《The Scholar's Rebirth》


 Chapter 1: Born of Fire

    Should I save him?


    Thump-thump. Thump-thump.


    No. Someone else should save him. Anyone but me.


    But why? Just¡ªwhy? Why was everyone standing around, doing absolutely nothing while a building burned down right in front of them? Inside, a kid was screaming for help. I could hear it. We could all hear it¡ªthe desperate, gut-wrenching cries for mercy. The sound dug into me, sharp and unrelenting.


    And the fire¡ªit would¡¯ve reached him by now. How does it even feel, being trapped in there? Suffocated by heat and smoke, your skin blistering before you can even scream again.


    What if it were me in there? Or worse¡ªwhat if it were my child?


    ¡°Shit.¡± I swallowed hard.


    "Somebody help him!" someone finally yelled, their voice cracking with panic.


    "Call 911!" another cried out, their voice already drowned by the roar of the flames.


    "Please, have mercy! He''s just a kid! Someone save him!"


    The crowd was restless, surging with panic but rooted in fear. No one dared to step forward, their eyes flitting from one another as if someone else would take the lead. They all knew what to do. But knowing wasn¡¯t the same as acting.


    And the worst part? I was no different.


    Because yeah, I was scared too. Just as frozen as the rest of them.


    Several days ago.


    "They''re the ones who shaped our world," I said. "We know them as successful figures, but we rarely see the sweat, tears, and sheer grit that got them there."


    I let my words hang in the air for a moment. Most of the class wasn¡¯t even pretending to be interested. A few students tapped away at their phones, some scribbled notes halfheartedly, and only a handful actually seemed to be paying attention.


    "Some of these people went through relentless experimentation, rejection, and even depression," I continued. My voice remained steady, but I couldn¡¯t help a small glance toward one girl sneaking a peek at her phone under her desk. Subtle. "So, can anyone give me an example of a historical figure who endured extreme hardship before they finally got the recognition they deserved?"


    Dead silence.


    I waited. Teaching had taught me patience. Or maybe I¡¯d just grown stubborn enough not to fill the void myself.


    Finally, a hand went up.


    "Michael," I said, pointing at the student near the front. He wasn¡¯t one of the few glued to their phones, and his hand had that hesitation.


    "Uh, does Beethoven¡­ count?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.


    I nodded. "Absolutely. Ludwig van Beethoven¡ªone of the greatest composers in Western history. He faced plenty of failures and struggles before the world recognized his genius. Good example, Michael. Thanks for speaking up."


    He sank back into his seat, looking a little more confident, though he kept his eyes on me like he expected me to call him out again.


    For the next couple of hours, I went on with my lesson, diving into the lives of historical figures and their struggles. I wasn¡¯t just dumping dates and names onto them; I made it a point to tie history back to something real, something they could walk away with. Call it inspiration, call it life lessons¡ªI wasn¡¯t just teaching history; I was teaching through history.


    I loved it, honestly. Teaching wasn¡¯t just a job; it was a responsibility¡ªto shape how they saw the world and if I could help even one of them see it a little clearer, then I¡¯d done my part.


    After the discussion, I decided to take a short break before diving into prep for the next class in the teacher''s office. My desk wasn¡¯t much¡ªa small, clutter-free island of sanity in a sea of chaos. I liked to keep it neat, though a stack of old research papers sat in one corner, the edges curled and the pages so faded they could¡¯ve passed for relics from a bygone era.


    ¡°Haaa!¡± The door burst open, and I nearly jumped out of my chair as my co-professor barged in with a dramatic sigh.


    ¡°Rough first period?¡± I asked, leaning back and taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand it, Cal. These students are driving me insane,¡± she said, slumping into the chair across from me. ¡°How the hell do you even get through your discussions?¡±


    I gave her a small smile, the kind that says, I¡¯ve been there. ¡°Patience. When I first started teaching, barely anyone paid attention. But as the days went on, more of them started to listen. That¡¯s the trick¡ªpatience.¡±


    She waved me off with a scoff. ¡°Patience? Come on, Cal. You¡¯ve got to push harder if you want them to listen. Heck, I¡¯d confiscate their phones¡ªsmash ¡¯em if I could.¡±


    I just smiled again, not agreeing but also not bothering to argue. Instead, I turned my focus back to my coffee. The bitterness of the brew was easier to swallow than that line of thinking.


    Still, her words lingered, scratching at the back of my mind. She wasn¡¯t completely wrong¡ªthis school system was a mess. Constant budget cuts, an obsession with metrics over actual learning, and a bureaucracy that valued numbers more than meaning. It was frustrating, sure, but smashing phones wasn¡¯t exactly going to fix it.


    I shook my head and turned back to my notes. If nothing else, I could at least make sure my next lecture was worth listening to.


    Knock. Knock.


    The soft tapping at the door pulled my attention from the stack of papers already waiting to ruin my afternoon.


    Creak.


    ¡°Professor Cal?¡±


    I turned to see Michael standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching another stack of papers. Because, of course, what I needed right now was more paperwork.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I raised an eyebrow, already bracing myself.


    ¡°These¡­ uh, these are from Professor Green. He asked me to give them to you,¡± Michael said, holding out the pile.


    Michael. A good kid, but way too anxious for his own good.


    ¡°Just drop them here,¡± I said, pointing to my desk.


    He set them down, and I couldn¡¯t help but grimace. This wasn¡¯t paperwork¡ªit was a test of endurance. Sign here, read this, stamp that.


    As he turned to leave, I glanced up. ¡°By the way, since you¡¯re here, let me ask you something. You up for joining the quiz bee next week?¡± I asked, flipping through the first sheet in the pile without much enthusiasm.


