breath, fraught with a purity and taste that only a surge of lightning could provide it, I felt myself revitalized, my focus returned and my senses sharpened. I looked around again, with far more cohesion in sight, and in mind. "An attic?.. no, no.. this is... the library? Yes. Yes, I was in the Library practicing my..."

I looked down.

"My secret blood magic..." Realization, or perhaps memories, struck me like a sledgehammer straight to the head, and even though its highest striking force seemed to be gone, I could already feel my headache returning.

Right beneath my feet, covered up by a revolting mixture of errant blood, projected vomit and a splattering of ice, was a specific kind of magical pentagram used by apostate mages to increase their powers. A sacrificial symbol, that is, as well as one that 'I' had used. "I...? Yeah, that's right. I'm.. Leon? Leon Lumenhart?..."

A turn of the head to the left was all I needed for the rest of my memories to come rushing back as I stared at my own reflection in what looked to be a dusty mirror, a dirty white cloth falling off of it from the gushing wind just as I began to stare at it. Small, lithe physique, as one might expect of a nine year old boy, skin pale, yet shining like marble and... "Glowing yellow eyes?"

I blinked.

Then the glow passed. "Must have been some strange trick of the light..." I muttered out, giving reason for my own appearance, even when there wasn't exactly a lot of light to go around, the brief flashes of thunder, though generous, could not possibly explain what I just saw. Not that it mattered in the slightest, for the pure white, short and messy, hair that found itself on top of my head was more than enough to give me pause.

And cause further confusion. While my eyes were always some darker shade of yellow, their change to gold wasn't as surprising as seeing what used to be brownish hair turn completely white. I pinched my cheek.

... and it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Maybe I should use more strength?

...

No, that's not it. I'm used to far more pain than this. After all, I've been shot, stabbed, sliced, shocked with a taser and run over more times than I can count. It was this body, this damnable, nine year old body, that couldn't produce the kind of pain I was looking for. "Leon... Lumenhart? No- that's not right, I'm-!.. I'm... I am..."

My mind drew a blank.

Unbeknownst to Leon, time did not stop for the rest of the manor's occupants.

"WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS MY SON?!"

"Leon?! LEON?!"

"Where could he have gone in this storm?! Quickly, find the duke's son!"

"You there! My men claim you were seen with the boy!"

"S-sir! I- I just guided him to the Libra-"

"WE ALREADY CHECKED THE DAMN LIBRARY, YOU LYING SCUM!"

A veritable rampage of hurried feet and clanking armor rebounded against the walls in a panicked fashion, as the duke's many servants, maids and even family members, frantically ran around searching for the youth, their hope dwindling by the hour, as he'd been missing for more than half a day at this point.

I can't remember.

I-...

"I don't know?..." Several blinks of utter confusion followed as I ransacked my memories for any sort of clue or detail. I know that I was a... a criminal, a serial killer. A very famous, or infamous, one, I think? I remember losing consciousness in a pool of my own blood after failing a contract kill.

A second look down at the bloody mess pooled at my feet had me bursting out in laughter. "How ironic." A droll, toneless and lifeless statement fraught with dark amusement. To wake up in the same circumstances that I died in...

"Then again..." Muttering out with some distaste, I finally stepped out of the disgusting bile and shook off as much of it as I could. "Maybe Leon died too. Stupid kid, slitting his own wrists for some ritual he barely comprehended, though I suppose its understandable."

Weak, menacing and yet, somehow implausibly childish laughter thundered across the manor's premises, echoing through the storm and louder than the howling winds.

"By the gods, is that a demon?"

"No- this, t-this voice, I recognize it!"

"The duke's son! Its him but-.. has he ever sounded so wrong?"

"Shit. Call the Inquisition, he may have been poss-"

"NO! MY NEPHEW IS PURE OF BLOOD AND FAITH! You shall do no such thing, Berthold!"

"... as you wish, my liege."

A casual glance towards my own body revealed that I had no wounds, even those I distinctly remember as Leon carefully carved them into his own flesh. I'll admit, for a nine year old, the little shit had guts.

"Guts that now belong to me, I guess." Either way, I closed my eyes for a moment in an effort to collect myself, finding my eyes glued to the pentagram on the floor as I recovered. "... I should clean that up." As I moved my right hand towards the pentagram, intent on using the vomit and the rainwater to muddle the symbol on the floor into an unrecognizable state, I felt something alien gather at the tips of my fingers as a tinge of crimson caught my gaze.

"Wh-!" Shock, and quickly-formed awe, etched itself into my expression, as I found myself staring at what seemed to be flowing, crimson plasma, rich with color and glowing with power. From Leon's memories, I instantly knew this to be mana; my mana, to be specific, but that should not be possible.

"I never had any ma-... no. No, that's not true." A smile formed itself on my lips. Leon was born without any magical power. No mana ever flowed through his veins, but 'I', am not Leon. I am... "Well, me. That'll suffice for now."

I shook my head out of my stupor and directed the stream of red towards the pentagram, the energies seemingly reacting to my wish, as the symbol was warped, distorted and then completely dispersed, joining the rest of the pooling blood.

Having removed the controversial evidence that could give me trouble later on, I delved deeper into my, or rather, Leon's memories.

