The Holy Throne And Shadow of Ashes

Morning light spilled over the eastern fields of Aetherra.Soft golden rays crept over the wheat stalks, swaying gently in the breeze. The air smelled of damp soil, straw, and ash from the cooking fire that had long burned out.

Somewhere between the edge of the forest and the weather-worn farmhouse, a boy stood with a bundle of firewood at his feet.

Or tried to.

He knelt beside it, arms trembling, sweat dripping from his brow. His fingers gripped a half-cut log—roughly twenty kilograms, soaked from morning dew—and still, his arms shook like reeds in the wind.

"Tch."

He dropped it again. His breath caught in his throat, not from exhaustion—but from shame.

Akushi Yami, age 19 — or at least, in this body.

In another world, not so long ago, he'd been the underworld king of Tokyo. A Yakuza boss. Feared. Worshipped. Ruthless.He'd once slit a man's throat for looking him in the eyes.He'd commanded armies of shadows with a glance.He had power. Control. Legacy.

Now?

"I can't even lift a single piece of firewood."

He sat back on the grass, back aching, fingers raw.

"This body is pathetic."

The village rooster cried somewhere in the distance, followed by the low rumble of cattle and the clatter of metal in the barn.Farm life had its rhythm, and Akushi had been thrown into it like a stone into still water.

He wiped sweat from his brow and stared up at the sky. Clear. Peaceful.Too peaceful.

"Back in Tokyo, I ruled streets soaked in neon and blood.Now I wake up at dawn to chop firewood I can't even carry.This isn't hell.But it sure ain't heaven either."

He glanced down at his arms again—skinny, pale, sun-starved.

"No strength. No magic. No nothing.My mana core?Weak. So weak it might as well not exist.No one can sense it, and even if they could, they'd just laugh.My physical ability? Hell, I'd lose to a pig in a wrestling match."

His lips curled into a dry smile.

"What kind of reincarnation is this?"

In the last few days since his awakening, he'd learned just enough to understand the world around him:

Aetherra — a vast continent ruled by twelve kingdoms, each tangled in a web of politics, guilds, and power.

Magic was real here. Born into people at birth, flowing through something called a mana core.

Children were tested at age 10 for elemental affinity. Water, Fire, Wind, Earth, and beyond.

Akushi's was… supposedly Water. That's what the local priest said when they saw the test crystal faintly shimmer.

But he knew better.

"That wasn't water.It didn't feel like water.It felt... empty. Like something pretending to be weak.Like something hiding."

But even now, three days in, he hadn't felt a drop of actual magic inside himself.

"I was born with nothing in this world.No title. No influence. No power.Just the memory of a life where I had it all."

He picked up a stick and threw it across the field. It tumbled uselessly before landing in the grass.

"Pathetic."

Footsteps crunched nearby.

"Yami!" a rough, familiar voice barked. "Stop slacking and bring in that firewood!"

It was Doro, the old man who called himself Yami's father. Gruff, short-tempered, and built like a mule.

Akushi didn't respond. He just stood, brushing off his hands.

"Even here… I'm a nobody.Even here… I'm just a farmer's son."

But deep in his chest, under the weakness, under the shame, something pulsed.

A slow, steady rhythm.

A sleeping heart.

"I don't know what this world has planned for me…But I didn't survive the underworld to live like this forever."

And with that, Akushi picked up the log again.His arms shook.His breath hitched.But he didn't let go.

He forced his feet to move, one step at a time.The log scraped against his chest, splinters biting into his skin. His back screamed. His legs wobbled.But he didn't stop.

Doro, his father, stood waiting at the edge of the farmyard, arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression was unreadable — not impressed, not disappointed. Just… watching.

Akushi dropped the log in the firewood pile with a thud that sent dust into the air. He wiped his brow again. His breath was ragged.

"Father," he said, voice low but steady.

Doro raised an eyebrow.

"Hm? What now? You done crying over wood?"

Akushi stood straighter.

"I want to train."

That got Doro's attention.

The older man tilted his head slightly, as if wondering if he heard right.

"Train? You?"He snorted. "What for? So you can hurt your back lifting twigs again?"

Akushi didn't flinch.

"Because I'm tired of being weak."

Silence fell between them. Wind rustled the dry grass. A crow cawed in the distance.

Doro scratched his beard.

"Hah. That's rich. You—tired? The same brat who's been sleeping through dawn chores for years? The one who girls avoid like bad luck at the harvest festival?"

Akushi said nothing. He just stared at the ground, eyes fixed.

"I'm not asking for praise.I'm asking for a place to start."

Doro exhaled sharply, but there was something different in his voice now. Less mockery. More… curiosity.

"You really mean it?"

"Yes."

"You really want to train that pathetic little body?"

"I have to.""Please… Just tell me where I can train in peace. Somewhere no one will bother me."

Doro looked toward the distant edge of the farm. Beyond the tall cornfield, past the fence, sat an old weather-beaten barn. It had been abandoned since Akushi was a child.

"Fine. The old barn. It's falling apart, but no one goes there anymore.""You can train all you want. Just don't break anything valuable."

Akushi gave a small nod. It was the first sliver of real hope he'd felt since waking up in this world.

"Thank you, Father."

Doro shrugged and turned away.

"Let's go home before your bones give out completely."

🏠 Back at Home

The sun was dipping lower by the time they returned to the house. The walls were stone, roof thatched with hay, smoke still curling from the chimney. Simple. Quiet.

As they stepped through the gate, a voice called out.

"Father!"

Luca, Akushi's younger brother — came running up from the pig pen. Dirt smeared his face, and he held a small wooden bucket in one hand.

"Why was Akushi trying to lift firewood?""He couldn't even carry a log! It was so funny!"

Doro stopped in his tracks.

"Luca," he said, voice cold, "apologize to your brother."

The boy blinked.

"Huh? Why? He's weak. Everyone knows it. He slacks off all day. He's worthless."

From the porch, Aiko, Akushi's younger sister, chimed in.

"It's true, Father. Akushi only started helping a few days ago. Before that, he never did anything. Why should we respect him?"

Akushi stood silently behind Doro, not looking at either of them. He didn't speak. He didn't react.

But something deep inside his chest burned.

Doro turned sharply.

"Enough. Both of you."

His voice was iron.

"Whether he's weak or strong, lazy or hardworking — Akushi is still your elder brother. You don't get to mock him."

Luca looked confused.

"But Mother always says—"

"I don't care what your mother says!" Doro snapped.

From inside the house, Hana—Akushi's mother—stepped out, drying her hands on her apron.

"Doro, calm down. The children are just telling the truth."

"I know it's the truth," Doro said, voice quieter now. "But it's not about that. It's about respect.Because if we don't teach them that now… what kind of people are they going to become?"

Hana frowned. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Doro raised a hand.

"I said enough. Either they apologize to Akushi… or they sleep in the barn tonight. Their choice."

Silence fell again.

Luca scowled, kicking at the dirt. Aiko looked away.

"...Sorry," Luca muttered.

"...Sorry, big brother," Aiko followed, barely above a whisper.

Akushi looked at them both. For a second, his expression softened.

They don't mean it. But it's fine.I've been hated by worse people than this.

That night, Akushi sat alone in his room.

Outside, the wind blew softly through the trees.

He stared at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head.

"Tomorrow, I'll go to the barn.""Tomorrow, I start changing everything."

His muscles ached. His pride was in tatters. His past life felt like a dream.

But the fire had been lit.

And it would never go out again.