Warmth.
It was the first thing he noticed—an unfamiliar warmth, soft and constant, flowing into his limbs like sunlight spilling across a hillside. Not cold metal, not the sterile chill of a hospital room, not the heavy concrete walls of a city he once called home. This warmth was alive, breathing with the world itself.
Icarus opened his eyes.
Everything was new. A swirl of colors, the gentle flicker of firelight, the indistinct shapes of people moving above him. His body felt impossibly small, fragile, yet every memory from his previous life—every hardship, every joy, every decision—remained intact. Nothing had been erased.
I remember everything.
A thought so simple, yet it carried weight. He was reborn, yet conscious. A child, yes, but a man in mind and soul. He processed the world around him with the clarity of someone who had lived, suffered, and finally been given a second chance.
A pair of hands lifted him. Warm, strong hands that shook with the strain of childbirth. A woman's face appeared above him—soft, tear-streaked, brown hair damp from sweat, eyes shining with awe.
"A boy…" she whispered, voice trembling. "So… beautiful."
Another figure leaned over her shoulder. Broad-shouldered, rough-stubbled, calloused hands—the typical appearance of someone who worked the earth—yet his eyes betrayed something else: amazement, perhaps even disbelief.
"Silver hair… and those eyes…" he muttered.
The midwife gasped, covering her mouth. "Silver hair… silver eyes… this is no ordinary child. The Moonborn…"
The infant blinked. His silver eyes, small yet molten with unspoken power, reflected the flickering firelight. Icarus's mind absorbed it all—the rustic room, the heat of the hearth, the faint smell of herbs and incense.
"Moonborn," the man said again, jaw tightening. "Blessing or curse, I care not. He is our child. Strong, healthy… stubborn enough to survive whatever comes."
The woman's lips pressed to the infant's forehead, tears spilling freely. "Icarus… that will be his name."
And so the man who had lived, struggled, and died in another world began anew—born into a kingdom where myths still breathed, magic lingered in the rivers, forests whispered secrets, and destiny itself seemed to shimmer in the air.
Childhood in Elandria
The village of Elandria was small, tucked between rolling green hills and golden fields that glimmered under the sun. It was a simple life: tend the fields, gather water from the river, care for animals, and respect the quiet rhythms of nature. But for Icarus, simplicity was layered with wonder.
From the moment he could walk, he noticed patterns others didn't. The way the river rippled against stones, the subtle glow of fireflies in twilight, the warmth that lingered where a fire had burned. Even at three years old, he understood these things not as magical phenomena, but as threads of the world's life—energies waiting to be touched, bent, and observed.
At five, he discovered he could influence them. A flick of his hand made flames dance; a whisper stirred water; a breath coaxed leaves to shiver even without wind. He had no control yet, but he could feel the world responding to him, and it fascinated him endlessly.
Villagers noticed, of course. Some whispered in awe:
"The Moonborn child…"
Others whispered in fear:
"Cursed… the gods mark him for something terrible…"
Children flocked to him, laughing at minor illusions he produced: floating petals, dancing sparks, or the occasional harmless puff of smoke. Adults, however, were wary. A boy with silver hair and eyes was no ordinary child—and in a world still governed by kings, knights, and the unspoken power of the divine, the unusual was often feared.
But Icarus didn't care. He had lived a life of indifference and cruelty elsewhere; here, he had been granted a gift, and he intended to learn it, master it, and protect it.
Rowan Arrives
Rowan arrived in Icarus's life like a whirlwind. Bright green eyes, chestnut hair standing on end in every direction, and a grin that promised mischief from miles away. The first meeting occurred during a simple game of river stones.
"You're the weird kid, right?" Rowan had said, elbowing Icarus with the force of a small cannon. "With the hair that glows like moonlight and the serious face. I like you already."
Icarus blinked, unimpressed. "I was born this way."
Rowan grinned. "Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending to be polite. Name's Rowan. I'm going to annoy you for the rest of your life."
From that day forward, Rowan was inseparable. He was clumsy, idiotic at times, yet his loyalty was unwavering. His antics made Icarus laugh, despite the boy's calm and serious nature. Rowan could make even mundane chores an adventure: catching runaway chickens, tripping over his own feet while carrying firewood, or arguing with a stubborn goat like it were a sworn enemy.
But beneath the chaos was a hardworking, clever companion. Rowan could think on his feet, improvise solutions, and pull Icarus out of trouble with ingenuity disguised as stupidity.
Together, they balanced each other: Icarus with calm, precision, and foresight; Rowan with humor, impulsiveness, and endless energy.
Sir Alaric — The Comedic Mentor
Even in childhood, Alaric made his presence known. He was supposed to be the legendary Commander of the Holy Knights, a paragon of discipline and skill—but first impressions were… different.
The first time Alaric visited the village, he tripped over a stray dog, nearly fell into a mud puddle, and flailed dramatically to save his balance. "All part of the plan!" he declared, voice booming with authority and panic at the same time. "Demonstrating humility and… tactical grace!"
Rowan laughed so hard he fell on his backside. Icarus only shook his head. Yes, this is going to be interesting.
Alaric, oblivious to the snickers, addressed the villagers. "Greetings! Commander Alaric here! Yes, yes, noble, heroic, and occasionally clumsy. I'm here to… uh… scout for potential prodigies! No pressure! Except… there is pressure, but don't worry about that. I got this!"
Rowan whispered to Icarus, "No pressure, he says, while nearly toppling a wagon. This is going to be fun."
Icarus smiled faintly. Yes. Fun. And dangerous. And the beginning of something big.
Daily Life and Early Lessons
Days passed, and Icarus's unusual nature became more pronounced. He learned quickly: identifying herbs, predicting weather, tending animals, helping the villagers. Yet he also experimented with the faint magic he could control: coaxing flames into intricate shapes, shaping small whirls of wind, and making water dance in a cup without spilling.
Rowan joined in all experiments, often turning them into chaos: accidentally setting the corner of a haystack on fire, summoning a gust that sent a bucket of water flying into a neighbor's laundry, or creating a small mud explosion while trying to enhance a flower. Each time, Icarus calmly fixed the situation, while Rowan apologized in exaggerated fashion:
"Uh… maybe the flower didn't need… this kind of growth magic?"
Icarus merely shook his head, amused. At least he tries.
Foreshadowing Moonborn Destiny
At night, Icarus often sat by the river, staring at the moon. The silver reflection on the water reminded him of the power stirring within him—the Moonborn magic, still dormant but waiting. Sometimes, he heard a faint voice, like a ripple through the stars, whispering:
"Moonborn… your path begins."
He didn't understand it fully yet, but he felt it deep in his chest. Calm, steady, unshakable. This is not a dream. This is real. And I will not waste it.
Rowan often sat beside him, throwing pebbles into the water, talking about nonsense. "One day, we'll take over the kingdom, right? You, me, and—oh, I don't know—the big scary dragons?"
Icarus smirked faintly. "Perhaps. But only if we survive first."
Rowan shrugged. "Survive and conquer. Easy peasy."
The boy with silver hair, Moonborn, stared at the reflection of the moon. A world full of magic, danger, and destiny awaited him. And beside him, a friend who could make even the darkest night feel lighthearted.
For the first time, Icarus smiled fully, silver eyes reflecting the stars. Tomorrow, training begins. And so does everything else.