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I never really believed that something like an afterlife existed.
People are born, they live, and then they die.
That was my firm belief.
Things like reincarnation, souls, spirits, heaven, and hell—those were just stories fabricated by religions to control the masses.
When people die, they simply return to the state before they were born.
At least, that's what I thought.
Of course, that belief shattered when I experienced reincarnation first-hand.
When did it happen?
Six months after I was born, I somehow regained memories of my past life.
They weren't complete—only fragments, scattered like puzzle pieces slowly fitting together.
It didn't always happen, but sometimes when I slept, fragments would insert themselves into my mind: memories of my life as Alden Ransel, just an ordinary human boy from Earth.
There was nothing remarkable about Alden's life, except for the fact that he died of cancer in his early twenties.
He died a virgin.
But he had a family who loved him.
By the time I turned two years old, I had fully acclimated to the memories of my past life.
The memory of my death... no—Alden's death—was the last piece that returned.
After that, the memories stopped appearing. It had been two weeks since.
Looking out the window of the modest wooden cabin my family owned, I watched the villagers going about their business.
They weren't speaking any language you'd find on Earth—that much I was sure of.
I was still in the middle of learning this world's common tongue, Koine.
To practice, I would sometimes eavesdrop on conversations. Since I was just a two-year-old brat, no one seemed to mind my presence.
My ears perked up when I overheard something interesting.
"Hey, did you hear? Marco's kid, that rowdy lad, decided to head out to Orario to become an adventurer."
"Oh really? Finally someone with some ambition. I heard Marco's been training his kids with a sword for years."
"I also heard Marco used to be an adventurer himself, part of a familia back in Orario. Supposedly his kid already has his god's falna."
Most gossip between the middle-aged aunties held little interest to me—but those familiar words sent my mind racing.
'Orario... Familia... Gods... Falna...'
Unless this world just happened to use the same terms, there was only one conclusion: I had been reincarnated into the anime with the ridiculous title "Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?" — or Danmachi for short.
"I knew I had been reborn into some kind of medieval fantasy world, but I didn't think it would be Danmachi of all places."
"Then, what timeline am I in? Has the canon story already started?"
With my mother out doing laundry and my father at work, I figured it wouldn't hurt to gather some information.
I shut the window and walked toward what I called our "library."
'Library' is too generous—it's really just a bookshelf with a dozen or so books.
Dragging over a stepping stool, I climbed up and grabbed as many as my tiny arms could carry, tossing them onto the floor.
"I need to know if the Zeus and Hera familias still exist in this time period."
I scoured through the scattered books, but to my disappointment, they were mostly just hero stories, a photo album, and a dictionary.
'Not a single newspaper or record? Figures. This is just a backwater village.'
Still, I wasn't in a rush. There were other ways to gather information.
That night, tucked into my cozy little bed, I couldn't sleep. My thoughts spun wildly, daydreaming of the future.
'Magic... monsters... the dungeon... gods... beautiful elves... goddesses...'
As an anime fan and fantasy enthusiast, the realization that I'd been reborn into a world of magic filled me with excitement.
'Ahh, I wish I could grow up faster.'
But stuck in the body of a two-year-old child, there wasn't much I could do.
'If only I had a falna already... then I could start early, maybe even learn some magic.'
My eyes sparkled at the thought.
Who wouldn't want the power to shoot lasers, summon lightning, or hurl fireballs from their hands?
'Maybe I could ask Mr. Marco to teach me swordsmanship...'
Eventually, I drifted into sleep, smiling, unaware of what was about to happen.
"Where am I?"
I suddenly found myself in a dark, empty space.
Then the scene shifted—reality itself spun around me—and in the blink of an eye, I stood in a vast forest.
"What the hell!?"
A crowd of people gathered before me, celebrating.
"They're not human... elves?"
Distinct pointed ears and graceful features—staple traits of elves in countless stories.
And it wasn't just elves. I saw spirits, fairies, pixies, druids, and dryads.
It was a surreal sight.
I instinctively covered my ears from the noise, then turned—and my jaw dropped.
"That's... one big ass tree."
A tree so massive it pierced the sky, its branches stretching beyond the clouds.
"Why does this tree feel so familiar?"
Placing a hand over my heart, I felt something stir deep within me. An overwhelming emotion welled up, and before I realized it—
"I'm crying? Why am I crying?"
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
"No... I remember now... this was my home. This was the World Tree... my mother..."
Wiping my eyes, more memories flooded in, though incomplete—just fragments, just like before.
"I had another past life other than Alden... what was my name in that life?"
"Estelon."
A feminine voice called out.
I turned to see an elven woman holding a baby swaddled in leaves.
"This child shall bear the name Estelon. He has been chosen by the World Tree as the next Spirit King."
Cheers erupted all around. But I hardly noticed. My gaze was locked on the baby in her arms.
"That's... me."
And just like that, for the next few years, fragments of Estelon's life began to invade my dreams.