Author's Note: As the author, I recommend reading the prologue. That said, enjoy your reading!
Chapter 1 - A New Life
Lian was in the afterlife. Again.
The void consumed him, a shapeless, soundless, endless prison. It was a silent vastness that crushed his thoughts, an invisible weight that made any notion of time or space impossible.
He tried to scream, but there was no air, no voice—only the absolute silence corroding his sanity. Every moment stretched into an eternity of suffocating nothingness, where the only trace of existence was the feeling of being... nothing.
And then, it began again.
An invisible force grabbed him, dragging him like a puppet without control. It was a whirlwind of energy that burned his skin and twisted his insides as if he were being torn apart and rebuilt simultaneously.
His body felt like a puzzle being assembled and disassembled in an endless, torturous cycle, with every fragment of his essence ripped and stitched back together in insane repetition. The pain went beyond the physical—it consumed his soul.
He didn't know what was happening, but the sensation of being dragged by a greater force was overwhelming. And then, in the center of the darkness, something began to emerge.
A light. Not an ordinary light, but a presence—a living, pulsing energy. It was as if the very fabric of the universe was rebuilding itself around him, vibrating in colors and shapes he could barely comprehend.
"Again? No... No, no, no! Are you kidding me? This crap is happening again?" Lian's thoughts raced, his mind in frenzy as the light drew closer. "First I die and come back in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a war, and now I'm returning again? Maybe this is hell? Damn... I should've believed God was real..."
His heart—or whatever was left of it—raced as he was sucked into the brilliance at the end of the tunnel.
"Oh, Satan, or whatever entity is running this, listen up: just don't throw me into another war!" Lian's plea was laced with sarcasm but also genuine desperation, buried beneath his disbelief.
Suddenly, the light engulfed him entirely. The next sensation was warmth, like the embrace of a gentle flame surrounding him.
Slowly, muffled sounds broke through the darkness, words reaching him like distant echoes. Little by little, the voices became clearer until he realized someone was holding him.
Rough, experienced hands cradled him gently. He opened his eyes—or at least he thought he did—and saw the face of an elderly woman. Her expression was serious, her lips moving in a language he didn't recognize. Each word was like a strange melody, full of purpose.
The first thing Lian truly felt was weight. Not the weight of memories or responsibilities, but the simple and unmistakable weight of being alive again.
His small body felt so fragile it hardly seemed his own. He tried to move his arms, but they were ridiculously short and thin.
"Oh no... This can't be... Don't tell me..."
A strong scent invaded his nostrils—a mix of blood, sweat, and a bittersweet aroma he couldn't identify. The air felt denser, more alive. Before he could think further, the old woman spoke again.
*(Note: The words Lian doesn't understand will be marked with *)
*"You were lucky, Lia. The child survived,"* she said, with a mix of relief and exhaustion. *"I'd say it's almost a miracle."*
The mother—the woman lying on a straw bed nearby—leaned in to look. Sweat dripped down her pale face, but her eyes shone with an emotion bordering on ecstasy.
*"My baby... My baby is alive! Oh, Yana, you saved him!"* she cried between sobs.
The old woman, apparently named Yana, made a calm gesture with her hand, as if she had been through this countless times. She placed her wrinkled hands over Lian's small chest and recited:
"Purificatio totalis."
Before he could process what was happening, a warm glow emanated from her palms. It was unlike anything he had ever felt—not just warmth but something alive, pulsating, as if every cell in his body was touched and revitalized. In an instant, he was clean and dry, as though the filth from moments ago had never existed.
*"But he... he isn't crying,"* murmured the woman on the bed, her voice tinged with growing concern. *"None of my other children were like this. They all cried from the very first second."*
*"Hmm, it's not common, indeed,"* Yana replied, frowning. *"Well, as you can see, the child is breathing. Let's confirm something. Hand him back to me."*
The old woman took Lian back into her arms, her sharp gaze like someone who had seen much in life. She murmured something again in her strange language and then, with a firm tone, said:
"Manus invisibilis!"
Lian felt a light pinch in his lower parts, precise enough to provoke an immediate shock.
"Hey, hey, hey, you crazy old hag! What the hell are you doing to me?!" He wanted to scream, but instead, all that came out were unintelligible baby squeals.