    There was a pause. A long one. Yep, he was shocked.


    ¡°Uh¡­ quiz bee? I don¡¯t know, Professor,¡± he finally stammered. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d do well.¡±


    I smirked, leaning back in my chair. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll do well, all right. I¡¯ll be your tutor, and trust me, we¡¯re going to win.¡± I gave him a mock-serious pose, hands on my hips like I was announcing our victory before the competition even started.


    He blinked at me, clearly unsure if I was joking or not. ¡°Uh¡­ thank you, Professor. I¡­ I¡¯ll do my best!¡± he said while bowing.


    That startled me more than it should have. I reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, suppressing a laugh. ¡°Relax, Michael. Focus on learning¡ªI¡¯ve got your back.¡±


    He nodded, and as he walked out, I couldn¡¯t help but smile. It wasn¡¯t every day a student took me that seriously, and honestly, it wasn¡¯t the worst feeling.


    As the day ended and my role as a teacher wrapped up, I found myself slipping into a different role¡ªthat of a student in my own home. Teaching might''ve been my job, but learning never really stopped for me.


    I lived alone. My parents had died in a car accident years ago, and with no siblings to lean on, I¡¯d gotten used to the silence. It wasn¡¯t easy at first, but you learn to adjust.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    That said, I wasn¡¯t entirely without company. One of my neighbors, an older woman, had a habit of checking in on me. She¡¯d bring over food occasionally, insisting I share her cooking. Over time, she became something close to family.


    Not that I was completely dependent on her. I could cook for myself, and I made a point of avoiding the trap of convenience store meals or takeout whenever possible. But tonight? Tonight, I was just too damn tired to bother cooking.


    So, there I was, standing in the fluorescent glow of the local convenience store, plastic bag in hand and a wallet that felt a little lighter than it should.


    At least the store was close to home. My house sat snugly in the middle of a cluster of apartments and commercial buildings. The area was surprisingly peaceful despite its central location, something I was grateful for.


    "BRRROOOOM!"


    The sound snapped me out of my thoughts, my focus toward the road. What the heck?


    There, near the edge of the street, was a kid playing with a toy car, completely oblivious to anything around him. The orange glow of the sunset painted the scene in that almost surreal way, but all I could think was how unsettling it was to see a child playing alone in the street. If I were his parent, I¡¯d probably be having a heart attack by now.


    The kid couldn¡¯t have been more than six years old, happily making engine noises as he zoomed his little car around in the ground. I kept walking, my eyes darting between him and the road, just in case.


    Thankfully, before I could spiral into worst-case scenarios, I saw his mother sprinting toward him, her expression somewhere between panic and relief. Well, at least someone was paying attention now.


    "Legacy," I said, my voice steady but my thoughts already spiraling.


    "A lasting impact¡ªsomething an individual leaves behind, shaping people or events, long after they''re gone."


    Legacy. The word lingered in my mind like an itch I couldn¡¯t quite scratch. The truth was, all of us leave something behind when we die¡ªgood or bad. We might leave our family in shambles or give them a life they can thrive in. It¡¯s an unavoidable truth. And honestly? That thought terrified me. No, let¡¯s be real¡ªit''s my greatest fear. Will my life matter to these students? To anyone I cross paths with? Or will I just be another name lost in the blur of time?


    ¡°Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, William Shakespeare,¡± I continued, rattling off the names like a mantra. ¡°We know them. And even though they¡¯re long gone, we still remember. Why? Because they left something behind. A legacy that refuses to fade.¡±


    I paused, letting the words settle in the room before continuing, my tone sharpening.


    The room was quiet now, the kind of silence that hung heavy, like everyone was holding their breath.


    ¡°The clock is always ticking,¡± I said, my voice softer but no less firm. ¡°And when it runs out, all that¡¯s left behind is silence. The question is¡ªwhat are you going to do with the noise you have left? Because the people we remember¡ªthe ones who left legacies worth talking about¡ªthey didn¡¯t cling to permanence. They did what they loved, what they were great at. They pursued their passions, shouted their ideas to the world. And even now, even in death¡­ they¡¯re still alive, in a way.¡±


    ¡°You see history has a strange way of giving us second chances¡ªthough not always the way we expect.¡±


    I looked out at the class, their faces a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. I didn¡¯t expect answers. Just questions¡ªquestions they¡¯d need to ask themselves long after the lesson ended.


    Creak.


    Several hours after the discussion, I found myself back in the teacher''s lounge with a mug of coffee that was slightly better than lukewarm. Just barely.


    ¡°I heard your little speech earlier,¡± my co-teacher said, leaning against the counter. ¡°Honestly, I was kind of inspired.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s always good to hear,¡± I replied with a small smile, taking a sip of my coffee. It wasn¡¯t great, but caffeine is caffeine. ¡°How are your students doing?¡± I asked, steering the conversation away from myself.


    She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m trying to be patient with them, but it¡¯s hard. I¡¯m not as optimistic as you, Cal. But, you know¡­ I¡¯m trying.¡±


    "That''s a great start," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Just keep at it, be patient, and you''ll get there."


    I started toward the door, hoping to leave before the exhaustion in my voice gave me away.


    "Where are you going?" she asked, tilting her head.


    Luckily, the department head had cut me some slack with an early leave, granting me a sick day. I¡¯d managed to power through the lesson earlier, but my body wasn¡¯t too thrilled about it.


    "Sick leave," I replied, not breaking my stride.


    I felt like I had a hangover. Which was ridiculous, considering I hadn¡¯t touched a drop of alcohol. Maybe it was the lack of sleep¡ªor the stress that came with managing a room full of semi-conscious students. Either way, I wasn¡¯t at my best.


