They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
But for me? There was only weight. Pressure. And then a strange breath—wet and too small—rattling through lungs that weren't mine.
I thought maybe someone had found me. Maybe they'd taken me to a hospital. Maybe this was the moment before waking up.
Then came the voice. Shaking. Terrified.
"Wake up, little darling! We have to leave now!
I opened my eyes to firelight and panic, and a woman's tear-streaked face looking down at me. Her arms wrapped around my tiny body, and I felt it immediately—too light, too soft.
Not a soldier's body.
A child's.
I gasped.
Pain shot through my skull. Not from injury—but from memory. Not mine.
Her name had been Fan Yumei. Seven years old. Soon to be eight.
And she was… gone.
Dead from a fever, caught during a desperate attempt to awaken her core by wandering too close to Dew Springs Mountain Wild Zone. She had no talent, no class, no star ranking. Her peers at the academy mocked and bullied her, calling her mortal trash—the only one in her grade who hadn't awakened, left behind in the unawakened sector of the academy.
Though she wasn't weak, she always fought back. She retaliated with fists, challenging them to duels in hand-to-hand combat, but was never strong enough. They threw spells, mocked her lack of qi, and pushed her down, never far enough to kill—but just far enough to make sure she stayed broken. And yet, she never gave in. She trained harder than most, studying tirelessly, working herself to exhaustion trying to cultivate her mental formations and develop both her soul power and qi sense.
The final blow came the week before she died.
A boy in her class, born into wealth, boasted that his older brother had returned from the Frosted Ridge with two rare A-class 2-star core plants, both high in pure energy. His awakening ceremony, he declared, would be conducted privately—personal healers, family rituals, and even a destined profession guide in attendance. He promised to return a ranked star-bearer, ready to join the first year in the awakening sectors of the academy before turning ten.
And he did.
He came back radiant, proud, already forming beginner sigils in the air before their first lesson.
And that left her.
The last one.
The only child in her class still unawakened.
Everyone else had already enrolled into the awakened first-year courses. She was the only one still stuck in the cramped, overlooked unawakened wing of the massive Federation Academy—a relic of pity and bureaucracy more than purpose.
Even though awakening ages ranged from seven to eleven, and she wasn't the oldest—nor the youngest—in their group, the pressure had become unbearable. The glances. The whispers. The sneering laughter. The bullying. The pity.
She broke.
She stopped waiting.
That night, she slipped out of her family's home. The moon hung low, the air wet with dew. She left no note. Her boots were old but sturdy, her jacket borrowed from her father. She carried nothing but a waterskin, a tiny training core, and her worn cultivation notes.
She hiked alone to the edge of the Dew Springs Safe Zone, trembling but determined. The stories said wild core energy leaked from the lower ridges of the mountain, stirring strange qi reactions in some who lingered too long.
She didn't care about danger.
She just wanted a chance.
She stayed there for hours—sitting in the grass, eyes closed, posture straight, hands folded over her dantian. She tried to sense the qi in the air, tried to pull it in, to let it fill her dormant core. She repeated every internal chant she had ever memorized, forcing her breathing into rhythm, cultivating her mental formations and soul power through sheer force of will. Her whole body shook from the strain.
Nothing.
No pulse of power. No light. No tremor of awakening. Just the quiet cold of disappointment and the distant hum of mountain wind.
As dawn approached, the sky painted in pale hues of grey and rose, she finally stood—knees stiff, legs weak, face tight with effort. Her breath steamed in the morning air. Her hands trembled as she dusted the dew from her sleeves.
She waited one last minute.
Then she turned around, shoulders heavy, and began the long walk down the mountain path.
Empty.
Defeated.
Still unawakened.
And that's when she found it.
Nestled in a shallow ravine next to a white river, surrounded by whispering moss, was a trembling white plant shaped like a lotus flame. Six soft petals shimmered faintly with inner light, pulsing with deep elemental resonance.
A six-star core plant.
Rare enough to alter a child's entire fate. Enough to elevate an orphan into an elite house. Enough to rebuild a bloodline. Purified her core to a high star rank and class if she can withstand the pain.
She trembled when she picked it up. She wept. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.
And then the fever struck that evening .
Hard.
The joy, the disbelief, the promise—it all blurred under the burning heat that flooded her bones. Her limbs went weak. Her vision swam. She stuffed the plant against her chest and staggered in her bedroom clutching her discovery like it could anchor her to life itself.
She collapsed before she could show it to anyone.
Two days later, she passed without anyone knowing. Sad girl.
And somehow… now I was here. In her place. Inside her body. A soul transplanted into a world I didn't understand, in a life that wasn't mine.
Even as I reeled from the memories, I understood her desperation. Maybe she'd been too rash. But in a world like this—where power was everything—lacking almost completely didn't mean being left behind.
It meant being left to die.
I didn't have time to unravel it.
Because the ground shook.
A beast raid. Real and close.
The woman—her mother—Ka Sanni, clutched me tighter and ran barefoot across the dirt path, dodging the burning wreckage of a neighbor's home as it collapsed under something massive. The air was thick with smoke and magic.
People screamed. A child cried out from somewhere behind us.
"Yangwei!" Ka Sanni screamed into the chaos. "Yangwei!"
A voice answered—a man's. Sharp, strained, desperate.
"Sanni! Yumei!"
We turned the corner—
And saw him.
Fan Yangwei. Her father. His clothes were torn, a broken rune board still glowing faintly in his hand, blood smeared down his arm. He was running toward us through the smoke, stumbling through firelit debris.
Sanni gripped me tighter, feet moving faster as she sprinted toward him.
We hadn't reached him yet.
But he was there.
Alive. Fighting to get to us.
And we were running to meet him.
My chest ached.
They thought I was her.
Maybe, somehow, I was
But I knew only one thing for sure in that moment:
I wasn't going to let them lose their daughter again.