Pastwhispers: Transmigrated Into Regression Story

Ryo had never believed in fate.

To him, life was chaotic uproar of options and chance and incidents. Some people are born into wealth and prestige while others scraped by with what they possessed. There was no deeper meaning—just cause and effect.

He wasn't unhappy, exactly. But at the age of twenty-two, he felt like he was drifting. His university years had passed in a blur, and little by little he fell into a routine of part-time driving jobs, late-night gaming, and an infinitely growing pile of unfinished novels.

Tonight was no different.

Slouched in his chair, he scrolled through the latest chapter of Heaven's Wrath, a novel about a hero who regressed after his death, determined to rewrite his fate. The protagonist, Leon, was ruthless—calculating, determined, and always ahead of his enemies.

Ryo wasn't sure why he liked these stories so much. Maybe because the characters always had purpose. Meanwhile, he was stuck working a convenience store job while his parents nagged him about "doing something with his life."

"Ryo, you're still up?"

His mother's voice called from outside his room.

"Yeah, just reading."

"It's late. Don't stay up all night again."

"I won't," he lied.

He heard her sigh before walking away. His father would probably scold him in the morning too, but he was used to it. They weren't strict—they just worried. They wanted him to be stable, to plan for the future, to stop wasting his time on things like web novels.

But Ryo liked stories. In stories, people had direction.

He rubbed his eyes and reached for his cup noodles—only to find them empty. His stomach grumbled.

"Guess I should eat something real for once." He stretched, glancing at the clock. 3:27 AM. Maybe he'd grab a snack from the kitchen, then finally get some sleep.

As he stood up, a strange wave of dizziness hit him. His vision swam, and his legs felt weak.

Darkness.

Then—fire.

The world around him was burning. The golden glow of flames danced across cracked marble pillars, licking at the edges of a grand hall that had once been magnificent. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of charred wood and flesh invading his senses.

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of clashing steel rang out, the echoes of battle carried through the inferno like a haunting melody of destruction. Screams wove between the sounds of war—pleas for mercy, cries of defiance, and the pained wails of the dying.

But amidst the chaos, his eyes were drawn to one figure.

A man knelt in the center of the grand hall, his wrists and ankles bound in thick iron shackles. Blood trickled from his forehead, staining his once-pristine silver hair. His clothes—once regal and commanding—were now torn and burned, yet his posture remained unbroken. His head was held high, his golden eyes filled with something that was neither fear nor resignation.

It was defiance.

Even as his captors loomed over him, even as the flames swallowed everything he had built, the man remained unyielding.

A voice, cold and merciless, cut through the air.

"Duke Caius Veyne, traitor of the empire. Any last words?"

Caius exhaled, slow and measured. Then, despite the weight of his chains, he smirked.

"Tell your emperor…" he murmured, voice hoarse yet unwavering, "that the gods do not take kindly to betrayal."

The executioner's sword rose.

Ryo's breath caught in his throat.

A sharp whistle cut through the air as the blade descended—

And then—

Darkness.

Ryo jolted awake, his breath ragged.

His bedroom ceiling greeted him, dimly illuminated by the glow of his phone screen on the nightstand. His body was drenched in sweat, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

But even as he sat there, trying to steady his breathing, the images wouldn't fade. The flames, the chains, the golden-eyed man's smirk in the face of death—

And that name.

Caius Veyne.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a whisper of familiarity stirred.

Ryo jolted awake.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands shaking as he gripped his sheets. His room was dark, his laptop screen dimmed to sleep mode. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the silence.

A dream. Just a dream.

But the image of the man—Caius—stayed burned into his mind.

And for some reason, the terror he felt didn't fade even after waking up.

Ryo sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at his plate of toast and eggs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mixing with the distant chatter of a morning news broadcast on the TV. His father, dressed in his usual work suit, flipped through the newspaper while his mother bustled around the kitchen, wiping counters and checking the stove.

It was an ordinary morning. Everything was the same.

So why did he still feel like something was off?

Outside the window, a pair of glowing amber eyes watched. A red cat sat perched on the fence, its tail flicking lazily, but its gaze was fixed intently on Ryo. It didn't move, didn't blink—just stared.

The dream from last night lingered in his mind, sharper than any dream had a right to be. He could still hear the crackling flames, still see the golden-eyed man kneeling in chains, defiant even in the face of death.

"Caius Veyne."

The name was unfamiliar, but the emotions in that moment had felt real. Too real.

"Ryo, are you feeling okay?"

His mother's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see her watching him with a concerned expression.

"You've barely touched your food," she said, setting a glass of orange juice in front of him. "You look pale. Did you stay up too late again?"

"I'm fine," Ryo said quickly, forcing himself to take a bite of toast. The taste was dry, but it at least gave him an excuse to stop talking.

His mother didn't seem convinced. She sat down across from him, frowning. "You're always pushing yourself too hard. You should take care of your health, Ryo."

"I'm not pushing myself," he muttered. If anything, he wasn't doing enough. He could already hear his father's usual complaints in his head—No stable career, no clear goals, wasting time on useless things…

But to his surprise, his father didn't say anything. He simply glanced over the newspaper, giving Ryo a brief look before going back to reading.

The silence stretched. His mother sighed. "At least take a nap before your shift."

Ryo finished the last of his toast and stood up, grabbing his phone and wallet. "I'll be fine, Mom. I gotta go or I'll be late."

His mother still looked worried, but she didn't push him further. "Be careful on your way."

"I will."

He slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, the morning air crisp and cool against his skin.

A normal morning. A normal routine.

But as he walked to work, the image of a sword flashing in the firelight haunted him.

And for the first time, he had the unsettling feeling that his life wouldn't stay normal for much longer.