    Still, I figured I could walk it off. Fresh air, a slow pace¡ªit sounded like a decent plan at the time. But halfway through the trip home, I realized I¡¯d seriously underestimated how bad I felt.


    The world started to tilt. My vision blurred until I was seeing everything in double, and each step felt heavier than the last.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I muttered under my breath, trying to steady myself. My legs wobbled, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I might actually hit the ground.


    Even though I was still dizzy, I somehow managed to keep walking without face-planting. After a few minutes, the spinning stopped, and my vision cleared. The world finally looked normal again, not like some disorienting funhouse mirror.


    Then I noticed something strange.


    A handful of people were running¡ªsprinting, really¡ªtoward the direction of my house. Their faces were tense, filled with panic. Worry, maybe? It was hard to tell.


    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± I muttered to myself. Did I miss something? Or was this some weird hallucination brought on by how terrible I felt?


    "Call for help!"


    The voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. It wasn¡¯t the kind of shout you¡¯d hear during a prank or a neighborhood argument. The last time I¡¯d heard a voice like that, my parents were being dragged out of their car after the accident.


    I quickened my pace, my earlier exhaustion completely forgotten.


    "There''s a child inside!" someone yelled, louder this time, their voice tinged with desperation. I was close now, close enough to hear the chaos clearly and see the crowd gathering at the end of the road.


    "HELP!"


    The voice was small but piercing¡ªa child¡¯s cry, frantic and pleading. My chest tightened as I rounded the corner and saw it: an apartment near my house, the second floor engulfed in flames.


    Through the flickering blaze, a kid¡¯s face was visible in the window, his cries carrying over the crackling fire and the murmurs of the crowd. His voice was raw, a mix of sobbing and screaming.


    He was begging.


    And everyone just stood there.


    ¡°How did he even end up there? Where are his parents?¡± murmured someone in the crowd, their voice low and unsure. Around me, most people weren¡¯t even looking at the kid¡ªthey were busy pointing their phones at the fire, recording like it was some kind of show.


    Someone save him.


    Not me, though. I couldn¡¯t. My mind was running a million miles an hour, and none of those thoughts were coherent. Someone braver, someone smarter¡ªsomeone else¡ªneeded to step up.


    But nobody did.


    I looked around, hoping¡ªpraying¡ªthat someone would move. But no one did. Their fear mirrored my own, and it hit me like a slap to the face. If I didn¡¯t do something, nobody would. And if nobody did anything¡­ that kid was going to die.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    My hands balled into fists as I forced myself to move forward. This wasn¡¯t how my day was supposed to go. I¡¯d just finished work, already feeling like hell, and now I was walking toward a burning building.


    Fear gripped me, sharp and unrelenting, as if it had taken root deep within my chest. I couldn¡¯t help it¡ªmy thoughts had spiraled to that place again, to the accident. My parents. The memory loomed like a shadow I couldn¡¯t outrun, tightening its hold on me at the worst possible moment.


    Even so, my feet moved. The kid was there, vulnerable and unaware of the danger closing in. The fear didn¡¯t fade; it clung to me like a second skin. But beneath it, another force emerged¡ªsomething steadier, stronger. A quiet resolve.


    I didn¡¯t want to act. I didn¡¯t want to take that step forward. But I had to.


    I could feel the crowd¡¯s eyes on me as I stepped toward the door, their murmurs shifting into something like hope. The same people who wouldn¡¯t move a muscle suddenly looked at me like I was some kind of savior. Their gratitude made me feel sick. I wasn¡¯t some hero. I wasn¡¯t doing this out of courage. It just felt like there was no other choice.


    I felt like a lamb being sent to the slaughter.


    Thump. Thump. Thump.


    The sound of my heartbeat pounded in my ears as I opened the door.


    The fire hadn¡¯t fully taken over yet. Flames licked the walls, but the worst of it hadn¡¯t reached the ground floor. A staircase leading to the second floor was still visible through the thick haze of smoke. I didn¡¯t know how long that would last.


    The smoke hit me instantly, a suffocating blanket that clawed at my throat and lungs. I coughed, trying to steady myself as I looked up the stairs.


    Cough cough. My throat burned as I covered my nose and mouth, trying to keep the smoke from choking me out. The acrid smell clung to everything, and each breath felt like swallowing hot coals.


    Creak¡­ creak¡­


    The floorboards below me were groaning as they were about to give up and surrender to the fire. I had to move. Fast. I don¡¯t even remember how I got to the second floor so quickly¡ªit was all a blur of instinct and adrenaline. The kind that either keeps you alive or gets you killed.


    The kid was still alive¡ªbarely. He was huddled on the other side of the room, surrounded by flickering flames but not swallowed by them. He was crying, and just staring at the fire. And yeah, I recognized him.


    It was the same kid I¡¯d noticed playing alone with toy cars.


    I kept my composure, even as the flames crept closer, their heat pressing against my skin. My focus shifted to the boy¡ªcrying, panicked, and completely oblivious to the danger threatening to swallow us both. I needed to calm him down, to make him listen.


    But then the fire wasn¡¯t slowing down. It moved with a relentless speed, devouring everything. And time wasn¡¯t on my side. I couldn¡¯t afford to hesitate. Every second counted, and I had to act¡ªnow.


    ¡°HEY!¡± I yelled, waving one hand to get his attention while trying not to breathe in more smoke than necessary. ¡°Can you run over here?¡± I pointed to the clear path between us. The flames hadn¡¯t reached it yet, but they were creeping closer with every second.


    His wide, teary eyes locked onto me, and for a moment, I wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d move. But he didn''t.


