REINCARNATION OF THE IMMORTAL KING

Being a two-year-old, Vlad could not do much during the day except eat and sleep. But he has the same dream repeatedly every time he finally falls asleep. But this time, the dream was a little different. Vlad fell into a void in the nothingness space; the concept of time didn't exist. At that moment, he could hear the voice of that person he had always dreamed of talking to someone about something.

I've been having these strange dreams. At just two years old, my days are simple—eat, sleep, repeat. But when I close my eyes, my mind is transported somewhere far beyond what I can understand at this age. These dreams feel heavy, filled with meanings I can't quite grasp. And every night, they return to haunt me, repeating themselves repeatedly.

But last night was different.

I found myself in a place unlike anything I'd ever imagined. It was a void—nothingness around me, stretching endlessly in every direction. There was no sense of up or down, no time, no sound—just me, floating in this space. It should have felt peaceful, but instead, it was unnerving. The stillness pressed in, making my thoughts feel fuzzy and lost.

Then I heard a voice.

At first, it was faint, like a whisper cutting through the silence. But the more I listened, the more I realized I'd heard it before, maybe in other dreams, though it had never been this clear.

"What is this place?" the voice asked, sounding bewildered.

"Where am I? I thought I was dead. Is this hell? Is that the place where everyone who dies comes to?"

I didn't know what the voice meant, but somehow, his confusion felt familiar. It wasn't me asking the questions, but I felt connected to them in a way I couldn't explain.

Then, a second voice broke through, calm and mechanical, answering the first.

"Hello, host."

That voice. I'd heard it before. But this time, it was louder, more precise, as if whoever was speaking was standing next to me. The first voice, still confused, asked who was there.

"You don't need to look around for me," the second voice replied.

"I'm in your head. As of right now, you have still not been born."

I felt a strange shiver run through me. Was he not born yet? What did that even mean? The first voice seemed just as confused as I was, demanding to know what was going on and why this second voice—this strange presence—was in his head.

The mechanical voice answered: "I'm a system."

A system? The word felt familiar, like something I'd read in a book or heard in another dream. The first voice seemed to catch on to the term, too, because the next thing he asked was,

"A system? Are you talking about those I read in the novel? Can I become all-powerful?"

There was a moment of silence before the system responded.

"Yes, host. But you'll have to work hard for it. And you have to be born first before starting your path to greatness."

Born? I thought again, the word ringing in my head. The first voice—the one asking all the questions—wasn't me. But for some reason, everything felt incredibly personal, as if I was somehow involved in this strange conversation.

"Will I ever go back to my old world?"

the first voice asked, and I could hear the desperation in his words.

"Can I return?"

The system didn't answer right away. Then, in that calm, emotionless tone, it replied.

"I don't know, host. But it wouldn't be the same world even if you could return. This is a different dimension. Even if you went back, it would be a different reality."

The weight of that answer hung in the air. I didn't understand all of it, but something about the finality of the system's words left a cold feeling in my chest. A different dimension? What kind of place is this? The conversation continued, but I was beginning to feel disconnected from it again, as though I was slipping away from the dream.

Suddenly, the dream shifted. I was no longer floating in the void and wasn't listening to their conversation anymore. Instead, I found myself standing in front of a bed made of ice, and on it lay a man—silent, still, frozen in time. I'd seen him before. I'd seen him in all my dreams. He was always there, lying on that ice bed like some ancient guardian trapped in eternal slumber.

For a moment, I felt like I could reach out and touch him, as though he was honest and not just a part of my dream. But before I could do anything, the dream started to fade. The images, the voices, everything slipped away from me, disappearing into the same void from which they'd come.

And then I woke up.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling of my room, trying to hold on to the pieces of the dream before they were gone for good. But like always, the details slipped away, just beyond my grasp. I couldn't remember the conversation, couldn't remember what the voices had said—just fragments of it remained, except for the man on the ice bed. That image stayed with me, etched into my subconscious like a painting that refused to be forgotten.

That man is essential. Like he's the key to something. There's a connection between him, the system, and me—one that I don't fully understand yet.

But as the days go on, I feel it more and more. Something extraordinary is waiting for me. Something more extensive than I can comprehend at this age. The dreams keep coming, and I'm left with the same lingering feeling with each one.

That man on the ice bed… whoever he is, he's going to change everything@@novelbin@@