Darkness
It was the first thing I knew.
An endless, formless void, where my thoughts drifted like dying embers swallowed by an abyss. There were no sensations, no awareness just an overwhelming sense that something had existed before this nothingness.
A pressure coiled around me, neither warm nor cold, simply there. I could not see, could not hear—only drift. Time lost meaning. Seconds, hours, years? I could not tell.
Then—sound.
At first, it was a distant vibration, a dull hum pressing against the edges of my consciousness. It pulsed, faint and rhythmic, like something alive. Slowly, it grew sharper—voices. Muffled, blurred, wrapped in a haze of something thick and unyielding.
I strained to understand, but the words slipped away, tangled in a foreign cadence.
Something tugged at me.
Not a physical pull, but something deeper, an instinct beyond thought. A command to wake.
I tried to move. My body—if I had one, felt wrong. My limbs, my fingers, and even my breath felt alien as if I had been pressed into a shape that did not fit. I was too small.
Then—pain.
A sharp, stinging burn erupted across my back. It tore through the suffocating haze in my mind, snapping me into awareness with the viciousness of a blade. My muscles tensed, to an unfamiliar sensation, then released in a violent jolt.
And before I could stop myself, my mouth opened.
A wailing cry escaped me—raw, helpless, infantile.
And with it, the world rushed in.
Light—blinding, searing. A burning radiance that stabbed into my eyes, too harsh, too sharp. It tore across my vision like fire, forcing me to squeeze them shut.
Cold air. It bit at my damp skin, slipping over me like a phantom’s touch, making me shudder. The scent of blood lingered in it—thick, metallic, and unmistakable. Something earthy followed, damp and musky, like old wood and pressed bodies.
I gasped, my breath hitching as I tried to make sense of it all.
Then—a face.
I forced my eyes open again, blinking through the burning blur.
A woman loomed over me, her face worn with deep-set lines, her hair adorned with multiple beads, and her dark skin illuminated by the flickering glow of oil lamps.
Her gaze was sharp, calculating, unreadable. There was no warmth in it—only observation as if she were measuring something unseen.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, she turned her head slightly, speaking to someone just beyond my vision.
“He is here,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “His first cries are strong.”
Before I could question her words, before I could understand, the flood hit.
Memories.
They came all at once.
A tidal wave of sights, sounds, and emotions—memories of another life.
I remembered laughter. The warmth of home, the echo of voices—familiar, beloved. Sunlit streets. Books lined in neat rows. The scent of old paper and ink.
I remember growing up. The weight of expectation pressing down like an iron brand. The slow loss of innocence traded for knowledge and quiet understanding.
And then—my final day.
The memory snapped into focus, cruelly vivid. I was standing—the city sprawled below me, a sea of flickering lights. Two figures beside me, their faces blurred, their words just out of reach.
What were we talking about?
A sharp pain lanced through my skull, sudden and merciless. My thoughts scattered, pieces of the memory slipping from my grasp.
I clenched my teeth, desperate to hold on to it.
Then—hands.
Shoving me.
My stomach lurched. The wind screamed past my ears as I fell.
A black-and-gold coin pressed into my palm, it''s metal cold, heavy, final.
And then—
Blue light.
Blinding.
All-consuming.
They killed me.
And yet, I was here.
A shuddering breath escaped me. My tiny hands clenched into fists. My skin is dark brown, too small, too fragile. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t some fevered nightmare.
I had been reborn.
But why?
I swallowed back another cry, my tiny chest heaving with the effort. My mind screamed for logic, for explanation, but none came.
The old woman did not wait for me to understand. She moved with purpose, wrapping me in a rough, faded cloth that smelled of herbs and something musty, like dried earth.
She turned.
And then, I saw her.
The room was dim, the flickering oil lamps casting long, swaying shadows over the earthen walls. The air was thick with incense, with sweat, with the lingering scent of blood and afterbirth. It clung to my skin, to the rough cloth wrapped around me, to the very breath I struggled to take in.
A woman lay motionless on the wooden birthing table, her body partially veiled in darkness. The light did not reach her fully—it only brushed against the fragile curve of her cheek, the brittle lines of her collarbones, and the deep hollows of her eyes.
She was frail.
Her skin, a deep, warm brown, looked pale in the lamplight, too stretched over sharp bones. Her limbs, thin as reeds, lay limply at her sides, fingers curled slightly inward as if even in death, she had not fully released the world.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Her hair thick, tightly coiled clung to her damp forehead, strands sticking to skin that had long since lost its warmth.