    The kid didn¡¯t move. Great. That meant I had to, or the fire was going to kill us both.


    ¡°Alright, hold on,¡± I muttered, crouching down to his level and grabbing him before he could bolt¡ªor freeze up any more than he already had. He was lighter than I expected, which was good because the flames weren¡¯t waiting for me to catch my breath.


    ¡°Where¡¯s...Mo...mom?¡± he asked, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face.


    Oh, kid. That was the question, wasn¡¯t it? I had no idea where his mom was. Maybe she¡¯d made it out. Maybe she hadn¡¯t. Either way, it wasn¡¯t something I could deal with right now. He was my priority.


    ¡°Do you know where she is?¡± I asked, trying to sound calm despite the fact that we were literally in a burning building.


    He shook his head, sniffling. ¡°She.. said she...was going to...buy groceries.¡±


    Well, that explained a lot. ¡°Alright, then let¡¯s go,¡± I said, hefting him up and adjusting his weight as I started navigating through the smoke and flames.


    We were close. I could see the exit, taste the fresh air waiting just beyond the burning wreckage. Relief started to bubble up¡ªbut, the universe wasn¡¯t done messing with me yet.


    Out of nowhere, a chunk of burning wood came crashing down, hitting me square in the back. The force knocked me to my knees, and the heat scorched through my shirt like it was paper. Pain exploded down my spine, but I gritted my teeth and turned to the kid.


    ¡°You go,¡± I said, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. ¡°Get out of here.¡±


    The way he looked at me¡ªwide-eyed and terrified¡ªmade me want to say something reassuring. But I didn¡¯t have time for lies or heroics. All I could do was hope he¡¯d listen and run.


    The kid bolted toward the exit, still crying, and I could hear the noise outside¡ªcheers, clapping, shouting. Relief for him. But for me? I was still here, still stuck in this inferno.


    ¡°Argh!¡± I yelled, more out of frustration than anything else, though the pain in my legs was quickly catching up. The flames had gotten to them, burning through the fabric and skin like it was nothing. I shoved the fallen wood off me, but before I could even catch a breath, more debris rained down from above.


    This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. I saved the kid, didn¡¯t I? I got him out¡ªalive. That should¡¯ve been enough. But now, it felt like the fire had turned its attention on me.


    ¡°No... no,¡± I muttered, coughing hard as smoke poured into my lungs. Each breath felt heavier, slower, my body was shutting down piece by piece. I couldn¡¯t even shout for help. The words were there in my head, but my throat wouldn¡¯t cooperate.


    More wood collapsed, pinning me down like I was trash waiting to be burned. The pain was... indescribable. Heat seared through my legs, my arms, my back, and the smell of my own charred skin made my stomach twist. I could barely tell what was pain and what was numbness anymore.


    ¡°You go on... do what you love.¡±


    The words came from nowhere, faded but i can hear it. My father¡¯s voice, echoing in my head. I could almost hear the warmth in his tone, but it felt like a cruel joke now.


    ¡°Help me,¡± I whispered, the words rasping against my throat as I tried to fight off the panic. I can¡¯t die. Not here. Not like this.


    But even as I thought it, the truth gnawed at me. I did what I had to do, didn¡¯t I? I saved the kid. I lived my life¡ªor I tried to. But there was so much I didn¡¯t do. So much I held back. All the things I wanted, all the risks I didn¡¯t take, because I was too cautious. Too afraid of failing.


    I wanted to be brave, but now, lying here, trapped under burning debris, I realized... I was terrified.


    ¡°ARGH!¡± I screamed as fire caught in my hair, the heat blistering my scalp. I tried to move, but a sharp, jagged piece of metal had pierced through my leg.


    And the fire just kept closing in.


    Is this what my parents felt? Helpless, stuck in a moment where everything spiraled out of control, unable to stop it?


    I was alone. Completely. The cheers, the clapping, the shouting¡ªall of it had faded into nothingness. Silence wrapped around me, so thick it felt almost tangible. There was no light, no sound, nothing but pitch-black darkness pressing in from every side.


    For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn¡¯t feel pain. In fact, I didn¡¯t feel much of anything. My body... well, I couldn¡¯t even tell if I had one anymore. Weightless, detached¡ªlike I¡¯d somehow been erased from existence.


    Was this death?


    The question floated through my mind as I tried to make sense of the void around me. Was this the end? Had I been punished or rewarded? Or maybe neither?


    Then, faintly, I heard something. A sound that cut through the darkness like a single thread of light¡ªwheels, creaking and groaning as they turned. A cart? A carriage? I couldn¡¯t see it, but the rhythmic noise made my mind race.


    Before I could figure out what it meant, more sounds trickled in. The chirping of birds, the soft rustling of leaves, the gentle hum of wind weaving through trees. It all felt... real. Too real. But I still couldn¡¯t see anything.


    And then, out of nowhere, light.


    It wasn¡¯t blinding, but it was sudden enough to jolt me out of whatever fog I¡¯d been in. I blinked¡ªor at least, it felt like I did¡ªand the darkness gave way to a wooden ceiling swaying gently above me.


    A carriage. I was in a moving carriage.


    I''m confused. Wasn¡¯t I just... dying? On fire? My body was burning to ash, and now here I was, lying in some old-fashioned wagon like nothing had happened.


    As my thoughts spiraled, I glanced down¡ªand froze.


    Feet. Small, pudgy, impossibly tiny feet. I stared, trying to process what I was looking at, before moving one experimentally. The tiny foot rose, following my command, and I felt the faintest sense of resistance.


    They were mine.


    No. They couldn¡¯t be. These were baby feet. Actual baby feet.


