Rebirth as Sylas Corvus Arctanis
Magnar Lux Mortem, now reincarnated as Sylas Corvus Arctanis, awoke to a new life—a life that held no resemblance to the world he had once conquered. As his tiny eyes fluttered open, the world around him was unfamiliar, and the first thing that struck him was the peaceful atmosphere. No battles, no political scheming, no bloodshed. It was as though the universe had decided to reset him, to give him a fresh start.
But Sylas had memories of his past life, of a world ruled by ruthlessness, a world where he had been a king drenched in blood, a leader of a kingdom forged through war and genocide. Now, as a baby, he had no power, no influence. He could not speak, could not command armies or manipulate politics. He was powerless.
Yet there was something in his spirit, a burning desire, a glimmer of his former self, that knew his journey was far from over. The destiny that awaited him was different, but he could not shake the nagging feeling that his past self's ambition was still alive within him. Sylas Corvus Arctanis was his new name, but his soul, his identity, was still connected to the man who had once been Magnar Lux Mortem.
His Parents: The Beginning of a New Legacy
Sylas's parents were not nobles, not wealthy merchants, but simple commoners living under the rule of the Kingdom of Aisha. His mother, Ariella Arctanis, was a kind-hearted woman, a healer in the small village of Althamere. She was known for her gentle nature and her unwavering dedication to the wellbeing of others. Ariella had once been a simple farm girl, but she had earned a reputation for her medical skills after saving several lives during a village outbreak of disease. Her compassion and selflessness were qualities that Sylas would later come to admire—although, at first, he would struggle to understand them.
His father, Tiberius Arctanis, was a blacksmith, a hardworking man with calloused hands and a quiet strength. Tiberius had dedicated his life to crafting weapons and tools, supporting his family through honest labor. Though he was not a man of many words, his silent dedication to his work and family made him a respected figure in the village. Tiberius was a man of honor, someone who upheld the values of hard work and integrity, virtues Sylas would come to realize were crucial in a world far less cruel than the one he had once ruled.
Sylas's parents, though humble, were not without their own burdens. Ariella, as a healer, was often called upon by the local village council to treat the sick, the wounded, and those suffering from various ailments. Her gentle spirit and ability to soothe pain were a source of comfort to many, but it also placed a great deal of stress on her shoulders. Tiberius, for his part, was often away working at the forge, providing for the family. But despite the demands of their work, they were deeply connected, bound by love for one another and their newborn son.
In this new life, Sylas's connection to his parents felt both foreign and familiar. He had no memories of his childhood in his previous life, but there was a subtle awareness in him—the feeling that these people were the anchors of his new life. Even as a baby, Sylas could sense their affection and care, and it filled him with an unfamiliar warmth.
Sylas's infancy was a blur of simple moments: the comforting warmth of his mother's embrace, the scent of iron and coal as his father worked at the forge, the soothing hum of a lullaby sung by his mother before he fell asleep. His new body felt weak, fragile, but he was conscious, fully aware, perhaps more aware than most babies. In his mind, memories of the past slowly coalesced, and he found himself fighting against the weakness of his body. There were moments when his old instincts would rise to the surface, and a dark thought or feeling would momentarily overcome him—a flicker of the tyrant he had once been, a sudden thirst for power and control.
But Sylas Corvus Arctanis was not Magnar Lux Mortem. He wasn't the king of a destroyed kingdom or a man who had crushed millions to rise to the top. He had been given a second chance, and whether he liked it or not, he had to live out this second life with the same humility and fragility that defined every newborn child. There were times when he would catch himself trying to manipulate those around him, even in small ways—using his eyes or his cries to get what he wanted, as if he could assert dominance over the world once again.
But those instincts didn't last long. Ariella, his mother, always knew when he was trying to use his cries for control, and she would calm him with a soft touch or a song, reminding him of his fragility. Tiberius, though quieter, often watched Sylas with a knowing gaze, as if he could see something in the child that others couldn't.
Over the next few months, Sylas began to grow, physically. He learned to focus, to watch the world around him. His parents, though unaware of the full scope of who he once was, loved him unconditionally, and in that love, Sylas began to question the path he had walked in his previous life. Could he truly become a better man in this life? Could he build something from the ground up that wasn't defined by the horrors of war and conquest?
It was during his first year that Sylas began to understand his own powerlessness. As a baby, he could not manipulate those around him with the same ease that had been his weapon in his previous life. There were moments, however, when he would feel an overwhelming sense of despair and anger, but his parents' care would always bring him back from the brink of that darkness. He had once been a tyrant, a ruler feared and revered, but now, he was at the mercy of his parents, dependent on them for survival.
In those first years, Sylas began to reckon with his past—he could no longer escape the fact that he had once been a king who had waged wars, caused suffering, and shaped his world through blood. The question gnawed at him: Could he redeem himself in this new life? Could he become someone worthy of the love and trust his parents placed in him? Or would he fall again into the same patterns that had made him the ruthless leader of Leon?
As Sylas grew, so too did his understanding of the world around him. He would watch as his mother healed the sick and comforted the downtrodden, and his heart would stir with a new kind of longing. He could see the goodness in their actions, the way they uplifted those around them, and it was something he had never truly understood in his past life. He had always fought for power, for control, but now, as Sylas, he found himself questioning if there was a different kind of strength—a strength not in domination, but in compassion, in building rather than destroying.
By the time he was two years old, Sylas had learned to walk and speak, his mind sharp and keen. He had absorbed the values of his family—the humility of his father, the compassion of his mother. He began to realize that there was a different way to create change, a way that didn't involve destruction. His previous life had been about building an empire through blood, but now, he wondered if perhaps there was another path—a path that would allow him to shape the world without repeating the mistakes of the past.
