Part 1 – A New Light
Warmth. That was the first thing the small boy knew. Not the void, not the silence of endings, but warmth — soft, living, breathing warmth. He was wrapped in cloth, pressed against something steady, something with a rhythm that echoed in his fragile chest. A heartbeat. Strong, steady, unbroken.
So it happened again… another beginning.
His body felt weak, unfamiliar. Tiny limbs flailed helplessly, fists no larger than seeds. His vision blurred, and colors bled together, shapes shifting in a haze until, slowly, a face emerged.
Golden hair glimmered faintly in the light of the cottage. Her blue eyes shone with tenderness, like the sky just before dawn. She smiled down at him, her lips curving into the gentlest expression he had ever seen.
"My little one…" her voice rang, delicate, filled with a love that wrapped around him like a blanket. "My precious boy."
Another figure leaned closer. Taller, frame not heavy with muscle but steady, dependable. His white hair caught the dim light, and his red eyes glowed softly, like embers refusing to die out. He reached out with careful hands, brushing a fingertip against the boy's palm.
"He's strong already," the man said quietly, almost to himself. "Look at how he grips, Alisa."
The boy's small fingers curled instinctively, holding the touch as though clinging to proof that this life was real.
So… this is them. Alisa and Amane. My parents. Different from before… yet they feel so familiar.
A soft cry escaped his lips — a sound he hadn't meant to make, a fragile whimper that betrayed his helpless body. Alisa pressed him closer, humming softly until the tremors faded. Her golden hair brushed his cheek as she whispered soothing words.
The boy's blurred mind swirled. He wanted to speak, to explain, to tell them who he was and what he carried. But no words came. Only the cry of an infant, weak and small.
This is my form now. A child. Three months… and yet, within me lies a storm older than this world.
Days passed slowly, stitched together by lullabies, the creak of wooden floors, the steady presence of Alisa and Amane. When he opened his eyes, their faces were always near. When he cried, their arms always reached for him. His first world had never offered such warmth.
At night, while the cottage quieted, he lay awake in the cradle, staring through small slits of vision. Beyond the wooden walls, the countryside whispered — the rustle of fields, the song of crickets, the distant flow of a stream. But beneath it all was something else. A hum. Faint, constant, like the earth itself was breathing.
What is that sound? This pulse in the air… Could it be… magic?
Part 2 – Flickers of the Unseen
By the second month, the small boy began noticing things no infant should. Alisa's hands sometimes glowed faintly as she worked. Once, when the sun dipped low and shadows crept across the room, she lit the lantern without flint or tinder. A soft word left her lips, and sparks danced at her fingertips before the wick burst into gentle flame.
The boy's eyes widened.
So it's true. This world… breathes with magic.
Another day, when the summer heat pressed down, Alisa waved a hand over a cup. Water droplets gathered out of the air, clear and shimmering, sliding down the clay rim. She placed the cup near his cradle, cooling the space around him.
Amane's moments were quieter but no less striking. Once, while carving wood, his blade shimmered faintly, slicing effortlessly through tough grain. The boy felt it — not mere steel, but energy channeled through his hand.
They live with it. They breathe it. Magic isn't legend here… it's life.
Curiosity burned in his tiny chest. He remembered the void, the divine presence that had cast him into this fate. He remembered the words — promises of trials yet to come. Something within him stirred.
He tried. His small hands trembled as he focused, fragile breath straining. He reached not outward, but inward, into the pulse he had begun to sense.
For a heartbeat, warmth flared in his palm. A spark. Bright, undeniable. It vanished as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but his shallow breathing.
No one noticed. Alisa hummed softly as she folded cloth nearby, her golden hair swaying like sunlight. Amane rested against the wall, eyes half-closed in calm thought.
It's there. Inside me. The same power they wield… no, something deeper. Something waiting.
Alisa sometimes laughed softly when she caught him staring too intently at the horizon through the window. "He's always watching, Amane. Always searching, like he knows secrets we can't see."
Amane smiled, placing a hand gently over the boy's cradle. His red eyes glowed faintly in the lantern light. "That's because he's meant for something great, Alisa. This little one will surprise us all."
The boy's chest tightened.
