As Sylas grew, his body matured while his mind stayed resolutely rooted in the consciousness of someone far older. At six years old, his movements were swift, purposeful, and often unsettling to the other children. He was a quiet boy, preferring the company of books to the endless chatter of the village. He had long since realized that he didn't fit in with the others his age—not just because of his strange, calm maturity, but because his thoughts constantly wandered to questions about his existence.
The Rejection
One sunny afternoon, as Sylas sat under the large oak tree by the village square, a group of children gathered around him. They were playing a game of tag, laughing and shouting, but Sylas was lost in a book. His small fingers traced the words with slow, deliberate movements, his thoughts far from the innocent play around him.
But as the game came to a halt, a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Sylas, can you play with us?" the voice asked, followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
Sylas looked up, his sharp amber eyes meeting the gaze of a girl standing before him. Her name was Mira, a girl from his village who often watched him from afar. She was a bright-eyed, energetic child, full of life and easily the most outgoing of the group. But today, there was something different in her eyes. She smiled shyly, the tips of her fingers nervously brushing the edge of her dress.
"Sylas… I like you. Will you be my friend?"
The air seemed to hang still for a moment, and Sylas regarded her with a cold, steady gaze, his face expressionless.
"I'm not interested in being friends," he replied flatly, his voice soft but resolute.
The girl's smile faltered, confusion written across her face. The other children were silent now, watching the interaction with curious eyes. Mira shifted nervously, glancing between Sylas and the others.
"W-why not?" she stammered, clearly hurt.
Sylas sighed inwardly, the faintest flicker of discomfort passing through him. He knew what the right answer should be, but the truth was far too unsettling to say out loud. He wasn't going to pretend that everything about this new life was normal for him. As a six-year-old, he was still trying to navigate the strange sense of alienation that gripped him.
"Because I'm old," Sylas finally said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've lived long enough to know that… I'm not like other kids."
Mira's eyes widened slightly. Her expression wavered between confusion and embarrassment. The other children started whispering amongst themselves, their attention quickly shifting from the playful innocence of their game to the oddity of Sylas's words.
"But… you're a kid, right?" Mira asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Sylas shook his head slightly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips—more of an amusement at the absurdity of the situation than genuine humor.
"My body is a child's body. But my mind? It's a lot older than you think."
The others stared at him, wide-eyed. Mira didn't seem to fully understand, but her gaze softened. She seemed like she wanted to argue or say something more, but Sylas had already turned his attention back to the pages of his book.
"Sorry, I'm busy," he muttered, his voice dismissive but not unkind.
Mira hesitated for a moment longer, her heart clearly sinking, but she eventually turned and walked away, rejoining the other children who were eager to get back to their game. Sylas's rejection hung in the air, and the tension slowly dissipated as they resumed their play.
The Discomfort of Innocence
Sylas didn't think much of the encounter after it was over. In fact, he found it a little annoying that such trivial things like affection or friendship even had to be considered. Why was this girl so obsessed with the idea of being friends? She didn't know him. She didn't understand the distance he felt from everyone else. He had the soul of a man who had ruled, fought, and seen the world crumble beneath his hands. He couldn't find anything remotely appealing about the idea of romantic attachment when his mind was consumed with the weight of wars, deaths, and political strategies.
"She's a child. This is not something I can entertain." he thought as he flicked through the pages of his book, feeling oddly out of place in his own skin. His body was a child's, but his mind was that of a 55-year-old man, and his desires and thoughts didn't align with those of the other children, and he would never Stain he's legacy by being "friends" with a child..
Realization: A New World
Days passed, and Sylas buried himself further in his studies. There was so much to learn about this world, this place that he had been reincarnated into. There were no history books that mentioned his name. There were no legends of the tyrant king, Magnar Lux Mortem, who had once reigned over an empire built on blood. This world was new, different from the one he had left behind. The history was unclear, the kingdoms and nations still shaping themselves.
It was then that Sylas began to accept a new reality. "I am in a different world entirely," he thought. "This place is not my old kingdom. There is no empire to rule, no legacy to continue. Everything I did in that life… it doesn't matter here."
He began to wonder if perhaps his previous life had been some sort of curse—a grand lesson on the consequences of unchecked power. The world he had left was one of destruction and war, a place where people had suffered under his iron fist. But this new world was peaceful, untouched by the conflicts that had once consumed him.