As Sylas gazed into the future, he knew that his journey was far from over. His name was now Sylas Corvus Arctanis, and though he had no idea what fate would bring, he was certain of one thing: his life would no longer be defined by the sins of Magnar Lux Mortem. He would carve his own path—one that would shape the future, not through war and conquest, but through wisdom, strength, and perhaps, redemption.
Sylas's life as an infant was a strange and new experience, one where everything was both foreign and intimately familiar. His mind, though still constrained by the limitations of his small body, was sharp—too sharp for a child of his age. He could understand the soothing rhythms of his parents' voices, feel the comforting warmth of his mother's arms, and even observe the movements of his father as he worked at the forge. The world around him felt different from the brutal realm he had once known, and yet it felt like the calm before a storm—a fleeting peace that might one day be shattered, but one that he now had to hold onto, however briefly.
Ariella and Tiberius: The Silent Promise of Family
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden light over the small cottage, Sylas lay cradled in his mother's arms. She hummed a soft lullaby, her voice sweet and soothing as it filled the air. The gentle swaying of her body rocked him to sleep, but his mind was still alert, a far cry from the peaceful slumber that most children experienced.
"You're growing so fast, my sweet Sylas," Ariella whispered, her fingers brushing his fine hair. Her voice held a mixture of tenderness and a quiet sadness, as though she were mourning the fleeting nature of his infancy.
Sylas's tiny eyes studied her face as she spoke, the recognition in his gaze a silent acknowledgment of something he couldn't quite express. Her gentle spirit fascinated him. In his past life, he had never known such kindness—only the cold, calculating minds of those in positions of power. But Ariella… she was different. There was a grace in her that seemed so alien to the former Magnar. She did not seek to control or dominate. She sought only to heal.
"You're lucky to have her, Sylas," came a low voice from the corner of the room. Sylas's gaze shifted to his father, Tiberius, who had set down his hammer and was watching the two of them with a rare softness in his eyes.
Tiberius, who was usually stoic and reserved, softened around his family. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching his wife and child with a quiet affection. His gaze held the weight of someone who had seen much in life but said little. His hands, though calloused and rough from years of labor, were gentle when they held his son, and his voice—though rarely spoken—always carried the strength of someone who knew the value of honesty and hard work.
"I know," Ariella replied with a soft smile, her eyes never leaving Sylas. "I know I am."
Sylas watched the exchange between his parents, silently marveling at the contrast between their lives and his own previous existence. There had been no soft whispers or gentle touches in his past. His kingdom had been built on the backs of the oppressed, the tortured, the broken. His reign had been marked by fear and loathing, not love.
But now, as Sylas, he was surrounded by something new—a love that didn't seek anything in return, a quiet, constant presence that was as natural as the air he breathed.
Thoughts on the World Around Him
As Sylas lay in his mother's arms that evening, he pondered his new life. The simplicity of it was both a comfort and a curiosity. His memories of his past life—the grandiosity of being Magnar Lux Mortem, the sheer force of his will that had bent entire nations to his command—felt like distant echoes, fading into the background of his current existence. He couldn't help but marvel at how small everything seemed now.
"What is the purpose of such a simple life?" he wondered, his thoughts drifting like wisps of smoke. He had once ruled a kingdom, commanding legions of soldiers and vast armies. But now, in this quiet cottage, he was nothing more than a child. A son.
Yet, there was a peace here that he had never known, a peace that tugged at him, urging him to hold on to this fleeting moment.
"This is not my life. But it is my life now," Sylas mused, feeling the weight of the thought settle in his chest. "I was a king, a tyrant. Now I am Sylas Corvus Arctanis—a boy born to simple people, living in a world that values simplicity and peace."
Sylas wasn't sure if he was ready to abandon his past life—he was, after all, still the same soul, the same man. But he was equally aware of the fragility of the world he now inhabited. This was not the place for conquest or war. The Kingdom of Aisha, the village of Althamere, were not the world he had once ruled, nor the world he would one day shape.
But for now, he would let himself live. For now, he would cherish the warmth of his parents, the love they offered him so freely. He would observe this world, learn from it, and perhaps, in time, understand what role he was meant to play in it.
Tiberius stood silently at the door, his gaze fixed on Sylas and Ariella. It was clear that he was thinking, perhaps wondering what kind of life his son would lead, what path he would choose. There was a quiet resignation in his eyes, the same kind of resignation that came with knowing that, eventually, his son would grow beyond the bounds of their little village.
"He will be a man one day," Tiberius muttered to no one in particular. "A strong one. I can see it in him."
Sylas's gaze met his father's for a brief moment, and something shifted within him—a small spark of understanding. Perhaps his father did not see the greatness that had once been in him, but he felt something within Sylas, something that no one could quite define yet. His father's belief in strength was clear, even if it was different from the kind of strength Sylas had known in his previous life.
Sylas smiled faintly, a soft thought crossing his mind: "hmm..i remember something a elder once said to me, Strength is not just in the body or in power. It's in how you stand, how you endure. How you love."
The idea was new, but it felt right.
A Life Reborn
As Sylas drifted off to sleep that night, the weight of the world didn't feel so heavy. His mind, though still caught in the memories of his past life, had found a quiet balance. His parents, their love and dedication, had given him a new lens through which to view the world. They were his anchor, his connection to this world, to this new life.
In the peaceful stillness of the night, Sylas closed his eyes, and for the first time in many lifetimes, he felt the faintest stirrings of hope—a hope that perhaps this new life could be more than just a second chance. Perhaps it could be the beginning of something greater than anything he had ever known.