Then it hit him like an unstoppable tide. Lian felt the discomfort grow, a pressure invading every part of his tiny body. There wasn't much he could do, and deep down, he knew it. He simply accepted the inevitable.
In an instant, a wave of excrement and urine was released with surgical precision all over the old woman's once-pristine dress.
Yana froze for a moment, her gaze fixed on the newly created mess. First came the surprise, one eyebrow raised in total disbelief.
*"Hah! I really deserve this... A baby that doesn't cry but does this with such precision."*
Then disgust made its triumphant entrance, accompanied by a long, deep sigh.
*"That's it. I'm too old for this kind of work. They don't pay me enough to deal with this nonsense."*
With precise movements and an expression oscillating between fatigue and resignation, Yana cleaned her dress with the same spell she had used on Lian. Then, she handed him back to the mother with the same care one might use to get rid of a troublesome burden.
*"Here you go, Lia. Take your little miracle and care for him yourself. For someone who almost crossed the veil of death, he's full of energy—and personality, it seems."*
Lian's mother received him back with care, a tired but loving smile on her face as she looked at the small being in her arms. Lian, on the other hand, simply let his head fall to the side.
"Christian, Christian Raymond, that will be your name," said the woman with a sweet voice and tired eyes full of tenderness. Her face was illuminated by the small lamp in the corner of the room, the only source of light in the cozy dimness.
At that moment, Lian realized she was his new mother, and, as strange as it felt, there was something genuinely comforting about her presence.
As she spoke, Lian noticed they were not alone. Besides her and the old midwife, who was on her way out, there was a burly man with rough features but an emotional gaze standing by the bed.
A child, seemingly eight years old, looked at him with evident curiosity, while another girl, older, around thirteen, was separating the bloodied cloths from the birth, folding them carefully to be washed.
"The man must be the father... and those two, probably sisters. What joy..." Lian thought, with a hint of sarcasm mixed with resignation.
He cast another glance at the group, trying to process the scene as his mind struggled to adjust to the idea of his new existence. But he didn't have much time to reflect; his attention was drawn back to Yana, the midwife, who seemed to be finishing her task.
*"Well, my work here is done,"* said Yana, wiping her hands with a cloth. *"Take care, Lia. If you need anything, just call me. Have a great recovery."* Her voice was firm but tired as she walked to the simple wooden door and left with measured steps, disappearing into the darkness of the night.
"Well, at least the old woman proved useful in this place," he thought, a spark of curiosity stirring in his mind. "Magic... So, this world really has magic."
The man approached, leaning in to look at the baby more closely. His smile was broad and sincere.
*"What a scare this little guy gave us, huh?"* he said, gently stroking Lian's delicate face with calloused but tender fingers. *"Look at him, he's the spitting image of me! When your brothers return from the hunt, they'll be surprised. Another little one for our family."*
"Ahh, someone kill me again! Get off me, man!" Lian thought, annoyed by the man's caresses. He tried to move his arms to push the hand away, but his movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, as if his newborn body was mocking his frustration.
The eight-year-old girl came closer, her eyes shining with excitement.
*"Mommy! Can I hold him? Please!"*
The woman laughed softly, shaking her head. *"He's still too small, dear. He's as delicate as a newly sprouted flower."*
The girl pouted in frustration but soon went back to observing the baby with curiosity, as if trying to understand who this little being was that now belonged to their family.
Lian, for his part, felt something he had never experienced in his past lives. While nestled in his new mother's arms, a warm sensation enveloped him. It wasn't just physical warmth – it was something deeper, something that touched his soul.
"So this is the power of a mother's love... It's so comforting," he thought, almost unwillingly, as his eyes began to grow heavy.
Before falling asleep, Lian scanned his surroundings with an analytical gaze. The room was small and humble, with walls of worn wood and a dirt floor. The straw bed where his mother rested was covered with a simple but clean cloth.
There were no wires or signs of technology – only the lamp in the corner, which emitted a warm and surprisingly strong light for something so rudimentary.
"Definitely medieval," Lian concluded before succumbing to inevitable sleep. His newborn body seemed to function like a hibernation clock, something he couldn't control but, at least in that moment, welcomed.