Sylas began to sense the emptiness in his old life's legacy. His name was nowhere in the books, and the history he had written was erased with the turn of time. It was as though he had never existed at all. And that realization filled him with an odd sense of freedom. Here, in this world, he could start again. He wasn't just a king—he was Sylas Corvus Arctanis, a common boy with no grand ambitions, no violent plans for world domination.
But the question lingered in his mind: "Why was I given this second chance?"
He couldn't answer it yet. He didn't even know if he wanted to. For now, he would study, read every book he could find, and figure out how this world worked. Perhaps, in time, he would discover his place in it—one that wasn't tainted by the memories of his previous life.
But for now, he was content to remain a silent observer, far removed from the childish games of love, friendship, and play.
Conclusion
As Sylas turned the pages of a book about the history of the Kingdom of Aisha, he found solace in the words, the quiet hum of knowledge that filled his mind. He was different from the others, but he accepted it now. There was no need for games or affection. There was only the steady, unyielding pursuit of understanding.
In this new world, Sylas was free to be whatever he wanted to be—not the tyrant king, not the ruler of a broken empire, but something entirely new. And perhaps, one day, he would find the answer to the question that had begun to burn in his mind: "What now?"
Sylas was nestled in his favorite corner of the room, the dim light of the late afternoon filtering through the wooden shutters. His book was open in front of him, but his mind wasn't really on the words. His fingers traced the edges of the pages while his thoughts drifted, as they often did. "I have to figure out this world… I still don't know the rules here. I still don't know why I'm here." But even as his mind wandered, he was aware—so keenly aware—that the world around him continued without pause.
He heard the creaking of the front door and the soft shuffle of his mother's footsteps on the wooden floor. Ariella, his mother, always walked with a sense of purpose, the echo of her heels like the gentle tap of a clock ticking through the house. She had spent the day with the village council, tending to the sick and elderly, and now, in the quiet of their home, she was returning to her son.
"He's still quiet… too quiet for a boy his age." Ariella thought as she hung her worn cloak by the door, wiping her hands on a cloth as she glanced at Sylas. She loved him dearly, of course—he was her child, the light of her life. But, even after six years, she couldn't shake the sense that there was something different about him. He was so… serene, and that disturbed her sometimes. Children, at his age, should be more lively, should be asking questions and making noise. But Sylas? Sylas was quiet. Quiet, and always in his own world.
She shook her head with a soft smile. "I'll just have to work harder to reach him," she thought, moving toward the table where Sylas sat.
"Alright, Sylas," she said, her voice light and affectionate. "I think it's time we worked on your spelling today. I know you've been reading a lot, but you need to know how to write the words too. Would you like to start with something easy, like 'apple'?"
Sylas didn't immediately respond. His head remained tilted downward, pretending to be absorbed in his book. Inside, however, a subtle, wry amusement sparked. "Spelling? This is child's play. I could spell every word in this book backwards if I wanted to." He stifled the urge to chuckle. It would have been far too easy to show his mother that he knew how to spell, to write, to read at a level far beyond the childish lessons she insisted on.
Instead, he put on the most innocent, childlike expression he could muster. He blinked up at her, feigning confusion.
"Spelling?" he asked, his voice small, his brows furrowing like he didn't understand what she was talking about. "I don't know how to spell… what's an apple?"
Ariella paused, her heart softening at the sight of her son's innocent face. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his small fingers tightened around the edge of the book, and a flicker of worry crept through her chest. She often thought Sylas was too quiet for his age, but perhaps, just perhaps, it was because he hadn't been taught in a way that resonated with him yet. "I need to make sure he's growing up well—learning everything he should at the right time," she reassured herself, despite the knot of unease that still tugged at her heart.
With a warm smile, she crouched down beside him, her hand resting on the table. "An apple is a fruit, Sylas. It's sweet, and red, or green. Remember? The ones we have at the market? You've had one before. It's easy. A-P-P-L-E." She sounded the letters out slowly, with the patience of a mother teaching her child for the hundredth time.
Sylas blinked up at her again, still playing the role of the confused child. "Red or green, you say?" he thought. "Ah yes. I've seen this in the market. They call it an apple, yet it's something so simple, a common thing. I suppose I can humor her a little longer."