    And yet, as I wiggled my toes just to be sure,


    the truth was that....


    They were literally.....mine.

 Chapter 2: Forged in Ashes

    Where was I?


    The first thing I noticed was my feet¡ªor rather, how small they were. That wasn¡¯t right. My body couldn¡¯t have shrunk just because I was burned¡­ could it? No, that didn¡¯t make sense. And this wasn¡¯t a dream¡ªI could feel everything too vividly for that.


    My gaze shifted to the other side of the carriage. Two women sat there, their voices low as they chatted about something I couldn¡¯t catch. Their attire¡ªclassic maid uniforms¡ªleft no room for doubt. Maids. But why were they here? And more importantly, why was I here?


    A sharp itch crawled across my skin, and no amount of shifting could make it stop. I could still feel it¡ªthe burn, the raw pain of fire at my body. Even now, long after the flames were gone, the sensation lingered, haunting me. It was as though my skin remembered what my body no longer bore.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the maids glancing at me, her brow furrowed as if I¡¯d done something strange. Had I been squirming too much? Or maybe scratching at myself?


    ¡°So, where are we leaving this child?¡±


    Damn. Leave? The way she said it wasn¡¯t casual. It wasn¡¯t vague. I replayed it in my mind to be sure. No, she was talking about me. They were talking about leaving me.


    I froze, my thoughts racing. This wasn¡¯t a misunderstanding. I could think clearly¡ªjust like my old self, only¡­ in a body that clearly wasn¡¯t mine. I glanced down at my hands again, small and chubby, unmistakably those of an infant. I lifted them, the sunlight from the window illuminating tiny fingers that didn¡¯t feel like they belonged to me. To the maids, it probably looked like I was reaching to be picked up. But to me, it was something else entirely.


    Reincarnation. That word slid uncomfortably into my thoughts.


    Was that what this was? A dream? No, it couldn¡¯t be.


    I wanted to believe it, to convince myself that all of this was nothing more than a cruel trick of my subconscious. Maybe I was lying in a hospital bed, caught in a coma, and my mind had conjured this bizarre reality to pass the time. But no matter how much I tried to rationalize it, every detail told me otherwise.


    The steady sway of the carriage beneath me, the faint creak of the wheels as they rolled over uneven terrain, the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest as I breathed¡ªit all felt too vivid. Too tangible.


    This wasn¡¯t a dream. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, steady and undeniable, a constant reminder that this was real. All of it.


    My chest tightened, but I forced myself to focus. No matter how strange this situation was, no matter how many questions I had, one thing stood out above the rest. What did the maid mean about abandoning a child in the forest?


    My jaw clenched. Are you out of your goddamn minds?


    "Maybe we can just leave him¡­ you know¡­ near a water source. For a higher chance of survival," one of the maids said, her voice disturbingly casual.


    Her words sank in slowly. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure I¡¯d heard her right, but the way she spoke¡­ there was no mistaking it. They were planning to abandon me. Outside. Alone. My thoughts scrambled for answers. What kind of world is this? What kind of society casually discards children in forests? This wasn¡¯t something I could explain away as normal.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The second maid, clearly less conflicted, shot her companion a sharp glare and gave her a quick tap on the shoulder. "Are you crazy? We follow orders. Leave him in the deep forest," she said, her tone firm, almost eager, as though there was nothing unusual about her words.


    "But¡ª"


    "There are no buts," the second maid said, her voice tight with fear. "You know what happens if we disobey the Duke¡¯s orders. Do you want to end up like the last housemaid? Or worse?"


    The other maid flinched, her hands trembling. "But leaving him in the deep forest¡­ it feels cruel. Even for him."


    "It''s not our place to question," she snapped, though her voice wavered. "The Duke''s word is law. If he says the child goes, then he goes."


    I glanced at my tiny hands again. Was there something about this body, something specific, that made it dangerous to keep me alive? No¡­ that didn¡¯t make sense. A baby couldn¡¯t do anything to warrant this. It seemed more likely that I¡ªor rather, this body¡ªwas caught up in some kind of family dispute. Maybe something political or deeply personal. Either way, it wasn¡¯t my choice, and now I was paying for it.


    I had died. That much was clear now. I¡¯d been burned alive saving a child. I could still feel the pain of the flames. And yet, here I was. Reincarnated. A second chance.


    It was overwhelming, almost too much to process. But even through the confusion, a flicker of something else stirred inside me. Excitement. The absurdity of it all didn¡¯t escape me¡ªbeing reborn into a new life was impossible by any logical standard. Yet here I was, living that impossibility.


    Creak.


    The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jolting me forward, for a moment, I thought I saw something move¡ªa flicker of white between the trees. But when I blinked, it was gone. But through the gap in the swaying curtain, I caught a glimpse of the coachman outside. His expression was shadowed by the angle of the light, but his words came through clearly enough.


    "Get out."


    There was no hesitation, just nervous glances from those three. One of the maids moved quickly, lifting me into her arms. My body betrayed me, unresponsive to even the smallest effort to resist. I could do nothing¡ªno punches, no struggling. I was utterly helpless.


    As she stepped out, the sudden burst of sunlight blinded me momentarily. When my eyes adjusted, I took in my surroundings. Trees loomed overhead, their trunks dark and ancient, their leaves tinged with shades of green I wasn¡¯t used to seeing. It wasn¡¯t just a forest¡ªit was the kind of place where light struggled to break through, where silence pressed in so thickly it became oppressive.


    This was no ordinary forest. It was isolated, eerily quiet, and unmistakably hostile. No one would stumble across me here. Survival seemed like an impossible dream. The odds, if I even had any, were stacked entirely against me.


