Visfall

*Pls read the Aux guys, dont want you getting confused ;-;*

Chris leaned back in his computer chair, sighing heavily after reading what he could confidently say was the most disappointing backstory he had ever read.

Staring at his phone screen, he clicked off the chapter of the novel he was reading, navigating back to the About the Book section. 

The Fools Ascent was all but an absolute masterpiece. Beautifully crafted over an exhilarating 4 years, it was the tale of an orphan boy named Riven Ashford—an unlikely hero raised in the slums of the Vaedricourt dukedom, a family famous for their use of Order magic...and the Exiled Child as he would come to be known.

Riven was the hero of legend, someone gifted with such monstrous raw potential and talent, that even beings who had lived for hundreds of years had fallen to his blade. His innate magic, locked until he reached the later stages of power, was completely overpowered, granting him control of several of the most powerful magic types in the entire novel. And even then, the powers he wielded before awakening it were insanely powerful.

However, even those powers were some years off from the start of the story.

For his first year at the Fors Magical Academy, named after the first human to ever wield Vis, the magic energy of that world, he underwent mind-boggling changes. Time after time he was targetted, along with his class, by enemy after enemy, and every time they prevailed they grew stronger, to the point where his class was recognized as one of the most elite in the history of the school.

Among those villains, both small and large, one always stood out to him. The Child Exile, a relentless bratty villain, the same age as the protagonist, but at the time where he was introduced, being significantly stronger. Though almost stereotypical with his textbook use of shadow and darkness magic, it was the mystery behind the character that attracted him.

His name wasn't revealed, not until years after his death that is, and he turned out to be a child from Rivens backstory. A nobleboy who had been sentenced to execution after burning down an orphanage, along with a plethora of other crimes including treason. After several years of waiting, Chris found his backstory...

Subpar.

The author had beat around as many bushes as possible, dodging questions about the character, revealing in-depth details about every character BUT him.

And now that he had... it was an utter disappointment. 

Chris tossed his phone onto his mattress, standing and stretching. "Years of waiting for this? I need a walk," he muttered sliding on a pair of comfortable slip-on shoes and grabbing his coat. He paused for a second, looking at his phone. "Should I..." he considered leaving a comment on the novel, expressing his distaste for the author's rushed backstory. 

'Hell no, I've seen way too many novels that start like this,' he decided, grabbing his phone and slipping it into his pocket. 

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Chris stepped outside, the crisp evening air brushing against his skin. His neighborhood was quiet, save for the occasional car driving by or the distant hum of city lights flickering on the horizon. The weight of the disappointing backstory still hung heavily in his mind as he walked down the cracked sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

The streetlights cast long shadows, making the empty street feel even lonelier than usual. He lived in a modest apartment just a few blocks away, a small place that barely felt like a home, more of a temporary refuge. No family, no real friends to speak of—just him and the occasional noise from the people passing by. He was used to being alone.

He walked down the path leading away from his apartment complex, his footsteps echoing in the empty street. The world around him felt distant like he was walking through a dream—one where nothing seemed to matter, especially not a story about a fictional character who didn't even live up to his expectations.

Why bother? he thought, letting out another sigh.

The story wasn't over yet, the main character and his group had just recently uncovered the true evil of their world and gained another set of powerups. Despite how strong they currently were, with who their new enemies turned out to be... they needed to be far stronger. At this point, Chris couldn't even see them surviving a single fight with them, nonetheless the rest of the book. 

Despite how rushed the novel had been in recent times though, he still found some mild enjoyment in it. Especially after the author had collaborated with a game designer to make a dedicated RPG based on it. It was set years in the future, where the world was on the brink of collapse, the main character and his allies at their wits end.

The main heroine of the game, Reina, was a young student at one of the few remaining magic institutes. She held a rare affinity for time and space magic, a devastating duo, and also an insanely high aptitude for the soul and sound element. She was, by all means, a broken character.

After a brutal battle, in which her school was caught up in, she loses control of her magic, her powers running wild, and ends up regressing to the start of the novel as an "Extra", who just so happens to have the same name as her. This time, however, as you play as her, you realize that you can change the fate of the novel, and save everyone... at least in a couple of the endings.

Chris' eyes drifted upward, the stars barely visible through the thick veil of city lights. It was a rare sight, one he often ignored, too wrapped up in his mind to pay much attention. But tonight, the stars felt oddly comforting, as if the vastness of space could understand the frustration brewing within him.

"Stupid backstory," he muttered under his breath. "The Exiles a goddamn brat, and the whole thing's just a missed opportunity."

As he walked further, Chris reached a small park—one of the few green spaces in the city. The swings swayed in the light breeze, creaking in the silence. There was no one here tonight, just the lonely rustling of leaves in the trees. He stopped by the fountain, its water still, reflecting the faint light of the moon.

He sat on the stone edge, his gaze focused on the water as it rippled gently with the wind.

"Why did I even expect anything more?" he said to himself, shaking his head.