"Apple," Sylas repeated, dragging out the word slowly, letting the sound roll off his tongue. His voice was innocent, just like a child's, but in his mind, the thought was clear. "A child's word for something so… mundane. The simplicity of it all… it's almost funny. She thinks I don't know."
Ariella smiled with relief. She had always feared something was wrong, that perhaps Sylas had trouble with his learning, but now she saw him carefully listening to her, his brow furrowed in concentration. She began to feel a sense of pride, thinking to herself, "Maybe he's not as distant as I thought. Maybe he's just… different." Her fingers brushed his hair gently, a loving gesture that never failed to comfort her.
"Good, Sylas, that's very good!" she said, her voice warm with praise. "Now let's try something a bit harder. How about 'book'? That's something I know you love."
Sylas blinked, the word settling into his mind. "Book… well, that's certainly something I can handle. But I still wonder… how much of this world is truly my own? How much of my old self lingers here?" He could feel the weight of it, the strange displacement he still felt.
"B… o… o… k?" Sylas enunciated carefully, drawing the letters out as if the very act of speaking them was a puzzle in itself.
Ariella beamed at him. "That's right, you got it! You're a smart boy, Sylas."
Inside, Sylas's thoughts were more complex. "'Smart.' It's funny how they view me—this little body, this small, innocent form. They think I'm just a normal child, one who doesn't understand what's happening in the world. But I see it all. I remember it all. And yet… it doesn't bother me the way it used to." He had to admit, there was a certain peace in just letting her believe he was like any other child. There was no need to rush this process, no need to shatter the illusion she had built around him. He was learning, yes, but not in the way she thought. "Maybe… maybe I should let her have this small victory," he mused.
Ariella leaned back, satisfied. She brushed her hands together and then placed one on Sylas's head, ruffling his dark hair playfully. "You're growing up so fast. Soon you'll be teaching me, I bet."
Sylas gave her a small, knowing smile, but inside, his thoughts swirled. "I'm growing up, yes. But in more ways than you'll ever understand. One day, mother… one day you'll see that this world is far more than it seems."
She stood, watching him for a moment, her heart light. "Alright, I'll leave you to your book for now, Sylas. Dinner will be soon, so wash up, okay?"
He nodded, returning to his book with the same quiet resolve. He had let her believe what she needed to, and for the moment, that was enough. The evening stretched out before him like an open page, and Sylas—no longer the tyrant king, but a curious child—wondered what the next chapter would bring.
As the days ticked down to Sylas's first day of kindergarten, a curious tension settled in the house. Ariella had been preparing for the event with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, the former because she knew it would be a significant step for her son, the latter because she couldn't quite shake the feeling that this day was going to be different. Not just because Sylas was going off to school, but because she still couldn't place her finger on what it was about him that felt… otherworldly.
Sylas, on the other hand, wasn't particularly fazed. He had no qualms about the new environment, nor the idea of interacting with other children. To him, kindergarten was nothing more than another step in the process of learning. "I've spent lifetimes gaining knowledge. What is this child's world compared to that?" he mused. "Other kids… they'll be no different from the ones I once ruled over. The difference is, I now have to pretend to be a child again."
Despite the fact that his mind was as sharp as it ever was, Sylas hadn't felt the need to rush or take matters into his own hands. He had learned, over his many lifetimes, that it was often better to let things unfold on their own—especially when dealing with a world as foreign to him as this one. The challenge was in balancing the person he was—an old, weary king, now reborn into the body of a child—with the life that his mother was attempting to create for him.
Ariella had spent the past few days preparing his clothes: simple, comfortable fabrics that were easy to move in, a far cry from the royal garb of his previous life. She'd even found a little satchel for him to carry his things. To her, it was a symbol of growing up—a first step toward independence. But Sylas found it utterly… unremarkable. The thought of wearing a bag with crayons and rudimentary books inside made him feel ridiculous, but he held his tongue. He had no need to voice his inner sarcasm. Let them think he was just a child.
"Are you excited, Sylas?" Ariella asked one evening, the question rolling off her tongue as she tucked him into bed. She ran a hand through his hair, a simple gesture of care.
Sylas met her gaze with a soft smile, an expression he had learned to wear. "I suppose," he answered, his voice quiet but not unkind. "Excitement is… foreign to me. But I shall feign it for her." He shifted slightly in bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "It will be an interesting experience, I suppose. I will learn about these children… and perhaps gain some new insight into this world."
