The boy's name in this new life was Auron.
He didn't know why that name was chosen for him, only that it felt… right. Familiar, even. Like the echo of someone he used to be.
He lived in a small house near the edge of the village, where the forest met the hills. His father, Garron, was a tall, broad man with soot-stained hands and a quiet voice. His mother, Lira, had a calming presence — her hair silver like moonlight, her touch warm like spring rain.
From the moment he could walk, Auron was drawn to the forge. He would sit for hours, watching Garron hammer glowing metal on the anvil, sparks dancing like tiny stars around him.
"You've got the eyes of a warrior," Garron would say. "But strength must be earned. Fire alone can't shape a sword — it takes patience too."
And Auron was patient.
Every day, he helped gather coal, fed the forge, and cleaned the tools. But at night, when the house was silent and the sky filled with stars, he would sneak out behind the shed and train.
He didn't know how he remembered the moves.
A twist of the wrist.
A sidestep before a slash.
The balance of a blade, the flow of breath in battle.
It was all still inside him — the instincts of a warrior who had died once already.
A Hidden Spark
When he turned ten, his mother began teaching him magic. Not grand, destructive spells, but small, healing ones — gentle enchantments that mended broken things and calmed pain.
"You have a rare gift," she said one evening as she guided his hands over a wounded sparrow. "Most can only learn either magic or the blade. But you… you're something else."
He didn't tell her why.
He couldn't.
How could he explain the dreams? The flashes of battle, the skies torn by lightning, the face of the Demon Boss twisted in rage as a sword of light crashed down upon him?
They came almost every night now.
And each time, he woke with a name on his lips:
Kael.
The Whisper in the Woods
One day, as Auron wandered deep into the forest to gather herbs, he felt something change. The air grew cold. The trees seemed to lean inward, watching him.
Then he saw it — a clearing he'd never noticed before, though he'd walked these woods dozens of times.
At its center stood a blackened tree, split in half as if by a lightning strike.
And buried in its roots… was a sword hilt.
It was old. Worn. But when he reached for it, a spark leapt from the metal into his hand.
FLASH.
A vision exploded in his mind:
A battlefield. A final scream. The sword raised high.
"If I must die… I'll take you with me!"
Auron stumbled back, gasping.
His heart pounded.
It was his sword.
The Swordsmith's Truth
That night, he confronted his father.
"Where did I come from?" he asked. "Really?"
Garron looked surprised — then quietly sat by the fire.
"I found you during the Red Storm," he said after a long silence. "Eleven years ago. The sky had split open over the western hills. Lightning fell like rain. When I reached the edge of the forest, there was a crater. And inside… was you."
"You were just a baby. But you weren't crying. You were glowing."
Auron's breath caught.
"I thought you were a blessing — a gift from the stars," Garron said softly. "Maybe you are."
Auron's Oath
That night, Auron stood alone in the woods, staring up at the stars.
He held the hilt of his old sword, now wrapped in cloth, hidden beneath his tunic.
"I don't know why I came back," he whispered. "But I will not waste this life."
He closed his eyes.
"I will train. I will grow. I will remember."
"I will protect everything I couldn't before."
Far away, in the deepest shadow of the world, a heartbeat stirred.
A voice whispered in the dark:
"So… the Light returns. Let it come. This time, I will devour it."