Darkness. Silence. A weightless void surrounded me.
Then—warmth.
As I slowly opened my eyes, blurry shapes began to form. My head throbbed, my body felt… off. Smaller. Lighter.
> "Where… am I?"
I tried to sit up, but the moment I lifted my arm—I froze.
A small, delicate hand entered my view.
"…What?"
I blinked and turned it over. Soft fingers. Tiny. Fragile.
It wasn't my hand. But it was real. It moved when I told it to.
> "I died, didn't I? Is this… what they call reincarnation?"
Before I could even process the thought, two figures leaned over me—a man and a woman. Their faces were full of warmth, their smiles shining with joy as they held me gently in their arms.
The man looked to be in his late twenties. He had short black hair that curled slightly at the ends, tanned skin from long hours under the sun, and strong, calloused hands that handled me with surprising care. His brown eyes were steady and kind, like someone you could depend on.
Beside him, the woman, probably just past twenty, had a calm, graceful presence. Her long dark brown hair was tied back with a worn ribbon, and her hazel eyes glowed with quiet strength. She wore a simple dress and apron, her hands marked by daily work. But her smile—her smile was overflowing with love.
> "Are these… my parents?"
The thought sent a strange chill through me.
They looked happy. Genuinely happy.
But deep inside, something twisted.
> I hope they won't be like my parents in my past life…
I don't want to experience that again.
Five years passed.
In that time, I learned a few things.
One—my name in this life was Cain Vorstheim.
Two—my parents, Draven Vorstheim and Monica Nyxveil, were commoners who lived a quiet life outside the city. Not rich, but far from poor.
Three—this was undeniably another world.
And four—no matter how much time passed, I never truly let my guard down.
My parents were kind, caring… but I always kept a wall up. I spoke when spoken to, followed their rules, but never got too close.
That's how I protected myself.
That all changed the day I found it—the book.
It started while I was cleaning My Room. Tucked away beneath old cloth and broken tools was a worn, leather-bound book. The pages were yellowed and cracked, filled with strange symbols and faded instructions.
At first, I assumed it was just a fantasy tale—this world had those, too. Maybe something an adult once read for fun, or a bedtime story.
But as I flipped through the pages, something felt… different.
One section described how people in this world awakened magic: through meditation, breathing, and feeling the natural flow of energy inside themselves. Simple, almost childish words.
I scoffed. "It's just a story, right?"
But something tugged at me. A quiet, lingering thought:
What if it's not?
After all, this was a new world. Magic might actually exist.
One day, while Father was outside chopping wood and Mother was in the kitchen, I tried again.
> Just once more. No one will know.
I sat near the window, sunlight filtering in through the wooden shutters.
I closed my eyes.
Inhale. Exhale. Feel.
The warmth was faint… but real. I focused on it—like a flame deep in my chest.
Slowly...
Feel the warmth inside your body.
I reached for it.
And then—I felt it. Something flowing within me. Not blood. Not breath. Something else. Something… alive.
> "W-Whoa…" I whispered in awe.
Without realizing it, I had started to float—just slightly above the floor. Purple mana swirled around my body, dancing like embers in the air.
I didn't even notice I was levitating until I felt the wind shift.
> Control it... move it... feel it flow...
> Now—imagine a spell.
I concentrated harder, visualizing a small burst of energy in my palm.
The mana gathered in my hand. More and more.
Too much.
> "Wait—"
BOOM!
A red blast erupted from my palm, blasting me backward.
> "UWAHH—!"
The wooden door cracked as I slammed into it, and everything went black.