Ariella gave a small laugh, brushing the hair away from his forehead. "You've always been so serious, Sylas. But I know you'll do just fine. You're growing up so quickly." She leaned in to kiss him goodnight, her love filling the small room. But her smile faded for a moment as she pulled away, her eyes briefly clouding with that familiar concern. "Just… remember, be patient with the other kids, okay? Some might not understand you."
Sylas didn't respond immediately. Instead, he lay there in the dim light, his mind turning over her words. "Some might not understand me." He wasn't worried about that. No, the problem wasn't them—it was him. He had to remember the role he was playing. His body was that of a young boy, but his mind was the same one that had once commanded armies, that had seen the rise and fall of entire kingdoms. And the thought of interacting with children who had none of that depth—who had yet to experience true power, true loss—seemed… trivial.
Still, he smiled at his mother. "I'll try."
The day of his first kindergarten class arrived with little fanfare. Ariella walked him to the village school, holding his small hand in hers. As they neared the entrance, a group of children were already gathered by the door, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
Sylas's sharp eyes scanned the scene. The children appeared to be full of life, unlike the subjects he had once ruled over. They were… vibrant, innocent, and unburdened by the weight of the world. Some of them were jumping in excitement, others clinging to their mothers, while a few looked at Sylas curiously. It was a strange sight—so much energy, so much noise. It almost gave him a headache.
"Do you want to go inside, Sylas?" Ariella asked, her voice a mix of encouragement and concern. "Don't be shy."
He didn't respond right away, taking in the scene for a moment longer. "This place… this world is not my own. But I will learn its ways, piece by piece, just like everything else."
"Yes, mother," he said, his voice calm. He squeezed her hand before walking through the door, the sound of children's voices growing louder.
Inside, the room was bright and filled with colorful decorations—paintings, drawings, and alphabet charts. The teacher, a woman with soft brown hair and a welcoming smile, approached them with a clipboard. Her eyes softened when she saw Sylas, but there was an undeniable warmth to her smile.
"Hello there," she said kindly. "You must be Sylas. I'm Miss Elara. Welcome to kindergarten!"
Sylas nodded quietly, studying her with the same calm, distant expression that had become second nature to him. "Miss Elara… a teacher. I suppose this is where I will be expected to learn the things children learn in this world."
He barely felt the weight of her gaze as she led him to a small desk where other children were already seated. Some looked at him with curiosity, while others just went on with their chatter. Sylas, however, didn't feel the need to engage with them. He simply sat down at the desk and began to observe, as he always did.
There was a small boy next to him who looked over, his face a mix of curiosity and shyness. "Hi," the boy whispered, leaning in slightly. "I'm Jorin. What's your name?"
Sylas glanced at the boy with disinterest before responding softly, "Sylas."
The boy smiled nervously, as though unsure of what to say next. "I like your shirt. It's fancy."
Sylas raised an eyebrow. Fancy? He had been dressed in the simplest clothes Ariella could find. But then again, "fancy" could be a relative term. "Thank you," he said, his voice dry but polite. He didn't have the energy to entertain small talk. Instead, he turned his attention back to the front of the room.
Miss Elara began the lesson, but Sylas wasn't particularly interested in the child's teachings. It was all so rudimentary to him. Letters, numbers, and songs—basic building blocks for a child's development. As she instructed the class, Sylas sat still, his mind wandering.
"I've been through battles and feasts. I've forged alliances and crushed enemies. Yet now, here I sit in a kindergarten, listening to lessons that are beneath me. Is this what I have become? A child among children, pretending to learn what I already know."
Despite the inner turmoil that simmered beneath his calm exterior, Sylas kept his face composed. "I suppose I have little choice. I must let this world shape me once again. But no matter how many lifetimes I live, I will never forget who I truly am."
And so, the day went on. The other children played and laughed, but Sylas remained detached, quietly studying them all. He would continue to adapt, continue to learn, until the time came when his true nature would once again rise to the surface. For now, though, he would play the part of the child.
As Sylas made his way home from kindergarten, the sun began its slow descent behind the village, casting long shadows across the dirt path. The sounds of children's laughter echoed in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet and thoughtful pace at which Sylas walked. His small legs moved with a purposeful stride, his mind not fully on the present but instead mulling over the day's events. He'd survived his first day in this strange, youthful environment, and now he could return to the more familiar comfort of home, where things made sense.
