Richard's descent felt endless, his consciousness enveloped by a thunderous sound that grew louder with each heartbeat. Then, like lightning tearing through storm clouds, an otherworldly light pulled him upward, flooding him with warmth and peace. Suspended in the glow, he felt his grief, fear, and anger melt away, leaving only a profound calm. Sarah's face flickered before him—her smile, her laugh. The memories were no longer painful, only bittersweet and bathed in soft light. For the first time since Sarah's death, Richard felt whole, unburdened by illness, past traumas, or failures.
In that weightless space, he surrendered, believing he was finally free to join Sarah. She would be there, waiting, and he'd finally tell her everything. But just as he prepared to let go, something shifted, tugging him downward and out of that radiant serenity. A rough jolt ripped him from the light, thrusting him back into a body that felt impossibly fragile, weak, and suffocatingly small. The world around him was loud and chaotic; he felt hands on his body and heard jubilant shouts. He couldn't make sense of the language, a jumble of unfamiliar sounds clashing around him.
Richard blinked through blurred vision, and the world slowly came into focus. He was in a cramped, dimly lit room with rough, unpolished walls. The air carried a smoky, earthy scent. A woman held him firmly yet tenderly—her skin wrinkled, her gray hair tied back, and her eyes sharp with purpose. Her voice was triumphant as she looked down at him.
"He's alive! I did it! I managed to save your boy's life!"
Relieved voices echoed around him. Richard turned his gaze to the people surrounding him: a tall, rough-built man with teary eyes, a pale woman with disheveled silver hair weeping openly, and a young girl with wide eyes, staring at him in awe. He realized, with uneasy shock, that these people were likely his new family.
Richard's mind spun, desperate to make sense of this reality. He was supposed to be with Sarah, his suffering ended, not trapped in a child's frail, foreign body. His small, underdeveloped heart ached in unexpected ways. It was like being robbed of his final chance to reunite with her. This wasn't the peaceful oblivion he had sought. He wasn't sure if it was hell, but he knew it was a trap he couldn't escape.
"Nanima, what's wrong with the baby? Why isn't he moving?" his mother's voice trembled.
The older woman, Nanima, unwrapped him from the cloth he was bundled in, observing him critically. Her hands were careful yet firm as she gave him a quick, light slap on the butt, urging him to respond. The slap sent an odd jolt through his tiny body, and he couldn't help but let out a small giggle, tinged with disbelief. Everything was overwhelming; his senses felt new and sharpened yet muffled by the strange sounds and smells around him.
Nanima laughed, her earlier worry dissipating. "Well, this wasn't exactly what I expected, but as you can hear for yourself, this little imp is breathing just fine."
Nanima handed him back to his mother, who clutched him close with a reverence that unsettled him. She didn't know who he was—couldn't possibly know the tortured soul within this newborn body. To her, he was her son, her miracle. Her relief brought her to tears, each sob resonating in her chest against his tiny form.
Then, Nanima slipped a ring off her finger, her expression turning solemn as she held up a dull, lifeless stone.
"Your son just devoured all the magic from my light stone," she said with reluctant admiration. "He's been blessed by the goddess of light. Since you're not mages, you couldn't have known he was born awakened. But his frail body lacked the Magic Element he needed to survive. Now that he's received it, he'll be alright. In four years, bring him to me. I'll make him my apprentice and train him as a healer. This blessing could be turned into something great."
His mother gazed at Nanima, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Are you sure, Nanima? Are you certain he'll be alright now? There won't be any complications?"
Nanima's eyes softened. "He'll be fine. I guarantee it." Her tone grew slightly bitter, though she managed a small smile. "That high-grade magic stone cost me nearly a thousand gold coins. Do you think your whole family could pay that in a lifetime? No. This boy will repay it himself when he grows up." She chuckled, a tinge of resentment in her laugh. The cost of her stone seemed to weigh on her, but there was a trace of admiration as she gazed at him.
His father, looking guilty, reached into his pocket and produced a few small coins. The cost humbled the whole family; their joy was tinged with the weight of a debt they could never repay. But Nanima waved them off with a dismissive gesture.
"Four copper coins for today's fee," she said lightly; as if accustomed to charging far less than she was owed. "Go home and rest. You've all been through enough tonight."
Richard's mother thanked her again, her eyes full of gratitude and relief as she gathered him up and cradled him close. Her touch was tender, soothing, and he could feel the tremble of her hands. His father put an arm around her, murmuring a soft reassurance.
As they prepared to leave, Richard's body fell into a weary sleep, exhausted by the intensity of his strange rebirth. Helpless, he was cradled in the arms of a woman who loved him yet couldn't understand the despair coursing through him. He hadn't wanted this. He'd given up everything for Sarah, for peace, only to be thrust into a bewildering existence, burdened with new expectations and a future he hadn't asked for.
His last thought, as he drifted off, was the agonizing truth: he was further from Sarah than ever, bound to a life he neither desired nor chose.