*Prologue: The First Death*

The snow fell like ash.

Ren could still feel the cold biting through his armor, still hear the sound of steel screaming against steel. The sky above the battlefield was red — not from sunset, but from blood.

He was 19 in that life. A general. A traitor. A fool.

He remembered the way his best friend’s sword had trembled before it went through his chest.

“Why?” the boy had asked, eyes wet.

“Because someone had to end this war,” Ren had whispered back.

Then the world went black.

Centuries passed.

Gods died. Kingdoms turned to dust.

And Ren’s name was forgotten.

Until now.

The hospital lights were too bright. Too sterile.

“Vitals are stable,” a nurse said. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

Ren opened his eyes.

He was 17 again. In a different body. A different time. Japan, 2026.

No war. No sword. No blood on his hands.

Just the quiet beep of machines... and a whisper in his head that wasn’t his own.

_“You failed once, Ren.”_

_“Don’t fail again.”_

On the other side of the city, in an alley no camera could see, a shadow opened its eyes.

Eyes the same color as the snow that day.

The past had found him.

And this time, it wasn’t going to let him go.

Three days after the accident, Ren was discharged.

Doctors called it a miracle. "Minor head trauma. No lasting damage."

But they didn’t scan what was happening inside his head.

The first night home, he couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it — the battlefield. The snow. The sword.

And a voice, low and ancient, like it was speaking from the bottom of a well.

_“Do you remember the oath, General?”_

_“Do you remember who you betrayed?”_

Ren shot upright at 3:17 AM, gasping. His hands were shaking.

There were calluses on his palms that he didn’t earn. Not in this life.

He looked in the mirror and for half a second, his reflection wasn’t his.

Black armor. A scar over the left eye. Hair tied back with red cord.

Then it was just him again. Messy hair. Hospital bracelet still on his wrist.

“Just stress,” he told himself. “Just the accident.”

It wasn’t.

At school the next morning, everything felt wrong.

The hallways were too loud. The faces were too familiar.

When the history teacher put up a slide of ancient war maps, Ren’s chest tightened.

He knew those mountains. He’d burned villages in that valley.

He raised his hand without thinking.

“General Kaito flanked them from the east pass. That’s why the line broke.”

The room went silent.

“Uh... Ren,” the teacher said slowly. “That’s not in the textbook. That battle was 800 years ago.”

Ren blinked. He didn’t know how he knew that.

After the last bell, he took a different route home. Something was pulling him.

Down a back alley, past the closed shrine, to a small stone monument covered in moss.

No one came here anymore.

But he remembered kneeling at this exact spot.

Begging for forgiveness.

Right before he died.

The air turned cold.

Behind him, footsteps.

A voice he hadn’t heard in centuries, smooth and amused:

“Well. You’re late.”

Ren turned.

Standing there was a guy about his age. Same school uniform. But his eyes...

They were the color of snow stained with blood.

“Miss me, Ren?” the boy smiled.

“I’ve been waiting 800 years for our rematch.”

The past had found him.

And it brought a sword.

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