    The maid, the one who¡¯d been holding me, bent down and gently set me on a patch of soft moss beneath one of the larger trees.


    Her hands lingered on the blanket she¡¯d tucked around me, as if reluctant to let go. "You didn¡¯t deserve this¡­ none of this is your fault."


    She glanced back at the carriage, her breath hitching. "If things were different¡­ if I were braver..." Her words broke off, and she wiped her face roughly. "I''m sorry," she said again, softer this time, before turning and walking away.


    I met her gaze, and in that moment, I saw the tears welling in her eyes. She didn¡¯t see a baby¡ªshe saw a life she was about to throw away, a life she couldn¡¯t save.


    And she wasn¡¯t wrong. Left here, I had no chance. I wasn¡¯t equipped to survive this. My infant body was weak, and this forest wasn¡¯t the kind of place that forgave weakness. Still, as the thoughts churned in my mind, I felt a flicker of defiance.


    I couldn¡¯t die here. I wouldn¡¯t. There had to be a way¡ªa plan, a method, something I could use to survive. I didn¡¯t know what yet, but I refused to not think of anything just to survive.


    From where I lay, I could see the carriage pulling away, the coachman¡¯s cold profile framed by the shifting curtains. It was the last human face I¡¯d see for a while, though calling it comforting would be a stretch.


    But just before they left, I heard it¡ªa scream.


    It wasn¡¯t the kind of cry you could mistake for anything else. It was raw, desperate, the sound of someone meeting a violent end. My mind wanted to deny it, to rationalize it away. Maybe it wasn¡¯t murder. Maybe it was something else. But no, the truth was clear in the pitch of those voices. Those two maids¡­ they were gone.


    Hours passed.


    Despite my resolve, despite all the years of experience from my previous life, my current reality was crushing. The helplessness of this infant body consumed me. Eventually, instinct took over. I cried.


    Yes, me. Crying. Loud, relentless wails that echoed through the forest. I knew it was a mistake even as I did it, but my body didn¡¯t care. Hunger, frustration, fear¡ªit all came pouring out in a flood of noise. It didn¡¯t stop. I couldn¡¯t stop.


    And then¡­ something moved.


    The ground beneath me seemed to rumble faintly as a massive figure emerged from the darkness of the forest. My cries ceased instantly, the sound strangled in my throat. My first thought was animal, but that word didn¡¯t fit. This wasn¡¯t just some creature. It was something far beyond that.


    A giant lion. Its fur was pure white, almost radiant, with three glowing tails that whipped through the air behind it. Its eyes, sharp and predatory and... There''s something more to it, but then it was locked onto me.


    A beast. A monster. Or perhaps¡­ something else entirely.


    Whatever it was, it was here for me.

 Chapter 3: The Ember鈥檚 Guardian

    Shooing it away was the first thought that came to mind, but with this infant body, that was nothing more than a fantasy. I couldn¡¯t even lift my arms properly, let alone fend off a creature like this. And now, it was sniffing me, its massive nose hovering uncomfortably close to my face.


    What is this thing? The question kept repeating in my mind, nagging at me as I took in its sheer size and unnatural appearance. Its glowing tails, the way its fur shimmered in the faint light¡ªthis wasn¡¯t an ordinary animal. Nothing about it was.


    "Grufffh."


    It growled, low and deep, but not the kind of growl that sent your instincts into panic mode. No, this was¡­ different. Calm, almost. Gentle, even.


    The beast continued sniffing me, its massive head moving closer with every moment. I tensed, bracing myself for an attack. I could do nothing to stop it¡ªmy body was too small, too fragile¡ªbut I wasn¡¯t about to let my mind crumble under the weight of helplessness.


    And then, it did something I never expected.


    The beast lowered itself down, its massive form curling beside me. Its body was close, far too close, as if it meant to shield me.


    It wasn¡¯t aggression. It wasn¡¯t hunger.


    It was protection.


    Does it think I¡¯m its cub? The thought struck me with equal parts confusion and relief. Whatever it believed, it had decided to stay with me that night.


    For several moments¡ªminutes, maybe even hours¡ªthe beast stayed by my side. Its massive body shielded me from the biting cold, even though I was already wrapped in a blanket. Every time a sound echoed from the shadows¡ªwhether it was the rustle of leaves or the distant growl of another animal¡ªthe lion would react immediately. Its ears would twitch, its head snapping toward the source of the noise, followed by a low, warning growl.


    It was protecting me. That much was clear.


    When the danger seemed to pass, the lion would nuzzle against me, its enormous head brushing lightly against my small frame. I wasn¡¯t sure why, but I didn¡¯t cry. This body, this infantile form, stayed quiet, as though instinctively reassured by the beast¡¯s presence. Relief washed over me, unfamiliar but welcome.


    The night passed.


    When the first light of dawn filtered through the dense canopy above, I was stunned to find the lion still by my side. It hadn¡¯t left¡ªnot even once. But that wasn¡¯t what shocked me the most.


    At some point during the night, it had brought me food. Somehow, it knew exactly what I needed¡ªsoft, easily digestible fruits and roots. Things even a baby could handle. When I ate and eventually cried, it stayed close, almost like it understood. And each time I quieted, I could feel its presence beside me, steady and unshakable.


    But that wasn¡¯t all.


    As the day unfolded, more creatures began to appear. At first, I thought they were here to hunt me, or maybe even the lion. But no¡­ they weren¡¯t hostile. They didn¡¯t act like predators at all.


    A deer with shimmering, violet-colored fur brought another bundle of strange fruit, its coat glowing faintly in the dim light. A pack of wolves¡ªsleek and graceful, their eyes sharp and calculating¡ªcircled the area, standing watch. Like the lion, they weren¡¯t here to harm me. They were guarding me.


