The Enchanted Rebirth

Chapter 1 - Drifted Away

The room was dimly lit, its shadows wrapping around the opulent furnishings like a shroud. In the center stood Luther De Vil, the heir to the De Vil Family, one of the youngest and wealthiest men in the world. But in this moment, all the wealth and power in the world couldn't save him. He clutched his chest, gasping for breath as a cold, suffocating numbness spread through his body.

Before him sat a man cloaked in a dark hoodie, his face obscured in shadow, his presence an ominous weight in the room. The man watched Luther's every movement with a cold, calculating gaze, the silence between them thick with tension. Slowly, the man reached into his pocket, and with deliberate calmness, he drew out a gun. Luther's sharp eyes darted to the weapon, then back to the man's face, seeking some hint of recognition in the eyes that stared back at him. There was something familiar there, a nagging sense of déjà vu, but Luther was too consumed by the growing paralysis in his limbs to dwell on it.

"Who are you...?" Luther's voice was weak, trembling with the effort to speak. The hooded man said nothing, only stood from his chair, his every move measured and menacing. Luther tried to rise, to summon the strength that had carried him through countless adversities before, but his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, his body no longer responding to his will. The memory of the tea he had shared with his fiancée flashed through his mind. The nausea had started soon after that, a creeping sickness that grew stronger with each passing moment. He had suspected poison from the drink, but he had never doubted her fiancee - his childhood friend, his trusted companion. Yet now, as the darkness closed in around him, he realized too late that the drug coursing through his veins was more potent than he could have ever imagined.

As Luther lay helpless on the cold floor, his mind raced, desperate to find some way out of this nightmare. But his thoughts kept returning to the man before him, the hooded figure who had remained silent all this time. The man stepped closer, his shadow looming over Luther, and with a swift motion, he grabbed Luther by the collar. His voice, when he finally spoke, was as cold as the steel of the gun he held. "You don't deserve the power you wield, Luther. You've trampled over lives to reach the top, blind to the consequences of your arrogance."

Luther's heart pounded in his chest, not from fear, but from the raw realization that he had indeed made enemies along the way. Still, he managed a scoff, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Do you think killing me will give you control over the continent? You're nothing but a pawn in a game far bigger than you can comprehend."

The hooded man's laughter echoed through the room, a sound devoid of any warmth. "You think you're the only one who knows how to play this game? I've endured every insufferable act of your so-called kindness just to get here. And now, it's your turn to fall."

With those words, he shoved Luther against the tall, transparent glass window that overlooked the city far below. The gun was pressed firmly against Luther's chest, aimed directly at his heart. Luther's eyes narrowed, defiant even in the face of death. "You're the pitiful one," he spat, his voice filled with contempt. "You resort to this-murder-because you lack the strength to achieve your desires any other way. You're nothing more than a pathetic coward."

The man's eyes flashed with rage, and without another word, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot reverberated through the room, a deafening crack that shattered the silence. Luther's body jolted with the impact, a searing pain tearing through his chest. His vision blurred as he stumbled backward, crashing through the window. The glass shattered around him, sparkling like a thousand falling stars as he plummeted from the eighteenth floor.

For a brief, weightless moment, Luther felt as though he were suspended in time, the wind rushing past him, the city lights below blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. Below, a grand celebration was in full swing - a ceremonial party for him and the other De Vil family members, attended by the elite, the powerful, the very people who had shaped the world Luther resided. They were oblivious to the drama unfolding above them, lost in their laughter and chatter, unaware that the main star of the event was falling towards them, a broken man descending from the heavens.

As Luther fell, his thoughts turned inward, away from the pain, away from the betrayal of life. He thought of his mother, of the promise he had made to her, to make the world a better place. He had tried, but in the end, he had failed. The disappointment weighed heavier than his impending death, a sorrow that clung to his soul as the hotel's luxurious pool underneath rushed up to meet him.

The last thing he felt as he sank into the depths of the pool, the water closing over him like a merciful shroud, was regret. Regret for the life he had lived, for the promises he had broken, for the people he had failed. "I'm sorry, Mother," he whispered, his voice a mere breath lost in the dark waters. "I couldn't keep my promise... I'll see you soon."

And with that, Luther De Vil, the man who had once influenced and made great contributions to the world in his hands, drifted away into the abyss, his story ending where so many others had begun-in the cold, unforgiving depths of ambition.

Oh, so they thought, until the whispers of the ancient winds swept through the night, and with a single sound from the earth, the stars themselves began to tremble, revealing a mysterious presence of mana that had been hidden in the shadows.