She was still. Silent. Dead.
Three women knelt beside her.
Young, dark-skinned, their features carrying pieces of her own. Sisters, daughters, nieces? I did not know. But the way their hands clutched at the fabric of their dresses, the way their shoulders shook with barely contained sobs, spoke of a grief so deep it swallowed the air itself.
The first—her eyes red-rimmed and puffy—held on to the dead woman’s arm, rocking slightly, whispering prayers beneath her breath. The second pressed her forehead against the wooden table, her fingers digging into the rough surface as if trying to anchor herself to something solid.
The third silent, staring was the worst. Her gaze was hollow, her face streaked with dried tears, lips trembling but refusing to open. She had already broken.
I knew without being told.
She was my mother.
A strange, hollow ache blossomed in my chest. It was not grief.
Not yet I had not known her.
But there was a weight a deep, undeniable pull in the very marrow of my bones. An understanding that something had been lost before I even had the chance to claim it.
She had died giving birth to me.
And I…
I had been born into the world, screaming, as she faded into silence. The guilt was sudden, but it settled inside me nonetheless.
A strange, hollow ache spread through me, raw and unfamiliar. I had not known her. And yet, something deep within me mourned.
The old woman did not linger. She turned toward the door, cradling me close to her chest, and stepped out.
As the door closed behind us, muffling the grief within, only one thought echoed in my fractured mind:
I had been reborn into a world where even life’s first moments were steeped in death.
We moved through dimly lit corridors, where the air was thick with dust and time. The walls, once vibrant, were now cracked and faded, their paint peeling in jagged strips like old scars.
I clung to the warmth of the old woman’s chest, but it did nothing to chase away the bone-deep displacement.
I did not belong here.
Memories of my old life still clashed violently with the reality of this one, disjointed, impossible. The echoes of a past self warred with the fragile instincts of an infant body.
Then—light.
Not the flickering glow of lanterns, but something sharper, impossible.
A screen.
It appeared without warning, floating in my vision like a phantom. Its glow pulsed—crisp, surreal, undeniable.
Then, the words appeared.
---
STATUS SCREEN
[Name]: ???
[Title]: None
[Class]: Technomancer (Lv. 1)
[Age]: 0
[Condition]: Infant (Weak, Helpless)
---
[Core Stats]
Fame: 0 (Unknown)
Body: 1 (Feeble)
Reputation: 0 (Nonexistent)
Grit: 3 (Resilient Soul)
Mental: 6 (Reincarnated Mind)
Charisma: 2 (Subtle Presence)
Dexterity: 1 (Clumsy Newborn)
Perception: 4 (Unfocused Awareness)
Affinity: 5 (Innate Connection to Machines)
Wealth: (None)
---
[Technomancer Abilities] (Locked – Requires Interaction with Technology)
Passive Awareness – Instinctively senses electric currents and magnetic fields.
Machine Sensitivity – Can perceive active machines nearby (radios, lightbulbs, mechanical clocks).
Minor Electrostatic Influence – Emotional surges may cause small electrical discharges (static sparks, flickering lights).
Pattern Recognition (Dormant) – Subconsciously detects efficiency patterns in machinery, circuitry, and coding structures.
Digital Echo (Locked) – Residual fragments of past technologies may appear in visions or thoughts.
---
[Skills] (Limited due to age and physical condition)
[???] – Unlocked by reaching developmental milestones.
[Basic Memory Recall] – Retains fragmented knowledge from a past life.
[Survival Instinct] – Innate ability to recognize danger and discomfort.
[Sensory Adaptation] – Enhanced reaction to light, sound, and vibrations due to Technomancer heritage.
[Lingual Absorption (Dormant)] – Passively absorbs and deciphers spoken languages.
---
[Status Effects]
[Reincarnated Mind] – Retains knowledge from a past life, granting intelligence beyond normal limits.
[Helpless Infant] – Cannot move, speak, or control surroundings. Survival depends entirely on others.
[Spark of the Machine] – Bound to the world of technology.
[Underdeveloped Form] – Strength, speed, and endurance are limited due to infancy.
[Unstable Circuit] – Early Technomancer abilities may cause sporadic, uncontrolled electrical reactions.
---
> Welcome to your new life!
Mission Assigned
Objective: Create a Nation and Survive.
Good Luck! ??
---
A sharp chill crawled down my spine.
My breath hitched, the world narrowing to that single, impossible message.
Build a Nation?