Chapter 3 – The Return of the Duke's Son
Chris sat in deep thought, still digesting the weight of everything. He was alive. Back in time. In a body that wasn't his—but now was.
Chris von Celestrius.The name echoed in his mind, along with fragmented memories not his own.
The eldest son of Duke Celestrius... a prodigy once, until the incident that shattered his future.
He could recall flashes. Training in ancient halls of magic. A surge of power that went out of control. A shadowy figure... an ambush... and then darkness. A year-long coma.
His thoughts were interrupted as the silence shattered—SLAM.
The grand double doors of the chamber flew open with a thunderous force, and the room was instantly filled with presence, power, and urgency.
The man who entered first radiated both authority and intensity.
Duke Asterius von Celestrius, ruler of the Northern Empire's most powerful ducal house, strode in like a storm wrapped in regal robes. Despite being in his early fifties, he looked barely forty—his body still strong, posture perfect, and his deep violet eyes sharp and calculating, a testament to the immense magical power coursing through him.
Following him was the Duchess Lysandra, her beauty elegant and timeless. In her forties, yet she looked no older than her early thirties. Her golden blonde hair flowed down her back like liquid sunlight, and her clear blue eyes shimmered with both relief and concern.
Trailing behind them was the Head Butler, Garreth—a man in his sixties, tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair tied back neatly. Despite his age, there was a soldier's strength in his frame and a commander's discipline in his stride.
Two elderly men followed—physicians dressed in long white robes, their faces marked by decades of wisdom. One had a neatly trimmed gray beard, the other a monocle and a warm smile. They carried the air of peace and reassurance, the kind that calms even royalty in panic.
As soon as the Duke saw him awake, all the tension in his shoulders seemed to vanish.
"Chris..." Asterius whispered, breath hitching. Then, in a rare display of emotion, he rushed forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his son. The scent of his robes—sandalwood and alchemical ink—filled the air. "You've returned to us… finally."
Chris stiffened, surprised by the warmth and sincerity. So this is the man whose name shook the continent...
The duchess approached and gently placed her hand on Chris's cheek, her eyes misty. "We feared we had lost you forever," she said softly.
Garreth bowed. "Welcome back, young master. The manor has not been the same without your footsteps."
The doctors quickly stepped forward and began their examination with practiced grace. They checked his pulse, his eyes, his mana flow—Chris remained still, allowing them to work.
After several minutes, one of them spoke."Remarkable. He's stable. Miraculous, even, given how long he's been unconscious."The other nodded. "But his muscles are extremely weak. A year in bed has taken a toll. He'll need a full month of rest and mild rehabilitation.""We'll prescribe potions to restore mana flow, and a daily herbal tonic for muscle recovery."
The Duke exhaled in relief. "Then let it be done. Spare no effort."
Chris, still recovering from the storm of emotions, could only nod faintly.
A year in a coma. A body not his own. And a world soon to end.
There's no time… but I must begin from here. Carefully. Strategically.
The visit was brief, but filled with love, duty, and unspoken questions. One by one, his family and attendants left, allowing him time to rest.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Chris slowly leaned back against his pillows, the prescribed tonic cooling beside him on a silver tray.
The countdown to the end had begun.And this time, he would not let the world fall.