All Chapters of Reversal Of Fate: From A Pawn To A Mafia Billionaire: Chapter 171
- Chapter 180
200 chapters
The Memory That Dreams Back
There was no sound in the world that followed.No hum. No echo. Only the fragile silence of a creation holding its breath.For days—or perhaps eternities—Mara wandered the still world. The rivers had frozen mid-flow, yet not into ice; they were paused light, waiting for permission to move. The sky was blank, stripped of stars. Even her heartbeat felt too loud, as if intruding on something sacred.But it wasn’t death.It was anticipation.The memory of Damian lingered everywhere—woven into air, ground, and thought. Every motion she made left behind faint ripples, and she could almost feel the world flinch, as if dreaming of how he once walked.When she whispered his name, the ground shivered.> “Damian…”And somewhere beyond the horizon, something stirred.***The Dreaming BeginsEryn stood upon the glass cliffs where the sea used to breathe. Her bow was gone, replaced by a shard of living light she carried like a compass. It pulsed every few seconds, in rhythm with something deep bene
The Human That Remains
The light that had consumed the false god faded into dust, drifting through a sky that no longer held color.For a moment, everything stood still. The world seemed unsure of what to do — as if it, too, needed to remember how to move.Then the shard pulsed again.One slow thrum. Then another. The rhythm of life — hesitant, uneven, alive.Mara held it close, both hands trembling. The glow wasn’t holy. It didn’t burn. It warmed, faintly, like the first breath after a long drowning.Eryn crouched beside her, watching as the shard’s light curled into the shape of veins.“It’s… beating,” she whispered.Mara nodded. “No. Growing.”The light seeped into the soil, and the ground beneath them stirred. Blades of grass pushed through the cracks, each one bearing tiny filaments of glass that soon melted into green. The air filled with scent again — damp earth, salt, faint smoke.The still world had begun to breathe once more.***The Birth of the ImperfectHours — or days — passed. Time had no cle
The Reflection That Refuses
The river no longer flowed.It hung in the air — suspended, trembling — a wall of liquid glass dividing one reality from another. On one side stood Damian, bare-footed and breathing, a man bound by pulse and pain.On the other side, his reflection smiled — unblinking, unmarred, a god reborn from the world’s denial.The echo spoke first.> “You are incomplete,” it said. “You breathe. You age. You fear. You were meant to end.”Damian stared back, his breath fogging faintly against the unmoving air.“Maybe,” he said softly. “But that’s what makes it real.”The reflection’s smile faltered. Ripples moved across its perfect face like cracks on a mirror.> “Real is what remembers. You are what was forgotten. I am the memory that endures.”Damian took a slow step toward the river. The air shimmered around his hand as he reached out — not touching, only close enough to feel the cold that separated them.“Then why do you still look like me?” he whispered.***The World Remembers WrongMara and
The Echo That Learns
The world slept for three days.No storms. No voices. No trembling sky.Just rain—steady, endless, soft as breathing. It washed the ash from the plains, filling the cracks with rivers that glowed faintly from within. The fracture had closed… or so everyone believed.Damian didn’t dream. He lay beneath the roots of the broken tower, listening to the pulse of the earth. His wounds had stopped bleeding, but not hurting. Mara stayed beside him, eyes hollow with exhaustion, her fingers tracing the rhythm of his heart as if to make sure it still belonged to him.Eryn stood watch by the river, her bow unstrung, arrows useless in peace.Yet peace never stayed still.***The Child by the RiverAt dawn on the fourth day, Eryn saw it.A small figure standing where the river curved—the water rising around bare ankles but never wetting the skin. It looked like a child, no older than ten. Pale hair. Eyes that seemed too knowing, too patient.At first, she thought it was another memory bleeding thro
The Dream That Breathes
The rain stopped on the seventh dawn.Not because the clouds emptied, but because the sky itself seemed to forget how.Light filtered through like liquid gold, washing the world clean. Villages rebuilt. The plains turned green again. The fracture was no longer visible—only felt, like the faint ache of an old scar.But peace in this world never meant silence.It meant something new was learning how to whisper.***The First DreamIt began with a farmer in the valley below the broken tower.He dreamed of a river that spoke.The river told him to plant his seeds deeper, where warmth still lingered beneath the frost. When he awoke and did as the dream instructed, his crops grew three times faster than before.The next night, another villager dreamed of stars falling to the ground, shaping paths of light across the fields. When she followed those paths, she found hidden springs where none existed before.By the third night, everyone was dreaming—and every dream changed something real.***
