The battlefield was quiet.
Ash drifted through the air like snow, carried by a wind too tired to howl. All around him, the dead lay sprawled — some with swords still clutched in broken hands, others crumpled over shields, their eyes wide in eternal surprise.
Vulcan stood in the middle of it all, blood trailing from the deep wound in his side. His sword had long since snapped — now just a jagged hilt clenched between his fingers. His legs trembled. His breath came in short, shallow bursts. And yet, he stood.
"So this is how it ends," he whispered.
He'd fought in more battles than he could count. Slain men with names, and more without. Watched kings rise and fall. Friends vanish in smoke. All for what?
A quiet death in the mud.
Vulcan chuckled—low, bitter, dry. It hurt to laugh, but it felt right.
He looked up at the sky, a dull orange canvas bleeding into gray. He could barely remember the faces of the comrades he'd lost… or if he'd ever had any to begin with. His life had been survival. Nothing more.
"No regrets," he murmured, voice cracking. "Well... maybe one."
He fell to his knees. The world wavered. A shadow moved in the distance — maybe a foe, maybe death itself. He didn't care.
"Maybe… in another life… I could've lived… for something more."
And then, everything went still.
Warmth.
Softness.
The metallic scent of blood was gone, replaced by something sweeter — milk, and cloth, and the faint trace of lavender.
Vulcan opened his eyes.
Or… he thought he did. His vision was blurred, the world bathed in a golden light. Shapes moved above him — large, soft-edged, haloed in glow. He tried to move, but his limbs were useless. He tried to speak, and heard only a whimper.
Panic rose in his chest.
He was cold. Naked. Small.
Why can't I move? What is this…?
A shadow leaned in — a woman, maybe? Her features were hazy, but the touch of her hand was gentle, and the sound of her voice was warm.
"He's perfect," she whispered.
A second figure appeared beside her — taller, broader. He said nothing at first. Just watched.
"He's healthy," the man finally said. "Good."
A shiver went down Vulcan's spine. Not from fear. From memory. That voice held weight — quiet, but commanding.
Then the woman leaned in closer, her hair brushing his tiny forehead. She gasped softly.
"His eyes... look at his eyes..."
"They're... purple," someone said from nearby. A nurse, perhaps.
The man beside her stepped forward, silent again.
"…Striking," he said.
Purple…?
Vulcan blinked. The light hurt, but not too much. He saw their faces now — the woman's kind and glowing with warmth; the man's unreadable, like a sculpture of stone and pride.
These people… are they my—?
A sudden squeal interrupted his thoughts.
"He's so tiny!!"
A little girl appeared from the edge of the room, practically bouncing in place.
"Can I keep him?" she asked.
Behind her came a boy — older, tall for his age, with neat posture and calm eyes.
"He's… odd," the boy said. "His eyes are strange."
"Ronan," the woman chided gently. "He's your brother."
"I didn't say it was bad," the boy muttered.
The girl, not waiting for permission, leaned in closer, wide-eyed. "I'm gonna call you Lululu," she declared with a proud grin.
Vulcan stared up at her, utterly helpless.
...What fresh hell is this?
Night fell over the Windblade estate. The chamber was quiet now — only the soft crackling of the fireplace remained. In the cradle, Vulcan lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the carved ceiling above him.
His body refused to obey. His muscles, barely functional. Yet his mind—his self—remained intact.
I died... didn't I?
The warmth around him was alien. The care in the woman's voice. The subtle pride in the man's eyes. The little girl's laughter. The calm of the boy's gaze.
This is... not the world I knew.
A cool breeze drifted through the open window. The curtains swayed gently. In that silence, Vulcan let out a soft sigh — or the closest thing a newborn could manage.
No swords. No screaming. No war.
He closed his eyes slowly.
Maybe… this time… I'll get to live.
And thus, the warrior named Vulcan faded into the past…
…as a newborn named Lux Windblade opened his eyes to the world anew.