As he walked, a group of children appeared from behind a row of houses, catching up to him along the path. They were chattering away, laughing and talking as they approached, and Sylas found himself once again caught in the web of childlike innocence and noise. They were headed in the same direction as him, and, noticing him, one of the bolder children, a girl with bright blonde hair and freckles, skipped ahead to walk beside him.
"Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully, her eyes wide with curiosity. "I'm Tessa! Are you new here?"
Sylas glanced at her, his expression calm but a touch distant. "Yes. I am Sylas," he replied simply, his voice quieter than hers, though not unkind.
Tessa seemed undeterred by his reserved nature and continued with her questions. "Where do you live? I think I saw you walking by my house earlier. Are you my neighbor?"
Sylas's gaze flickered toward the village houses in the distance. Neighbors… he thought, considering the concept with mild interest. He hadn't really paid much attention to the specifics of his surroundings—his mother had always handled those details, as she had handled everything else in his previous life, too.
"I live by the old well, near the edge of the village," Sylas said after a moment, allowing her the small piece of information, though he wasn't particularly invested in the idea of being close to anyone here. Neighbors, to him, were just another transient concept in this new world. "Are all these children around here your friends?"
Tessa's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Well, yes! Everyone's friends in our class, at least! We play together after school, and sometimes we meet by the well for games. You should come next time! It's fun!"
Sylas gave her a brief, polite smile, though inwardly he was not interested in joining their games. "Games…" he thought, his mind briefly flicking back to his past. "I've long since abandoned such trivial pursuits." But he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. He wasn't here to make waves, just to observe.
"I will think about it," he said, his tone cool but noncommittal. "Thank you for the offer."
Tessa, not deterred in the least by his lack of enthusiasm, jabbered on. "Well, I live in the house with the blue shutters. It's really pretty! Maybe you could come over sometime. My mama says we should always be friendly with new people."
Sylas nodded absently as they walked. Her mother's advice might hold some merit, he thought. "The bonds of kinship and alliance were as crucial in the old world as they are in this one, even if I do not wish to involve myself in such frivolity."
"I'll keep that in mind," he responded with his usual calm indifference.
The small group of children continued walking with him, and a boy from the group, who had been quietly trailing behind, suddenly piped up. His dark hair and narrow face reminded Sylas vaguely of someone from his past—perhaps a soldier or a servant, but that thought quickly passed.
"Do you like it here, Sylas?" the boy asked, his voice laced with a hint of shyness. "I mean, the village is nice, but the school's kind of weird, don't you think?"
Sylas turned his head slightly to meet the boy's eyes. It was an innocent question, but one that made him pause for a moment. Did he like it here? The question echoed in his mind, and for a brief instant, he considered the possibility.
"The school…?" Sylas began, his words slower than usual as he processed his thoughts. "It is… fine. But I do not think it matters much to me."
Tessa, overhearing him, gave a teasing smile. "What, you don't like school? Are you too smart for it?"
Sylas raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to correct her misconception about his attitude. "Smart." He didn't particularly enjoy the word. To be "smart" in this world meant little more than memorizing the letters and numbers they chanted in class. He had no need to explain himself, though, so instead, he simply replied with a flat, "No, it's not that."
The boy laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I get that. I don't really like school either. My brother's in a higher class, and he says that it's mostly just for learning how to follow orders."
That struck a chord with Sylas, but he didn't show it. Learning to follow orders… It was a concept he was all too familiar with. Wasn't that what he had taught in the past? The art of command, the necessity of obedience? And yet, wasn't that also what broke kingdoms? What shattered alliances?
"It seems…" Sylas started, trailing off for a moment as he turned his gaze toward the horizon. "It seems there is always something to learn, no matter where we are."
The boy blinked at him, unsure of how to respond. Tessa giggled, having not quite understood the weight behind his words. "You're funny, Sylas."
Sylas said nothing in reply, his thoughts drifting. These children were so simple, so unaware of the complexities of life that lay beyond their small village. It's only a matter of time, he thought to himself. Only a matter of time before I know what I need to know here. This world may be unfamiliar, but I will learn its intricacies… and when the time comes, I will take control of my fate, just as I once did in the past.
And with that, the group walked the last stretch of the path toward their homes, the sun sinking lower, casting long shadows along the road. Sylas was content in his silence, letting the world around him churn with the innocent noise of childhood while his mind lingered on much older things.