The relentless blaring of the heart monitor was the last sound he heard. A piercing, monotone scream that drowned out his shallow, labored breaths. With every faltering beat of his heart, his vision dimmed, and soon there was nothing. No sound. No pain. No regrets.
Only darkness.
Time felt meaningless in this abyss. Seconds, minutes, hours—it was impossible to tell. His thoughts wandered aimlessly, fragments of his life flashing before him like scattered pieces of glass. The moments of joy, of love, of failure. Regret clung to him like a shroud.
Was this it?
Then, a light appeared.
At first, it was distant—a faint glimmer in the infinite void. But it grew, steadily expanding, overwhelming the darkness. Its warmth engulfed him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt.
And then, voices.
Incoherent at first, like muffled whispers behind a thick wall. But as he listened, the sounds began to sharpen, words forming out of the chaos.
"…He's crying… so small."
"He has your eyes, darling."
A new sensation washed over him—a weightlessness, a sense of being cradled. Slowly, his vision began to adjust. The light that once blinded him now revealed his surroundings.
He was in a vast room, its high ceilings arching upward into intricate carvings, with soft light spilling through large stained glass windows. The air carried a sense of reverence, of serenity, as though the place was sacred. It reminded him of a church, but the details were far more elegant and otherworldly.
And then, he saw her.
The woman holding him was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long, midnight-black hair cascaded like silk down her back, framing her face with delicate perfection. Her violet-colored eyes shone with a gentle warmth, yet there was an undeniable power behind them—an intensity that left him momentarily awestruck. She was dressed in flowing robes of white and silver, adorned with intricate embroidery that glimmered faintly in the light.
Beside her stood a man, tall and well-built, with sharp features and a confident, composed demeanor. His short-cropped dark brown hair contrasted against his piercing steel-gray eyes. Though not as striking as the woman, he carried an air of authority, the kind that commanded respect without effort. He wore a finely tailored black coat with golden trim, hinting at a position of status or nobility.
The woman's lips moved, her soft voice breaking the silence. "Elior," she whispered. "Our little Elior."
The man leaned closer, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'll grow strong, just like your mother."
Elior. The name echoed in his mind, but it was the sensation of hearing himself cry that startled him most.
His tiny body wriggled in the woman's arms, his hands small and weak, barely able to clench into fists.
No way…
The realization hit him like a wave crashing over his thoughts. The warmth, the voices, the sensation of being held—it was undeniable. Somehow, impossibly, he had been reborn.
Reincarnation?
Confusion swirled in his mind, but there was no time to process it. The world around him was unfamiliar, the people around him strangers. Yet one thing was clear—this was no longer the life he once knew.
This was the start of something new.