His thoughts returned to Riven, the so-called hero. The way he had been built up in the novel, so powerful, so perfect. And then there was the Exiled Child—his backstory a mess of half-truths and vagueness. Chris had hoped for something deeper, something more complex, but all he got was disappointment wrapped up in tragic tropes. It was all so predictable.

The author never even expanded on why the made, Aira, had done what she had, but he could guess, as she did end up returning later on. Not as a human, however, but as a demon of lust.

No not the stereotypical sexual deviant lust demon, but lust in its truest form. She had preyed upon many characters, exploiting their lust for power, riches, and anything that made them vulnerable. If he had to guess, she had played with the Exile's lust for acceptance, and then in the courtroom, the jury's lust for freedom, freedom of Ravenn. He assumed that even Ravenns father, a Twilight-ranked warrior had fallen to her lust manipulation, maybe poisoned over time.

Chris let his mind wander, imagining what the Exiled Child's life might have been like, beyond the rushed, unfulfilling story the author had handed him. What if things had been different? What if this character had been given more time, more depth, more room to grow? Would he have turned out to be someone worth caring about?

He leaned back, resting his elbows on the stone edge of the fountain. His fingers brushed against the cool surface of the water. The peacefulness of the night was starting to calm him, but that lingering frustration wouldn't go away.

The silence was suddenly broken by a faint crackle in the air, like the tension before a storm. Chris furrowed his brow and looked around. He hadn't noticed the shift at first, but now something felt different. The wind had stopped entirely, and the air felt charged as if it were alive with energy.

A shiver ran down his spine, and he stood up, eyes scanning the park. The world around him seemed to be holding its breath as if waiting for something to happen.

'What the hell...?'

He rubbed his temples, trying to shake the feeling, but it only grew stronger. The trees seemed to loom a little taller, the shadows a little deeper, as if the very world was shifting.

Maybe he had been reading too much into things. Maybe it was just the frustration getting to him.

But still, the air didn't feel right.

Chris slowly turned and began walking back toward his apartment, his pace quickening. Whatever this was, he didn't want to be out here when it... whatever it was, happened.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself as the strange sensation of unease gnawed at him. The world felt... off.

And then he heard it. A screeching of tires, seemingly only a few streets away.

He paused, slowly turning to look behind him as he waited, heart pounding. The tire noise got closer, and closer, not sounding as if it was just around the corner.

And then...

A motorcycle drove by.

Chris sighed heavily, laughing nervously for a second. 

'What was I thinking, there's no way it would've been Tr-'

*HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK*

Chris' eyes widened in fear as he whipped his head around, coming face to face with a large truck, driving on the sidewalk, running down parking meters, trashcan, and lamp posts as it sped towards him.

"OH WHAT THE H-" he never got to finish that thought, the truck, smashing into him at an obscene speed, splattering him over the front.

On April 20th, 2025, 27-year-old Chris Peba Con mysteriously disappeared. No remains, no trackable traces. Nothing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"-ELL," I screamed with a start. Gasping for air, I looked around me cautiously, then confusedly. 

'What the... where am I?'

This was most definitely not his street.

Lush greenery stretched in every direction, towering trees swaying gently in the breeze. Vibrant leaves, some in shades of green he had never seen before, rustled softly overhead, filtering the warm sunlight that draped the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of earth and fresh foliage, a stark contrast to the smog-filled city he had just been in. Birds he couldn't recognize chirped in unfamiliar melodies, and in the distance, he could hear the trickling of running water.

'This… this is a forest,' he realized, his heart still hammering in his chest. 'But why? How?'

Something shimmered in the corner of his vision. Turning his head, he spotted a small pond nestled between the roots of a gnarled old tree. The surface was pristine, reflecting the sky so clearly it was as if a second world lay just beneath the water. A strange but overwhelming instinct told him to move closer.

Kneeling by the edge, he hesitantly peered into his reflection.

And his breath caught in his throat.

The face staring back at him was not his own.

His once dark eyes were now a cascade of deep silver framed by long lashes gazing back at him with an almost ethereal quality. His hair dark as night, with lavender strands, trailing past his ears in soft waves. His features were delicate, and aristocratic, with sharp cheekbones and a small, straight nose—beautiful in a way that felt unnatural. He looked younger too, no longer the 27-year-old man he had been just minutes ago. Just a child, no older than nine or ten.

Panic clawed at his chest as he slowly raised a hand. The reflection did the same, mirroring his every movement with eerie precision.

'No. No, no, no. This has to be a dream. Or some kind of sick joke.'

His hands trembled as he reached up to touch his face, feeling the soft, smooth skin beneath his fingertips. There were no wrinkles, no roughness—just the untouched skin of someone far too young.

Then, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

The dark hair. The silver eyes. The sharp, regal features. The noble air that clung to this face like an unseen shroud.

He knew this face.

This was the face of the Child Exile.

Of Ravenn Vaedricourt.

His stomach twisted violently, nausea creeping up his throat.

He had been reborn… as him.

The character whose backstory he had just been reading—the villain doomed to die in disgrace.