"Travis..."
A moan echoes across the void of darkness.
"Why Travis..."
Opening his eyes, Evander finds himself standing in a black void. Darkness is all he can see, for as far as he can see. Looking down at his feet, he sees his mother reaching out to him with a painful moan, a mix of fear and anger painted across her face. She's stuck waist-down as the void itself pulls her into it, taking her.
"Help me, Travis! Don't leave me here to die!"
Without as much as a thought, Evander reaches out to her as quickly as he can, trying to grab ahold of her and to pull her in for a hug, one last time.
Grabbing ahold of her wrist, he pulls, his heels digging into the void itself, sending ripples across the void. Tears stream down across his cheeks in frustration. The more he pulls, the deeper she sinks into the black void. He knows he can't save her, he knows deep down that this is a dream, but he can't let her go—not again.
"Hold on, Mom! I've got you, don't worry, I'll get you out of here!"
"I won't leave you again!"
He says urgently as he gives her a reassuring smile, all the while tears stream down his cheeks, shattering the illusion of power and confidence he's so known for.
Then everything goes still. She looks up at him with a neutral expression at first, then a sickening smile starts to spread across her lips, threatening to tear.
"You killed me."
"You killed me!"
"YOU KILLED ME!"
She screams out in anger. The void itself shakes, sending ripples out across the void. She grabs onto Evander and starts pulling him down with her.
"I'm sorry, Mom!"
He knows it's true. He knows that he is the reason she isn't with his little brother Jake right now, and he hates himself for that.
He doesn't fight her as she begins to pull him with her into the void itself. He closes his eyes as she takes him.
Gasping awake in a cold sweat, Evander finds himself back in his new world—his new home. In a luxurious, wooden-sculpted bed, the sheets are as rich and silky as you can get, but the only thing on Evander's mind are the constant, reoccurring nightmares of his late, dead mother. The nightmares started just as he could start to remember them. He's guilt-stricken. He can't help but feel that he's at fault for the death of his mother, and deep down, he knows it's true.
Glancing across his room—his chambers—the vast darkness within each corner reminds him of his plaguing nightmares. Slipping out of the comforts of his bed, he steps up in front of the nearby open window, the moon's light casting an elegant glow into the room. Looking out into the dark morning sky, his gaze falls upon a colossal moon—easily ten times the size of Earth's moon, that he can remember.
It's been a bit hard for Evander to accept the reality of the situation, even after five years in his reborn life. He can never quite get used to it all—the fact that he has been reborn, and especially the world that he has been reborn into.
The world he has found himself in is a supernatural one. After years of observation, that he came to find—similar yet different to the stories he would watch as a kid. The time period of advancements, from what he's seen, can be placed around the Middle Ages, but some of the technologies are decades, if not centuries, ahead of its time. It all feels like a fever dream to Evander. A small side within him fears that one day he'd wake up from the dream.
Vara—the name of the planet, as he's come to know—has three moons: one gigantic one, one half the big one's size, and then the smallest, a quarter of the biggest's size. Pitch-black darkness in itself is a foreign concept for most. When the sun is not up, the three moons light up the night sky—and that alone is not even the most extraordinary part. The trees are as if they are alive; they have a faint glow to them, as does the water and most minerals he's come into contact with.
The sun takes up half the sky. For obvious reasons, he can't stare off directly into the sun—otherwise, he'll blind himself—but Evander came to find the sun's colour is much different from the one on Earth: a blue, almost white colour, which gives the day sky a beautiful tint of turquoise.
Three years have passed, and even though he can't quite wrap his head around the world, he came to grow accustomed to it—especially the nobility he's been born into. He can't get enough of that part. Having people running around at a whim of his words—he loves every minute of it.
His thought process is interrupted when he catches a hushed argument down the hall in the dead of night, within the dead-silent manor. Intrigued, he tiptoes out of his room and down the hall, tracking down the source of the argument.
"He is but a mere child. Beginning his cultivation at such a meager age will surely destroy his body, my love."
An assertive, rough voice argues.
"He can handle it. He's special. He is a Silvercrest, and above all else, my child."
A sultry voice bites back, quickly turning sour.
From the tone of voice, it's clear to Evander it's his "parents." But what they are arguing about is a mystery to him. Above all else, he's more so surprised that they are arguing. Usually, when his father Alaric senses any hostility, he flees.
Peeking through the slit of his parents' chambers, they lay within their lavish bed underneath their silky covers. Small orbs of light hover all across the room, illuminating the vast bedchamber.
"Building a foundation to develop a core takes years of preparation. You will kill him if you attempt it as early as now."
His father pleads, his voice soft as he reaches out to hold his wife's hand.
"My word is final. He will begin his cultivation journey after his next birthday. He can, and he WILL handle it."
Her cold voice cuts through the silent manor, leaving no room for arguments. She recoils at his attempt to change her mind, pulling her hand away from him in a sneer as she tucks herself into their silky sheets.
"We have a long day ahead of us, dear. Now go to bed. We can still get a few hours of sleep in."
Her tone soft and warm, not a hint of what occurred mere moments ago.
His father exhales a defeated sigh and follows soon. The tiny light orbs fade, casting their chambers into darkness. Not spending a moment longer in the creepy hallway, Evander tiptoes back to his own chambers.
('Who and what were they talking about? Cultivation? The hell is that? Ehh, maybe they were talking about Lucan's studies. He has been falling behind me. I have to admit, if I were in his shoes, I'd also be furious—falling behind a toddler.')
Evander contemplates while tiptoeing to his chambers. Once inside his quarters, he gently pushes his door shut behind him, making sure not to make a peep, and takes a deep breath. His gaze focused, he strolls up into the middle of his chambers on a soft, fluffy mat, the moonlight encasing him.
Ever since he could properly move around without the stiffness of his baby body and the clunky motor functions, he would spend a few minutes throughout the day shadowboxing to keep his techniques and form sharp and focused. It's a discipline and a habit he developed.
————————
Later that same morning, Evander is seated beside his other siblings in a lavish, spacious study around a masterfully crafted wooden table. He's been joining his two older siblings now for a few years at most. His little brother Orin just recently joined about a year or two ago.
Their teacher: a philosopher named Basil Solvain. From the hushed conversations Evander has overheard from his parents before Basil came to their manor, he's quite the philosopher—the best at what he does—and he's quite expensive. He can remember the frown his father had etched on his face when Mother said she wanted to get Basil to tutor their children.
('He might be expensive, but I've learned a damn lot from the man—things I never thought I'd ever even bother to learn. Like etiquette, for instance, dining manners, and politics. I hate to admit it, but I've been bored out of my mind, and his lessons are the only source of entertainment I get. Plus, I always liked to learn things—especially of a world I know nearly nothing of. I guess a child's curiosity and a man's are different. I never would've voluntarily taken any history classes.')
"Your father had me keep this matter of power concealed from you until you all had reached a more mature age, which I agreed with. Yet the change of mind from him I do not know, nonetheless-"
Basil says, his old, creaky voice echoing through the dusty study. Pacing up and down, a slight hunch in his upper back, his hands placed elegantly behind him.
('Topic? Change of Mind? Does this have something to do with mom and dad's argument from this morning?')
"Today, we shall set aside our lesson on Religion and Politics to focus on the life force that sustains all things—Vita, or simply Vi. Vi is the energy, the essence of life, flowing through all beings. Through cultivation and the mastery of this force, man can transcend, even becoming as the gods themselves."
('The what?')