    It was surreal. Unreal. Yet, it was happening right in front of me. These creatures, these beasts¡­ they weren¡¯t just protecting me¡ªthey were providing for me.


    And I had no idea why.


    As the days went by, I found myself surviving in this forest against all odds. It wasn¡¯t my doing¡ªI owed it entirely to these creatures. They protected me, provided me with food, and somehow ensured my survival. It felt deliberate, almost ritualistic, like they were carrying out a duty rather than acting on instinct. I couldn¡¯t understand why they treated me this way, but the unspoken bond between us was undeniable.


    But this fourth night was undeniably different. The shift in their behavior was obvious. The beasts, usually calm and composed, were restless. Their movements were sharper, more deliberate. None of them laid down to rest as they had in the past. Instead, they stayed alert, their eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting something.


    Some of them even left. Without a sound, they vanished into the darkness, leaving behind an air of tension. Whatever was happening, it wasn¡¯t good. They knew it, and I could feel it too.


    Their unease bled into me, keeping my thoughts spinning long after the forest grew quiet. I couldn¡¯t sleep, not with my mind racing like this. Even though this body was small and fragile, my brain refused to let me rest.


    Is it normal for a baby to overthink this much? The thought crossed my mind, absurd enough that I almost laughed, but the seriousness of the situation quickly brought me back.


    At some point, they began to line up¡ªthe creatures. It was strange, almost ritualistic, and I had no idea what was happening. But I could feel it in the air, a shift that made my skin prickle. The atmosphere grew heavier, charged with something I couldn¡¯t name.


    Then, in the distance, a light appeared. No, not just one. It was a series of lights, moving in a deliberate, almost rhythmic pattern. They weren¡¯t random; they followed a path, like a procession. There were so many of them¡ªfar more than I could count.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Eeeh,¡± I managed to let out a small sound, my infant voice betraying the mix of curiosity and unease churning inside me. I couldn¡¯t tear my gaze away as the lights approached, their slow, deliberate movement captivating in a way that made my breath catch.


    The beasts shifted. For a brief moment, they glanced at me, as though silently checking my reaction. Then, one by one, they turned their heads back toward the lights and began to lower themselves. Slowly, almost reverently, they bowed as the lights drew closer.


    As they drew closer, I saw them clearly. They weren¡¯t just lights. They were figures¡ªhumanoid, but not entirely human. There were six of them, each radiating an ethereal glow that illuminated the dark forest. Their bodies were adorned with intricate, shimmering patterns that seemed to ripple like living tattoos.


    Their skin was a pale, almost luminous green, and their features resembled humans¡ªhair, eyes, noses¡ªall familiar, yet undeniably alien. These weren¡¯t creatures of myth or ancient history, but something else entirely. Something otherworldly.


    I stared, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Every detail seemed to confirm a growing suspicion, one I had been trying to dismiss as impossible. This wasn¡¯t the past, nor was it a far-off corner of my own world. No, this was something else¡ªa world pulled straight out of the kind of fantasy stories I used to read and watch. Magic. Monsters. It was the only explanation that made sense, as absurd as it sounded.


    My breathing quickened as the realization sank in. I was in a world of magic, of myths made real. My thoughts raced with possibilities¡ªquestions I had no answers to¡ªbut they all scattered the moment one of them spoke.


    "Zhorak''tha vek nah thu lorash?"


    The words were incomprehensible, spoken in a melodic but unfamiliar language. The figure that had spoken reached out, placing a hand on the head of the massive beast beside me, as if calming it.


    The beast nodded slowly, as if it understood the words spoken to it. The gesture felt deliberate, almost unsettling in its intelligence.


    I couldn¡¯t help but stare, my attention locked on the strange interaction. The glowing figure, its voice still echoing faintly in my ears, turned toward me. With slow, purposeful steps, it approached, its eyes fixed on mine.


    When it finally crouched down, bringing its face closer to me, I got a much clearer look. My earlier assumption had been correct¡ªthey looked human, but with distinct differences. Their skin, pale green and luminous, shimmered faintly under the dark canopy of trees, and the light patterns etched across their bodies seemed alive, shifting with an almost hypnotic rhythm.


    It spoke again, its voice calm yet firm. "Zhal vekthar vek."


    Zhal... what? The words were foreign, indecipherable, and left me grasping for any semblance of meaning.


    Before I could dwell on it further, something unexpected happened. My body¡ªthis tiny, infant body¡ªmoved on its own. My small hand raised itself, as if instinctively reaching out to the figure.


    I expected hesitation, perhaps confusion, but instead, the figure responded almost immediately. It extended a hand, its fingers long and thin, and allowed me to grasp one. My tiny hand wrapped around its finger with surprising ease.


    The contact was brief, but something about it felt¡­ significant. I couldn¡¯t quite place why, but in that moment, it felt as though an unspoken understanding passed between us.


    He looked me directly in the eyes, his gaze sharp yet calm, like he was trying to convey something without words. I couldn¡¯t explain why, but it felt like a message¡ªone I couldn¡¯t quite decipher. His eyes lingered for a moment longer, then, without warning, he bent down and lifted me off the ground with a careful, deliberate motion.


    Hey. What are you doing? Don¡¯t eat me.


    That thought screamed in my head, my instincts racing ahead of my rationality. I couldn¡¯t resist, couldn¡¯t stop him, but panic gave way to something else when I realized he wasn¡¯t being rough or careless.


    "Lohar thu vek thal¡¯ra," he said, his voice low but commanding, before turning to his companions.


