Darkness. Muffled silence. A comfortable warmth.
I've lost count of how many times I've started here, in this sticky, primordial nothingness. For a new soul, it must be the paradise of unconsciousness. For me, it's the purgatory of cosmic bureaucracy; the waiting room with no interesting magazines before I'm shoved into another life I didn't ask for. The universe has a frightfully strict no-refund policy.
Consciousness returns not with a bang, but as a slow, lazy seep, like water staining old cloth. The first realisation: I am floating. And not in the relaxing way, with an exotic cocktail in one hand and a dying sun on the horizon, but in the 'pickled biological specimen' sort of way, complete with fluids I'd rather not identify and a feeding tube that is, quite frankly, a bit humiliating.
[Systems online. Soul consciousness detected. Welcome back, Azra'il. The universe has decided your sabbatical of, approximately, nine months is over.]
Her voice, ever so calm and crystalline, is the only constant between lives. My therapist, my walking encyclopedia, and my personal executioner, all wrapped up in a package of flawless logic and understated sarcasm.
[Well, the news is mixed. This world, Runeterra, features chronic geopolitical instability, systemic prejudice against magic-users, temperamental dragon-gods, and a robust history of near-apocalyptic conflicts. However, in some regions, the sanitation is top-notch.]
[Initiating diagnostics on the new… vessel. I recommend you pay attention. The details are particularly ironic this time.]
[And the universe continues to outdo itself in its comedy of errors. Designation: Human.]
Human. Again. At least I wasn't born a sentient snail this time. That was a long, slow life. One must celebrate the small victories.
[Arcane Signature: High. To use one of your primitive analogies, your soul is a sun, and the body you are about to receive is a thatched hut soaked in petrol.]
[Physical Characteristics: Female, with intersex variations. The predicted phenotype includes partial albinism, resulting in silver hair and anomalous eye colour. In short, you will be a walking beacon for "look at me, I'm different and probably dangerous".]
[And now, the grand finale. Immediate Environment: The Kingdom of Demacia.]
A name without weight, without history. Just a sound.
[It's the epicentre of cosmic irony for someone like you. Demacia is a kingdom built on anti-magic stone, ruled by a monarchy with a pathological phobia of anything that glitters that isn't polished gold. It is the one place where your arcane signature is not seen as a gift, but as a disease to be eradicated.]
I would have laughed, had I any working lungs. The information settled, and the cosmic joke finally revealed itself in all its cruel glory. It was all too perfect.
[A simplification, but essentially correct.]
[Progenitors: Fugitive mages. Current status: running for their lives.]
[Probability of birth under adverse conditions: 98.7%. And rising.]
I tried to stretch, but my new body was a cramped prison. The movement resulted in a feeble kick, a silent protest that only my mother felt. Poor woman. Another one in the long lineage of the maternal lottery. The options were always the same: the tragic martyr, the accidental villain, or the simply absent. The consolation prize was always well-founded origin trauma.
[You are a magical time bomb about to be born in the bomb disposal headquarters, whilst your parents play the part of decoys so the squad doesn't find you. And their chances are, to be generous, statistically insignificant.]
A sigh escaped, forming bubbles in the amniotic fluid. The curse of remembering everything isn't the pain of past deaths; it's the absence of surprise. Hope becomes a luxury, a museum piece from a life you can no longer recall.
[Analysing all quantum variables and threads of fate... No. It appears you are out of luck. Again.]
The warmth began to numb me, an invitation for the lights to go down before the premiere.
[Notification scheduled. Enjoy your final moments of guaranteed peace.]
Peace. I laughed without a sound. The calm before the storm. I closed off my consciousness, letting the darkness take me. The next time I opened my eyes, the game would be on. And I'd be starting with my life in the red.
The peace ended with the subtlety of a battering ram against an oak gate.
I woke with a violent jolt, my small, watery universe contracting and spinning. My mother's panic was an electric current in the water, a familiar prelude to disaster.
[ALERT. FORCED LABOUR IN PROGRESS. EXTERNAL CONDITIONS: HOSTILE.]
[The sound of Demacian steel being unsheathed, the scent of fear and pine in the air, and the cold gleam of polished armour reflecting the moon. Pattern consistent with a state-sanctioned hunt. They've brought the hounds.]
My safe little cocoon ruptured, and I was expelled into a sensory assault. The air wasn't a gift; it was an icy thief that stormed my lungs and stole the silence, forcing a sharp, furious cry from my throat. The world was a chaotic blur of grey trees and night sky, the moonlight feeling cold and inquisitorial on my bare, sticky skin.
The arms holding me were trembling nonstop. My mother. Her face, visible in flashes, was a painting of exhaustion, terror, and a fierce determination that burned brighter than fear. She was running, the body that had just birthed me already being pushed to its absolute limit. Her hands, stained with dirt and my own blood, were a paradox of desperate strength and utter fragility. Her scent, a mixture of sweat, blood, and a fear so primal it almost had a taste, was the first thing I learnt about her.
Behind us, the sound of heavy boots crushing the forest floor. The clang of armour. Cold, practical, dispassionate. The sound of a death sentence being carried out with bureaucratic efficiency.
The chase ended in a clearing bathed in a pale, ghostly glow. Twisted, almost skeletal white trees surrounded us. The wood seemed to drink the magic from the air, leaving the atmosphere as void as a taxman's soul. A clever, cruel dead-end a trap of natural Petricite.
My mother almost collapsed, leaning on a trunk to stay upright. With trembling hands, she settled me into a wicker basket that looked to have been made in a hurry. The cloth was rough against my sensitive skin.
"Shhh, my little silver star..." she whispered, her voice broken by the run and the pain. Her caress on my cheek was ice-cold. "It's going to be alright."
The first and most beautiful lie they told me in this life.
She gave me one last look, and in those eyes I saw a universe of futures we would never have: first steps, clumsy words, magic lessons whispered by the hearth. All of it dissolved in the blink of an eye. Then, she became someone else. Her posture straightened, her chin lifted. She was no longer a terrified mother. She was a shield. With a cry that tore through the silence, she ran into the darkness in the opposite direction, a comet of sacrifice, burning out so I might have a chance.
The sound of her footsteps, the shouts of the men, and finally, the blueish flash of desperate magic being extinguished by a lifeless white glow. And then, the abrupt silence. That was my first lesson in Runeterra: heroism is loud, but death is very, very quiet.
[Progenitor survival probability: 0.01%. Decreasing.]
The silence that followed was heavier than any sound. It was a vacuum, the exact shape of her life being erased from the world. I lay there, a newborn in a basket, staring up at stars my infant eyes could barely focus on. Instinct screamed at me to cry from hunger, from cold, from loneliness. My soul, old and weary, just watched.
Sleep came like a thief. My first night in Runeterra, orphaned and cold in an anti-magic forest.
Starting from scratch. Again.
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📌 Author's Note
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Hey, Runeterra travelers! ✨
Before you dive into the story, just a quick note: this is my second fanfic ever posted. It's part of the same "reincarnation saga" of the protagonist Azra'il, who also appears in my other fanfic My Life (After Countless Reincarnations) in Fairy Tail.
⚠️ But don't worry! You don't need to read the other story to understand this one. Even though it's the same protagonist, these are different universes, different reincarnations, and completely independent stories. Each fanfic stands on its own. You can start anywhere without getting lost.
So sit back, grab your mana potion (or just coffee ☕), and enjoy Azra'il's journey through the wild world of Runeterra.
Happy reading and have fun! 💜