The night sky burned red. Bombs fell like rain, shaking the earth and tearing the world apart.
Paul ran through the smoke with his rifle in hand. His squad was gone. Dead. Only he was left.
His chest rose and fell, ragged, his ears ringing from the endless explosions. He dropped to one knee, blood spilling from the gash at his side.
"Damn it…" he muttered, forcing himself up again. His legs shook. His hands trembled. But he kept moving.
Another blast ripped the ground open. Shrapnel cut through his body. The pain was sharp, then fading. His strength slipped away.
Paul collapsed onto the dirt.
The taste of iron filled his mouth. The screams, the fire, the chaos—they all seemed so far now.
*So this is it…* he thought. *A life full of orders. A life of regrets. Not once… did I live for myself.*
His vision blurred. Darkness pulled him under.
When he opened his eyes, the war was gone.
He stood in silence.
An endless white hallway stretched ahead of him. On the walls, scenes flickered—his life replayed like an old film. His childhood. His first day in uniform. His comrades laughing. His comrades dying.
His chest tightened, but his feet carried him forward.
At the end of the hall, a door waited. Cold and silent.
A voice drifted through, calm and heavy.
*"Paul. You carried pain. You carried regret. This time… live differently. Live in happiness."*
The door opened. Light swallowed him whole.
—
A cry. His cry.
Paul's eyes opened to a world he didn't know. He was small. Weak. Wrapped in soft cloth. A woman with a crown smiled down at him, tears of joy in her eyes.
Beside her stood a man in regal robes. His father? A king?
Then, something impossible. A maid raised her hand, and fire bloomed from her palm, lighting the chamber with a soft glow.
Paul froze. No—he couldn't even move. But inside, his mind screamed.
*Magic… this world has magic?!*
His tiny hands curled into fists.
He was a soldier once. Now, he was something else.
Paul had been reborn.
This time, he would not die with regrets.