The Breath That Remembers
The morning after the breathing, the world felt heavier.Not with sorrow, not with joy—something older. The kind of weight that comes when memory awakens in a place that had forgotten it was alive.The rivers no longer ran straight. They curled back upon themselves, forming spirals in the mud. The trees bent their trunks toward the east, as though listening to something only they could hear. When the wind blew, it carried more than sound.It carried stories.***The First RememberingIt began in whispers.A shepherd in the foothills heard his flock bleating in patterns—three short, two long—exactly like the signal horns of the long-fallen kingdom of Theral. A woman drawing water from the well saw faces in the reflection that were not her own, but of people who had died generations ago.By noon, the fields around the old tower shimmered with the haze of memory—faint silhouettes of battles, lovers’ embraces, songs once sung by voices now dust.Mara knelt by the riverbank and watched one
The Memory That Dreams
Dreams no longer belonged to the sleeping.They bled through waking hours now—soft flickers behind the eyes, half-formed visions humming in the corners of thought. A farmer would pause mid-swing of his scythe, seeing for a heartbeat the birth of stars. A child would whisper words in a forgotten language, then laugh as if remembering a joke told centuries ago.The world was still breathing.But now, it was dreaming.***The New DawnMara woke to light bending strangely across the horizon—ripples of dawn that shimmered between gold and violet, as though the sky itself were blinking. Eryn sat beside the remnants of their fire, staring into the coals.“Did you sleep?” Mara asked softly.Eryn shook her head. “No. But I dreamed.”Her voice trembled. “I dreamed of him.”Mara froze. “Damian?”Eryn nodded. “He didn’t speak. He just stood beneath the rivers, looking up. And when he breathed… things grew.”Mara followed her gaze to the valley below. In the places where rivers had carved deep cha
The Dream That Lives
When Dreams Begin to BreatheThe dawn came without sun.It rose instead as a breath of light—soft, trembling, spreading through the mists like a sigh from a world that had just awakened from a deep, endless sleep.All around the valley, the air hummed. Trees bent toward the light. Rivers rippled though no wind stirred them. For the first time, the dream did not stay within minds—it reached out. It touched. It lived.Mara felt it first in her chest, like a second heartbeat.Eryn followed, her breath catching as her reflection in the water blinked independently.“This isn’t just memory anymore,” Eryn whispered. “It’s... alive.”Mara nodded slowly, eyes shimmering with awe and fear.“The dream is learning to live.”Above them, the sky pulsed—a rhythm steady and human-like.***The Awakening of ThoughtAll across the world, reality began to thin.Dreams spilled out like water through cracked glass.From city ruins, statues began to move—not of stone anymore, but of thought.Each step they
The Shadow That Remembers
The Silence Beyond the SkyThe new dawn did not rise—it shivered.The light that once sang through the dream-tree dimmed, its colors trembling like a heart skipping beats. Across the vast plains where dream and flesh had finally found peace, a stillness spread—too deep, too complete.And from that silence, something began to move.A whisper.A shape.A memory that had been left behind.The people called it the Shadow That Remembers.At first, it was only a ripple in the sky, a faint distortion where the stars refused to shine. But the longer it lingered, the more the world seemed to forget itself—names fading from memory, rivers flowing backward, songs ending before they began.The dream had lived.Now it was beginning to remember what it had once erased.***The Fading of NamesMara stood at the edge of the Dreamtree’s roots, her palms against the glowing bark. Beneath her touch, the whispers grew faint.“Something’s wrong,” she murmured. “It’s... forgetting its own name.”Eryn knelt
The Birth Of The Nameless Dawn
When Night Refused to EndThe night did not lift when the battle ended.It lingered—soft, heavy, almost tender.As if the world itself was unsure whether it wanted to wake.The sky hung in shades of bruised gray, neither dark nor bright. The stars pulsed faintly, uncertain whether to remain or fade. In the distance, the Dreamtree stood reborn yet wounded—its branches no longer pure light, but veined with threads of shadow.Mara stood beneath its trembling canopy, her hand brushing the new bark. It was warm to the touch, alive in a way it had never been before.> “It’s still breathing,” she whispered. “But it feels… different.”Eryn approached quietly, her bow slung over her shoulder, eyes ringed with sleeplessness. “Everything feels different. Even the air tastes like memory.”They both turned as Damian descended the slope. His steps left faint ripples on the ground, as if reality itself bent to remember where he walked.His voice, when it came, was calm—but heavy.> “Because this isn