The Next Day,
Mark, now known as David, woke up. The first thing that greeted him was the warm glow of sunlight filtering through the open wooden windows of the small house. The scent of damp earth and freshly cut wood filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of something cooking nearby.
He blinked slowly, his body feeling oddly foreign as he tried to move his limbs. There was an unfamiliar weight to them, a softness and weakness that didn't match the memory of his past life. He raised his hands to his face, and a wave of memories crashed into him like a tidal wave—his death, the agonizing pain, the bitter regret.
And then, rebirth.
He exhaled shakily, staring at the tiny, chubby fingers that now belonged to him. No longer was he a grown man. No longer was he the person he once knew. He had been reincarnated, thrust into a new existence with no explanation and no warning.
David had heard of stories like this in books and movies—where people were reborn into another world, often filled with magic, adventure, and boundless possibilities. But the more he observed, the more he realized that this world was not the fantasy of a hero's journey.
This was a world of oppression.
The dragonkins patrolled the streets like warlords, their overwhelming presence suffocating the air with an unshakable authority. They were the rulers, the ones in power, and humans—humans were nothing more than dirt beneath their clawed feet.
David had watched closely, even as a baby. He had seen the way humans carried themselves—shoulders hunched, gazes lowered, voices barely above whispers. He had seen how the dragonkins dominated the streets, their eyes gleaming with casual cruelty.
But nothing prepared him for the moment he first saw the abuse with his own eyes.
---
Liana, his new mother, had placed him near the wooden window, nestled in a makeshift cradle like she always did. The shutters were slightly cracked, allowing him a clear view of the world beyond their small home.
It was late in the afternoon, and the once-bustling market had quieted, leaving behind an eerie stillness. The dirt roads bore the remnants of the morning's activities—discarded vegetable peels, muddy footprints, and the scent of sweat from overworked laborers.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed in the distance—armored, deliberate, imposing.
Two dragonkin strolled down the street, their hulking forms casting long shadows as the sunlight waned. Their features were grotesque hybrids of human and dragon—thick, clawed hands, jagged scales climbing up their muscular necks, and glowing reptilian eyes filled with cruel amusement.
David's small fingers curled into a fist. Even as an infant, he could sense the sheer arrogance that radiated from them.
His gaze followed their movements as they stopped near an old man kneeling outside his home. The man's clothes were ragged, his frail body trembling as he struggled to lift a sack of grain. He had likely purchased it earlier, spending whatever little he had to feed himself and his family.
One of the dragonkin, a broad-shouldered brute with dark crimson scales and twisted horns, sneered down at him.
"You seem to have plenty," he said, his deep voice laced with mockery. "Perhaps you should share with your betters."
The old man flinched but clutched the sack tightly. "P-please, I need this. My grandson—he is sick. I have nothing else."
The second dragonkin, leaner but no less menacing, let out a low chuckle. "Nothing else? Then you should be grateful we leave you with your life."
Without waiting for an answer, he lashed out. His clawed hand struck the old man's chest, sending him sprawling onto the dirt road. The sack of grain tore open, spilling its precious contents onto the ground.
David's tiny body tensed. A cold rage simmered beneath the surface of his helplessness.
The old man coughed, struggling to push himself up. "Please…" he rasped.
The dragonkin was not done. The horned one reached down and seized the wooden window frame of the old man's home, testing its strength. The home was in poor condition—like many human dwellings, it was barely maintained, the wood brittle from years of neglect and with his supernatural strength.
"This thing still standing?" the dragonkin scoffed. "Humans shouldn't have homes. Maybe if we take it apart, you'll remember your place."
With a sickening crack, he tore the window free from its frame. The old man let out a choked gasp, but he did not fight. He did not beg. He simply knelt there, shoulders shaking, as the dragonkin tossed the wooden frame aside like discarded trash.
David could barely comprehend the sheer injustice of what he was witnessing. His mind, though young, burned with fury.
He wanted to move. He wanted to stand. He wanted to fight.
But he couldn't.
His tiny body was weak, useless. No matter how much rage boiled within him, he was still a baby—a powerless infant in a world that crushed the weak beneath its feet.
The dragonkin sneered down at their victim one last time before turning away, laughing amongst themselves as they walked off, leaving destruction in their wake.
The old man stayed where he was, shoulders slumped, hands shaking as he reached toward the scattered grain, trying to salvage what little he could.
David's breath hitched.
For the first time since he had awakened in this new life, true despair settled in.
This was not a world where justice prevailed.
This was a world ruled by strength.
And right now, he had none.
---
Later that night, as darkness blanketed the small wooden house, David lay awake, his infant mind racing.
He had always thought that being reincarnated into another world would mean a second chance—a new adventure filled with opportunities. But this? This was a nightmare.
Liana's soft humming filled the room as she rocked back and forth in a wooden chair, knitting something by the dim glow of an oil lamp. She hadn't seen what happened that afternoon, but she had felt the shift in the air. The fear. The helplessness. It was something every human in the city lived with.
David studied her from his cradle. She was a young woman, barely in her twenties, with weary eyes that carried years of hardship. Yet, despite the world they lived in, she still smiled. She still hummed lullabies.
She still had hope.
David clenched his tiny fists.
He couldn't accept this.
If this world only respected strength, then he would become strong. Stronger than the dragonkin and their rulers the dragons. Stronger than anyone who sought to keep humans in chains.
It would take years—perhaps decades. But he had been given a second life, and he refused to waste it.
He had died once before.
This time, he would live, survive and thrive in this new world.