The temple stood silent, bathed in the glow of flickering candles and the pale shafts of morning light streaming through high stained-glass windows. Rest's mother clutched him tightly, her trembling hands betraying the steady determination in her whispered prayer.

"Please, Goddess," she murmured, her voice cracking. "Let this child have no magic… none at all."

Rest, an infant nestled in her arms, blinked up at her in silent wonder. Though his body was small, his mind was anything but. This was not his first life. He remembered another world, another mother, another life that ended too soon and too cruelly. Now, here he was, reborn into a world of magic, gods, and nobles. His small heart ached for her, for the fear in her voice as she stood before the great stone statue of the winged goddess.

The cavernous hall was oppressive, the weight of unspoken judgment pressing down from the carved ceiling above. A wide crimson carpet led to the altar, where the statue loomed, serene yet imposing. His mother's grip tightened as the priest approached.

"Madam," the priest said softly, his hands outstretched. "Please, allow me to take the child."

She hesitated, clutching Rest even closer. "You'll be gentle?"

"Of course," the priest assured her with a faint smile. "The goddess is watching over us."

Reluctantly, she placed Rest into his waiting arms. The priest cradled him carefully and stepped toward the altar. His mother's hands clasped together as she knelt, her lips moving silently in prayer.

From the shadows near the temple entrance, a man scoffed audibly. "Get on with it already. I've no time to waste on this nonsense."

Rest turned his head slightly, curious despite himself. The man was dressed sharply, his hair slicked back and his face set in a permanent sneer. He exuded an air of entitlement, from the calculated elegance of his attire to the impatient tap of his polished boots. This, Rest knew instinctively, was his father.

Not that he had ever met the man before today.

His mother, once a maid in the nobleman's household, had been cast aside after his conception—a scandal and inconvenience swept under the rug. Rest's father had ignored them both for a year until this unexpected summons to the temple. The reason? To determine if Rest had inherited his father's magical lineage. A commoner-born illegitimate son with power might have some use. Without it? They would be discarded entirely.

The priest held Rest aloft and began his chant, a low murmur that resonated through the hall. The statue of the goddess seemed to shimmer faintly, her carved wings glowing with ethereal light. Rest could feel the magic swirling around him, a probing force that sought to reveal his potential.

His mother knelt motionless, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. "Please, Goddess," she whispered. "Let him be powerless."

Rest watched her with wide eyes, his infant mind racing. Why would she wish for that? In a world where power means everything, why would she want me to have none?

But even as the thought crossed his mind, the answer became clear. Power was a leash, a chain that would bind him to the man who now stood impatiently nearby. His mother was not praying for his failure—she was praying for his freedom.

With a deliberate effort, Rest suppressed the wellspring of energy surging within him. He had known instinctively since his first breath that he was powerful, impossibly so. But for her sake, he pushed it down, hiding it as deeply as he could.

The priest's chant ended, and the glowing light around Rest faded. The priest studied him carefully before nodding to himself, his expression calm and kind. "It is as the goddess wills," he said solemnly. "This child has no magic."

"No magic?" Rest's father spat the words, his face darkening. "Are you certain?"

"I swear by the goddess," the priest replied firmly. "The child is powerless."

For a moment, Rest's father glared at the priest, as though searching for deception. Then, with a derisive snort, he turned his gaze to the child and the woman who had brought him into the world.

"Worthless," he said coldly. "If he'd shown promise, I might have brought him into the house. But a child with no magic? Useless. You can keep him."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small cloth pouch, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. The clink of coins echoed in the quiet hall.

"Take that and be grateful. You'll receive nothing more from me, and I don't want to see either of you again." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode out of the temple, his footsteps ringing sharply against the stone.

The silence that followed was heavy. Rest's mother rose slowly, cradling him close once more. She pressed her face into his tiny shoulder, her body trembling with relief and gratitude.

"Thank you, Goddess," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you…"

The priest offered a gentle blessing, but Rest barely heard him. He released the magical restraint he had held so tightly, allowing the power within him to ripple through his small body like a hidden storm.

This was the right thing to do, he thought, his infant heart steady. He would have taken me away from her, and I would never have been happy with a man like that.

In the warmth of her embrace, he closed his eyes. For the first time in two lifetimes, he felt something close to peace.