He, or I, am the second born child of House Lumenhart, a massive Duchy belonging Holy Kingdom of Rhea. My family is a family of heroes, born to a nation which shares a border with the demons, forced into an eternal war against hell itself. A nation known for its heroes, for its knights, for its priests and its faith in the light.

A nation, of champions.

An instinctive sense of pride formed within my chest, only to be shut-down by a growing guilt. Leon Lumenhart was the failure of his dynasty, having been born with no powers and growing up to be a spoiled, rebellious young lad. Its no wonder that dark magic, considered heretical and abhorrent by the kingdom, held such allure to the boy.

Crimson energies gathered around my hands as I willed them forth with a smile that went from ear to ear. "And it seems that I have a talent for them." I turned my head towards the blood pool again and willed the red liquids up, and so they moved, just as I imagined, gathering into a sphere of blood before I unceremoniously dropped them back on the floor, splattering myself even more in the process.

"Ugh- well, I'll have to work on it looks like, talent or not." Blood magic had always been one of my favorite fantasy tropes. To see myself reborn- no, I suppose the correct term would be reincarnated... or er, incarnated? Anyways, to see myself become someone capable of using magic, blood magic at that, was a joy that struck deep within my heart!

There is nothing in this world more powerful, more beautiful and more pure than blood! The fact that merely using such powers was enough to brand myself a heretic and get executed by pyre was barely even a detriment!

Quelling my excitement as another flash of raw thunder brought be back to the real world, I steeled myself for what was coming. Lurking through the tiny passageways, navigating myself via memories that weren't fully mine, I managed to reach the hidden lever leading to the library. I'd spent quite a long time stuck in a long-forgotten, secret room leading from the library of the Lumenhart manor, though why the person designing this place thought that having a stairway leading to the top of the building was a good idea is something I'll never figure out. I mean, isn't it usually the other way around? As in, the secret chamber leads into some deep, dark basement?

"Oooooh..." I blinked in realization. This secret room belonged to a member of the Lumenhart family, after all. They're the good guys and prominent users of light magic. Of course the secret room would be high up in the sky...

Though why exactly one would hide it using the most obvious book ever to be made, that being a dynastic record with a bright, teal cover on the third shelf of what is literally the first bookshelf behind which is a wall is just a bit too much to understand, I think. Maybe I'm still thinking too much like a bad guy.

"Getting used to this life isn't going to be easy, is it?" My family is full of heroes and I'm a bloody serial killer. Or well, that's who I was before!

I- um,... think.

Could it be that I'm still just Leon and that whatever ritual I did made me hallucinate another world? Nah, no way, right?

Shaking my head out of another stupor, I reached for the lever and watched as the ancient mechanisms pulled the bookshelf around, allowing me to leave through a tiny opening between it and the wall, before I slotted the aforementioned book back into its place and the shelf popped right back where it belonged within a moment. Got to give credit where credit is due, whomever made this would be a rich man back in the ... uh, real, world?

... I should stop thinking about this. It gives me a headache.

As the youthful son of a duke continues to ponder his admittedly troublesome circumstances, a not-so-youthful, yet still quite spry!; in spite of being forty and still single, woman finds her way into the Library, searching for her missing family member with a zeal that only motherly instinct may provide, though she is certainly not the boys mother.

"I somehow feel insulted, for whatever reason..." Sofia muttered hoarsely, her tone and voice strained both from hours and hours of yelling and searching for Leon, the boy having been gone for far too long now for anyone's liking. He's always been a troublesome one, but merely imagining seeing her sister Margaret realize that her only son is gone, lost under her own sisters watch no less, was equally as dreadful as it was devastating for her soul.

Suddenly, a small frame catches itself in the corner of her eyes as she turns her head with panicked speed, seeing her beloved nephew holding a book next to a low, candle's light. "LE-." Flashing thunder broke her scream even as she reached out towards him with a hand, the light ushering in from the Library's windows threw shadows on both their forms, though Leon's seemed to stretch on for infinity, even as she was thrice his height. The dark reflection towered over them both and for a moment, Sofia could feel the fresh air catch itself inside of her throat, choking her as she tried to breathe in her rush.

Her beating heart sped up without warning and her vision seemed to swim, even if only for the moment provided by the flashing lightning. Yet, the removal of the light and the return of more natural formations of shadow did nothing to stall her quickly-growing horror. The boy was drenched in blood, sweat and vomit, a profuse wound still gushing blood out of his head. "Leon!" She exclaimed, her voice fraught with horror, quick to dismiss the abject premonitions that she may have just gained, her terrified heart overpowered by her instinctive worry.

Sofia watched as the boys head turned, his eyes seemingly possessing a cruel, golden glow, having finally noticed her presence. His formerly unreadable, uncharacteristically alien expression quickly replaced by a familiar smile. "Auntie Sofia!" The child exclaimed in what seemed to be happiness as he darted over to her in a playful manner.

Feeling herself take in yet another sharp breath, Sofia opened her mouth to speak, only for the words to die in her throat as the boys wounds finally caught up to him. It was only due to her knightly training that she managed to leap forward in time to catch his unconscious, falling body, the wound on his head etching a generous, crimson splatter on both her and the marble floor of the library as she did.