    I had no idea what those words meant, but his tone wasn¡¯t threatening. It didn¡¯t feel like I was being kidnapped¡ªif anything, it felt more like I was being saved.


    As they began walking, the creatures I¡¯d come to know¡ªthe beasts that had protected me these past days¡ªstarted howling. It wasn¡¯t an aggressive sound. It was mournful, almost like a farewell. Slowly, they retreated into the forest, their massive forms disappearing into the shadows one by one.


    "Vrak nor, oh Losh, thrak¡¯u veshal norath thi," one of the glowing figures said, bowing slightly toward the beasts and the forest around us. It was reverent, almost ritualistic, as if they were acknowledging the creatures and the land itself.


    Their language was driving me insane. I couldn¡¯t make sense of a single word, and the more they spoke, the more alien it felt. I had no way of knowing what they were saying or where they were taking me, but one thing was clear: I was going with them¡ªwhether I liked it or not.


    "Son."


    "Son."


    "Cal."


    "Help us!"


    "Help your father and mother. We are dying."


    "Please!"


    It was their voices¡ªmy parents. I could hear them, clear as day. My chest tightened, hope and dread clashing inside me. They were alive¡ªthey had to be. But their cries for help were desperate, pleading. I couldn¡¯t hesitate. I had to find them.


    "Mother! Father!" I shouted, my voice trembling.


    I moved forward, my steps quickening as I followed the sound. The voices grew louder, pulling me onward. My heart pounded as I searched, my eyes darting to every shadow, every corner, hoping¡ªno, needing¡ªto see them.


    But then, the voices faded. And on the road ahead, I saw it: a car, crumpled and twisted from a crash. Inside were two figures, slumped and unmoving.


    This scene.


    I knew it.


    "No... No... NO!"


    It was them. My parents. Trapped in the wreckage, their lives slipping away.


    I froze, my breath caught in my throat as the memory surged forward. This wasn¡¯t real¡ªit couldn¡¯t be real. But it felt so vivid, so raw, like I was reliving the worst moment of my life.


    "Father! Mother!" I screamed, desperation tearing through me. I had to save them. I had to do something. Anything.


    But no matter how hard I tried to move, to reach them, my body felt like lead. And as the reality of the scene bore down on me, I was helpless to stop the flood of emotion that followed.


    "Waaah!"


    I jolted awake, startled by the sound of my own cry. My small hands were raised instinctively, trembling as I continued to wail. The remnants of the dream clung to me, vivid and suffocating, refusing to fade even as I blinked myself fully awake.


    When my eyes adjusted, I realized I was lying on something soft¡ªa makeshift bed of leaves and grass. It felt surprisingly comfortable, though its natural texture was foreign to me. Around me, the space was enclosed by a structure that resembled an igloo, but made of cemented stone.


    Where am I?


    The question lingered in my mind as I took in my surroundings. It wasn¡¯t a threatening place, but it was far from familiar. Could this be where those glowing individuals lived? It seemed possible.


    But even as I tried to piece together my situation, my thoughts kept returning to the nightmare. The images were too clear, too raw¡ªthe voices of my parents, the crash, their cries for help.


    I couldn¡¯t shake it. The haunting feeling wrapped around me, dragging me down into an unsettling silence despite my tears.


    The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. At first, I thought it was the one who had saved me earlier, but a closer look proved me wrong. This one had a scar across the bridge of his nose¡ªa detail the other hadn¡¯t had. Still, the resemblance was striking enough to make me wonder if they were related.


    He approached me without hesitation. His clothing was simple¡ªa sleeveless top that clung to his form and plain pants that looked sturdy but unadorned. There was nothing elaborate about his appearance, but his presence felt deliberate, almost commanding.


    Without a word, he crouched beside me and gently patted my head.


    "Zhal norith lio," he said softly, his tone calm and measured.


    Ah, shit. Here we go again.


    The language was still incomprehensible, but his actions weren¡¯t threatening. If anything, they were oddly comforting, like he was treating me as his own child. He continued patting my head, his hand warm and firm, before he suddenly stopped and turned toward the door as it opened again.


    "Lohar thu vek¡¯ra shal norath thi," another voice spoke from the entrance.


    I turned to look, and my breath caught.


    The man standing there was different. Completely different. He wasn¡¯t like the others, with their pale green skin and glowing patterns etched into their bodies. This one had skin that was light tan, almost like a human¡¯s¡ªor rather, exactly like a human¡¯s.


    No shimmering lines, no ethereal glow. His features were sharp but familiar, far more grounded compared to the otherworldly beings I¡¯d seen so far.


    He walked toward us, his steps steady and unhurried, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had dark brown hair, thick brows, and striking green eyes that stood out against his tan complexion. He was tall, with a confident bearing, and his clothes were simple yet identical in style to the ones worn by the figure beside me.


    "Quite a loud cry, you little one," he said, his tone light but steady.


    I froze, my mind processing his words. That¡­ I can understand that.


    It was clear now¡ªhe wasn¡¯t like the others I¡¯d encountered so far. This man was human, or at least close enough to feel familiar. His words, his voice, even the way he moved felt grounded in a way the glowing, pale-green beings didn¡¯t.


    I stared at him, my gaze fixed as I tried to make sense of the situation. Why was he here, and why could I understand him? My curiosity must have been obvious because his eyes flickered down to meet mine, amusement briefly lighting up his expression.


    I knew I looked strange, staring at him with such intensity, but I couldn¡¯t help it. Babies were supposed to be curious, right? If anything, I was playing my part perfectly. But hearing another human language¡ªsomething so normal, so connected to my past life¡ªleft me more stunned than I cared to admit.