A flash of pain—searing, overwhelming, final.
Lloyd's last memory on Earth was one of futility. The screeching of tires, the crash that tore through his body, and the cold realization that his life was ending far too soon. He didn't even have time to process the unfairness of it all before the world around him vanished into blackness.
Yet, instead of the endless void he expected, awareness returned. His senses flooded with overwhelming new sensations: warmth surrounding him, muffled voices echoing, and the strange pressure of being held in unfamiliar arms. He couldn't open his eyes or move his body, and every attempt to scream came out as a high-pitched wail.
He wasn't Lloyd anymore.
The revelation came quickly, like a splash of cold water. The faint hum of magic in the air—an instinct he didn't know he had until this moment—made it abundantly clear. He wasn't on Earth anymore.
Time blurred as he was carried through what must have been a modest home, judging by the sound of creaking wooden floors and the faint smell of damp stone.
"Is it really necessary to bring him to the priest so soon?" a sharp voice cut through the fog. The tone was high and impatient, unmistakably belonging to a woman.
"And what would you suggest, Alora? Wait until he's older and let rumors fester?" A man's voice answered, lower and gruff, carrying the tone of someone resigned to their fate. "You've heard the whispers. We have to know if he's worth anything."
"He looks weak," the woman snapped, her words laced with disgust.
Lloyd didn't need his old memories to understand that this was a bad sign. He was being judged before he'd even lived a day in this new world.
The journey didn't take long. He was soon in another set of arms, rougher but no less careful. He was passed like a parcel into the hands of someone who smelled of incense and aged parchment. Slowly, he dared to crack open his eyes, the dim lighting making it possible to see.
The man holding him was old, with a face lined by decades of worry and wisdom. His robes were plain, marked with simple runes that Lloyd instinctively knew carried some kind of power.
"Let us begin," the priest muttered, his voice soft yet commanding.
Lloyd was placed onto a stone table, cold against his tiny body. Despite his infant state, he was fully aware—cursed with a sharp mind in a helpless form. He watched as the priest began chanting, his hands glowing faintly as he passed them over Lloyd's small frame.
This must be a test of some sort. A magical aptitude test, perhaps? His heart—or rather, his tiny new heart—raced with anticipation. If this was a new world, a second chance, surely he'd been given something extraordinary.
The priest frowned.
He repeated the chant, his brows furrowing deeper with every pass of his glowing hands.
Lloyd began to worry.
"Anything?" the man from earlier asked, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration.
The priest stepped back, shaking his head. "Nothing. The child has no mana, no physical aptitude, and no divine blessing. He is... ordinary."
A cold silence followed those words, heavier than anything Lloyd had felt before.
The woman, Alora, sneered audibly. "A waste," she spat, crossing her arms and turning her back.
The man—her husband, presumably—let out a long sigh. "It's not uncommon for bastards to be born without gifts," he muttered, rubbing his temples.
"That doesn't make it any less shameful," Alora snapped. "We're barely clinging to relevance as it is, and now we have a useless child dragging us down?"
Lloyd couldn't cry. Not because he didn't want to, but because he refused to give them the satisfaction. Inside, though, a fire of indignation burned. Useless? If only they knew.
The priest, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. "It's not my place to pass judgment. Perhaps he will grow into something unexpected."
Alora scoffed. "Unlikely. Let's be done with this farce and take him home."
Without ceremony, Lloyd was wrapped back in his blanket and handed to the man, who carried him with all the enthusiasm of someone holding a sack of rotting vegetables.
The carriage ride back was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of wheels against uneven cobblestone. Lloyd's sharp mind raced, piecing together what he could from the fragments of conversation he'd overheard.
He was a bastard child, unwanted and unloved, born to a declining noble family. No mana, no talent, no blessings. As far as this world was concerned, he was worthless.
But they were wrong.
Lloyd didn't know how he knew, but he could feel it—a wellspring of infinite mana deep within him. It pulsed faintly, a constant hum that he was sure others couldn't sense. It was a power far beyond what this priest could measure, hidden for reasons he didn't yet understand.
His tiny fists clenched beneath the blanket. This was his second chance. He wouldn't waste it.
The carriage stopped abruptly, jolting him out of his thoughts. He was carried inside what must have been his new home—a crumbling estate that smelled of mildew and desperation.
"Leave him with the servants," Alora ordered, her voice cold and detached.
"Alora, he's still our—"
"Don't finish that sentence, Harland. He's your mistake, not mine."
And with that, she disappeared into another room, slamming the door behind her.
Lloyd was placed into a simple wooden crib, the bedding threadbare but clean. The man—Harland—stood over him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know if you're a curse or just bad luck," he muttered. "But don't expect much from this family. You'll get food and shelter, nothing more."
With that, he turned and left, the door creaking shut behind him.
Lloyd stared at the cracked ceiling above him, his infant body still and quiet. He didn't need their love. He didn't need their approval.
This was a world of mana, of warriors and sorcerers, of blessings and power. And he had the greatest gift of all—a limitless well of energy, hidden where no one could find it.
They would see.
They would all see.
And when they did, they would regret the day they dismissed him.
For now, though, he would wait.
Wait and grow stronger.