The First Breath
Light swallowed Zen whole.
Then—nothing.
No void this time. No endless expanse where even darkness failed to exist. This was different. It was cramped. Heavy. Pressurized. For the first time since leaving the void, Zen felt something unmistakable.
A body.
It was faint—fragile—but undeniably real. His awareness was no longer free-floating. It was anchored, wrapped in something tight and enclosing. He tried to move, only to realize that control came in fragments. His will responded sluggishly, as if passing through thick mud.
Suddenly, a violent pressure surged against his forehead.
It felt as though his head was being squeezed, compressed by an overwhelming force. Pain—dull but growing—echoed through his consciousness. The sensation was unfamiliar, yet instantly alarming.
Darkness surrounded him. Not the void's nothingness, but a suffocating darkness that pressed in from all sides.
'Am I… submerged?'
He sensed liquid enveloping him. Not cold, not warm—neutral. His thoughts raced.
'Did this body meet with an accident? Was it drowning? Or… was it murdered, and I've taken over what remains?'
A sharp unease surfaced. If this body was already dying, then rebirth meant nothing. He tried to struggle harder, forcing his will through his limbs—but his movements were pitiful. Small. Incomplete. The space around him felt far too narrow for any meaningful motion.
A bitter thought crossed his mind.
'So this is the universe's joke? To throw me into a dying body the moment I'm reborn?'
For the first time since awakening in the void, Zen felt irritation—almost anger. Even in his previous life, where he had lived as a silent observer, emotions had never completely left him. He had learned to suppress them, to analyze them, but they had always existed—quietly.
Then—
Hands.
Gentle, yet firm, pressing against his forehead. At the same time, the space around him tightened, contracting rhythmically, as if the world itself was forcing him toward an opening above.
'An exit…?'
The pressure intensified. The hands guided him, pulling, aligning him with the narrowing passage. Instinctively, Zen stopped resisting and allowed the force to carry him forward.
With one final, overwhelming squeeze—
He was pushed out.
Air.
For the first time, it rushed into him. His body jerked involuntarily as a sharp, cooling sensation flowed through his nose, into his lungs, then surged into his heart—and from there, throughout his entire body.
It was as if an invisible circuit had been completed. Like electricity restoring a broken system. Something that had been disconnected was now whole.
Light pressed faintly against his closed eyelids. He still couldn't open his eyes, but he 'knew' it was there.
Moments later, he was wrapped in something soft and warm.
Then he heard it.
A cry.
A woman's voice—hoarse, exhausted, yet overflowing with emotion.
Understanding struck him with quiet clarity.
'I see…'
He was being held. Cradled. The hands supporting him felt enormous compared to his body.
'So this is it', Zen thought. 'I've been reborn… as an infant.'
It made sense. A consciousness like his—expanded through relentless observation and overthinking—couldn't simply inhabit a fully formed body. Birth was the only viable entry point. One chance among countless possibilities.
He listened.
Another voice joined the woman's—a man's voice. Deep. Steady. There was joy in it, unmistakable even through words Zen couldn't understand.
Something tightened inside Zen.
In his previous life, the word 'parent' had always been distant. He had been raised in a government-run orphanage, surrounded by others like him, yet fundamentally alone. Care had existed—but never attachment. He had learned not to expect warmth, and eventually, not to desire it.
Yet now, sensing the raw emotions flowing freely between these two voices, Zen felt something stir. It wasn't attachment—not yet—but a quiet realization. A recognition of something he had once lacked, without fully understanding its weight.
'So this is what it means…'
'My father…' he concluded instinctively.
And yet—
Something else brushed against his awareness.
A presence.
No—multiple presences.
Zen realized that the cooling sensation from his first breath had not disappeared. It had stabilized, becoming a constant flow within him. With it came something entirely new—a perception beyond the five senses. Not sight, not sound, but an ability to feel intent, emotion, and presence itself.
He could sense happiness radiating from the two nearby voices. Relief. Affection. Emotions directed toward him—pure and instinctive. But farther away, faint and indistinct, there were traces of unease. Edges of malice, distant yet real.
'A sixth sense…'
Not a supernatural gift, but a natural extension of heightened awareness.
Zen turned inward—not to restrain his consciousness, but to observe it.
It wasn't limited. It wasn't sealed. His vast consciousness still existed in full. The void he had inhabited after death was still there—embedded deep within his being. He simply couldn't access it.
'Because now, I am connected again', Zen realized.
Unlike before, his existence was now tied to both the physical dimension and the temporal dimension. This connection didn't weaken his consciousness—it grounded it. The reason his consciousness could continue to exist alongside a fragile body was this strange energy flowing within him.
This energy acted as a mediator. Through it, consciousness could exert limited influence over multiple dimensions at once. Even if those dimensions were not in perfect equilibrium, existence could be maintained.
'So long as this energy persists… I can exist.'
The difficulty of rebirth had never been 'when'—but 'how'.
For rebirth to succeed, the vessel had to meet two conditions: it must possess no born consciousness, and it must be capable of sustaining his own.
This body… was special.
By coincidence—or perhaps inevitability—the embryo had absorbed traces of this same energy from its mother long before consciousness formed. That energy granted the developing body a rudimentary capacity to interact with other dimensions, preparing it unknowingly for his arrival.
As the energy circulated, Zen's control increased. Fingers twitched. Legs kicked weakly. His movements were clumsy, unrefined—but far beyond what a newborn should be capable of.
'My adaptability is higher than normal', he observed calmly.
He listened again. The language spoken around him was unfamiliar—completely alien.
'Impossible', Zen thought. 'I knew every major language of my world. Either an unimaginable amount of time has passed… or this is no longer my world at all.'
Given that the void existed beyond space-time, either outcome was possible.
As he experimented further, Zen discovered the limits of his new body. Large muscle groups responded, but finer control—his tongue, jaw, and facial movements—remained stiff. Growth would be necessary. Learning would take time.
Time…
A concept he had once observed from a distance.
Unbeknownst to him, the figures surrounding him were staring in stunned silence. A new-born who moved too deliberately. Who reacted too precisely. Who felt far too 'aware'.
Zen, however, focused inward.
'This time', he thought, 'I won't only observe from the shadows.'
And thus, without ceremony or prophecy, his second life quietly began.