Wyatt’s life had always been a monotone routine—wake, work, sleep, repeat. At 32 years old, he was a burned-out corporate drone with a receding hairline, a tragic love life, and a permanent dent in his couch from too many lonely weekends. His only adventures came from binge-watching anime and heating up questionable leftovers at 2 AM. It wasn’t the worst life… but it certainly wasn’t a life worth writing home about.

  Until fate—or more precisely, a speeding delivery truck—put a sudden, tragic end to his existence.

  One moment, he was minding his own business, crossing the street while texting his ndlord a snarky message about the broken radiator. The next moment? Tires screeched. A blinding light. A sensation of weightlessness.

  Then—darkness.

  No pain. No sound. Just… the void. It was oddly peaceful. Like floating in warm, bck water. He wasn’t scared. Just confused.

  Was this death? Was this heaven? Or maybe—no, surely not—hell?

  "Ugh… my head…" Wyatt groaned, his voice weak and unrecognizable. He blinked slowly, vision blurry and unfocused.

  He wasn’t in a hospital. There were no beeping machines, no fluorescent lights, no smell of antiseptic. Instead, he y atop a luxurious bed draped in violet silk. Around him, floating crystals hummed gently in midair, casting soft glows of blue and gold across the stone walls. Strange runes shimmered on the ceiling above, shifting slowly as if alive.

  The air smelled like vender… and something else. Magic, perhaps. Or incense burned in ritual.

  Was this some kind of dream?

  Then he felt it—fingers brushing his face with a tenderness he hadn’t felt since childhood. Warm palms cradled his cheeks, and a voice like liquid honey purred softly in his ear.

  "Awake at st, my little one?"

  Wyatt's eyes shot open fully. His blurry vision cleared—and what he saw made his brain short-circuit.

  Hovering above him was a woman of impossible beauty. Her silver-white hair shimmered like moonlight. Crimson eyes locked onto his with unnatural sharpness. Her features were sharp, elegant, and inhuman—especially the long, pointed ears that peeked out from her hair. She wore a flowing dress that hugged her generous curves a little too well, and the smile on her lips was equal parts warmth and mischief.

  He tried to sit up—but nearly fell over. His body didn’t move the way it used to. His limbs were too short. His bance was off. Panic crept in.

  He looked down.

  Smooth, dark gray skin.

  Tiny hands.

  A child’s body.

  His mind reeled.

  He reached up and touched the sides of his head… and felt ears.

  Pointy. Elven. Not human.

  "...Wait… I’m a dark elf?!"

  The woman chuckled, a sound so beautiful it almost made him forget the existential horror he was experiencing.

  "Of course you are," she said, stroking his cheek. "You are my son, after all."

  "Son?!" Wyatt squeaked.

  His mind was doing mental cartwheels now. Was this some weird lucid dream? A coma fantasy? Or had he truly… died?

  "There was a truck!" he gasped, trying to piece things together. "I was crossing the street—I think I died!"

  The woman tilted her head slightly. Her crimson eyes sparkled with amusement. "Hmm. Then it seems the gods have smiled upon you. A rare soul, torn from its original world and granted rebirth in Endrya. And not just any rebirth—you were born into House Vael'thryn. One of the noblest dark elf cns in the realm."

  Wyatt’s jaw dropped. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Then opened it again.

  "...I was just Wyatt… in New York…" he muttered, staring down at the strange, alien child body he now inhabited. "I had taxes to file..."

  "Shh," the woman said gently. She ran her fingers through his thick, silvery-white hair—hair that definitely wasn’t his in his past life. "From this day on, you are Vaelik Vael’thryn, third son of Lady Lysira. A noble child of the Midnight Bloom."

  "...Vaelik?" he echoed bnkly.

  She smiled, satisfied, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

  Everything was happening too fast.

  The name, the noble house, the strange new world. Wyatt—no, Vaelik—felt like a spectator in someone else’s dream.

  He suddenly wondered—was this actually better than his old life? Or just a different kind of nightmare?

  A knock interrupted his spiral.

  A tall man entered, dressed in dark robes embroidered with gold thread. His long, white hair was tied neatly behind his back, and he wore tiny gsses that glowed faintly with magical runes.

  "My Lady Lysira," he said, bowing deeply. "The archmage has arrived to test young master Vaelik’s affinity."

  Wyatt—Vaelik—blinked. "Affinity?"

  Lysira turned to her son with a proud smile. "Magic, dear. Today we discover what gifts the gods have woven into your soul."

  Magic. Gods. Dark elf nobility.

  This was all starting to feel very anime.

  But deep down… he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something unfamiliar.

  Hope.

  In his old world, he had been stuck in a life with no purpose, no passion, no future. Just paperwork and bills and coffee breaks.

  But here? Maybe—just maybe—he could actually start over.

  No regrets. No failures. A new life, with new potential.

  He looked up at his—mother, this powerful, gorgeous dark elf who looked at him with pride and affection.

  "...Okay," he whispered. "Let’s see what kind of magic I’ve got."

  Lysira smiled wider. "That’s the spirit, my little moonshadow."

  The robed man approached and held out a hand. A small orb floated into view—gss-like, filled with swirling mist. As it neared Vaelik, the mist began to shimmer violently, turning shades of violet, gold, and deep obsidian bck.

  The archmage's eyes widened. "This... this is unheard of."

  Lysira's eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

  The archmage swallowed. "The child... he possesses multiple affinities. Shadow. Lightning. Spirit... and something else. Something ancient."

  Vaelik blinked. "Is that good?"

  The archmage slowly nodded. "It’s very good, young master."

  Lysira beamed, pulling him into her arms.

  Vaelik, formerly Wyatt, was still confused, still overwhelmed—but he couldn’t deny the excitement beginning to bloom in his chest.

  Magic. Power. A second chance.

  Truck-sama had really outdone himself this time.

  He sighed, still dazed. “At least this time… I’ll try not to screw it up.”

  And so began the strange new life of a former corporate sve—now a baby dark elf noble in a world of swords, sorcery, and sexy sorceresses.