If only you knew the truth. The memories I carry, the lives I've lived, the sins that stain me. Would you still see me as… extraordinary?
Part 3 – The Rhythm of Countryside Life
Life in the countryside was slow, but to the small boy, it was an unfolding world. Alisa often carried him wrapped in soft cloth, her blue eyes glowing with pride as she showed him the fields. Farmers worked the land, their hands glowing faintly with earth's blessing. Tools shimmered subtly with energy, cutting more cleanly than mere steel could.
Children laughed in the distance, racing with the aid of small gusts of wind pushing at their feet. Lanterns lit with whispered words. The boy realized — here, magic was not spectacle. It was survival. It was woven into daily life.
So this is how people live when magic is ordinary. Not miracle… but breath. Not myth… but tool.
Alisa loved to sing. Sometimes, while rocking him to sleep, her voice shifted into something more. Notes glimmered, and faint motes of light appeared, drifting lazily in the air like fireflies. They circled around him, shimmering against the cradle. He reached out with clumsy hands, trying to touch them. They vanished with a wink, leaving him with nothing but wonder.
Amane told stories in the evenings. He spoke with a voice that rumbled deep, weaving pictures into the boy's mind. He spoke of lands beyond the fields, of elves who could command forests to bend and bloom, of dwarves who forged steel so perfect it could cut mountains, of dragons whose wings cast shadows over entire valleys.
The boy listened intently.
Four continents… Humans here. Elves in forests. Dwarves and demi-humans in mountains. Demons and dragons across the sea. This… is the world I've entered.
A map formed in his mind. Not drawn in ink, but alive in imagination — wide, untamed, filled with powers greater than he had yet to grasp.
He clenched his tiny fists in silence.
Why here? Why this world, so close to the first, yet filled with new laws? What is it I'm meant to face?
Part 4 – Whispers of the Four Lands
One stormy night, rain pattered against the roof, filling the cottage with steady rhythm. Amane sat by the fire with the boy in his arms, red eyes glinting in the flicker of flames. Alisa moved quietly nearby, her golden hair glowing faintly in the dim light.
Amane lowered his voice, speaking as though to a secret. "This world is vast, little one. Far beyond our fields, there are lands you'll one day see."
The boy blinked, wide-eyed.
"Here is the Human Continent, where kings rule and mages keep balance. But across the seas, forests rise so high they swallow the sky, and elves live in harmony with them. In the mountains, dwarves and demi-humans carve their homes into stone, their forges glowing hotter than dragon breath. And then… the far continent, where demons dwell and dragons soar. A place even the bravest men fear to tread."
Alisa glanced at him, half-amused, half-worried. "You'll frighten him with tales like that."
Amane only smiled, rocking the boy gently. "No. He listens. He understands more than we think."
Yes. I do. And each word sharpens the path I must walk.
The boy stared into the fire, watching it dance. He felt the faint hum again, the same whisper that filled the air when magic stirred. It was everywhere — in the land, in the people, in the stories themselves.
And within me.
Part 5 – The First Stirring
As his third month neared, the boy's awareness deepened. He could not speak, could not move freely, yet his thoughts sharpened. He observed, learned, pieced together truths. This world was not his first — but it was not entirely new either. A reflection, altered, infused with something greater.
One evening, Alisa laid him in his cradle, her blue eyes tired but soft. "Sleep well, my little one," she whispered, golden hair brushing his forehead. Amane lingered in the doorway, his red eyes glowing faintly as he watched over them.
The boy lay in silence, listening. The hum of the earth grew stronger. He focused inward. His tiny body trembled. Breath hitched.
And then — faint, flickering — light formed in his chest. It spread through his veins, not visible to the eye, but undeniable to him. Magic. Alive. Responding.
His fingers twitched. The spark danced once more across his palm.
It's here. Waiting. Growing.
The spark vanished, leaving him drained. His small body gave in to sleep, but his mind lingered on one truth.
This world… is my stage. And my path begins again.
The night deepened, the cottage quieted, and outside the fields whispered with the same ancient hum. The small boy drifted into slumber, unaware of how quickly that spark would one day ignite into a blaze that could shake continents.