"Where am I?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Rain's eyes darted across the walls surrounding him, but nothing made sense. Moments ago, he'd been in prison—cold concrete, rusted bars, the stink of sweat and rot.
And now this. A room. Bright. Clean. Two strangers hovered over him, staring like he was some kind of treasure.
His chest tightened. Who were they? Why was he here? What had happened?
The silence broke when the man spoke. "You sure he's mine?"
The woman nudged his arm, giggling. "He may not look like us, but he has some of our features. His hair and eyes are different, though."
They kept staring, fascination in their eyes. It unsettled him.
He tried to look down, but his neck was weak, almost nonexistent. As his head tilted, he froze.
A scream tore from his throat—not the deep, harsh sound of a grown man, but a thin, helpless cry. A baby's scream.
His body was small. Fragile. Wrapped in a blanket like a swaddled doll. Arms and legs barely twitched.
He wasn't himself anymore. He was a newborn.
The woman hushed him softly, rocking him with practiced calm, while the man brushed a hand across his head. "Calm down," the father murmured.
Calm down? How was he supposed to calm down? He wasn't just in a new place—he was their child. Their baby.
Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he'd been drugged. He was supposed to be in jail, rotting for everything he'd done. Sure, he'd wished for escape, but not like this. Never like this.
In prison, he had spent hours reading—anything he could get his hands on: cultures, myths, stories. Reincarnation had always been a fascination. Some claimed souls returned as animals—a fox, a bear, a shark, maybe. But this? Reborn as a human baby? That was new.
Why would anyone want this? A fresh start? A clean slate? If so, why not a teenager? Something stronger. Not this helpless shell.
His past life hadn't been worth much anyway. Prison had beaten that into him. Death hadn't scared him. He'd accepted it. But reincarnation? That had never crossed his mind.
He wondered how he'd died. Plenty of men wanted him gone, but none had dared act. Everyone knew he was strong—not the biggest, not the loudest, but feared. Respected through pain. Even the guards kept their distance. Guns or not, they avoided trouble with him.
Still, someone must have found a way. Poison. A shiv in the dark. He didn't care. Dead was dead.
And now he was here.
The strangers—no, his new parents—kept staring at him with awe.
The woman radiated gentleness. Sweet. She cuddled him closer, warmth surrounding him. He didn't like it—he didn't even know her—but he'd never felt affection like this before. Not once. It was foreign, but not unpleasant.
She was beautiful. Long blond hair fell to her waist. Her eyes were ocean blue, though he'd only ever seen the ocean in pictures. If he had been his old self, he might have thought her attractive. But she had just birthed him. That thought ended abruptly.
The man was different. Stronger. Rougher. A presence that demanded attention. In prison, he would have been dangerous—not an equal, but close. Broad shoulders, solid frame, a man who worked with his hands, who provided.
His beard was short and neat; his black hair messy, falling across sharp features. His dark eyes studied the child as if searching for something hidden.
What did he look like now? They had said he shared some features, but his hair and eyes were different. He needed to know.
His gaze shifted around the room. Not a cell. Not hell. A home. Medium-sized, lived in, old-fashioned. The woman's dress looked simple, timeless. The man wore a plain white shirt and loose pants, comfortable but unremarkable.
The mother spoke again, soft and certain. "Rain… you will be special one day. I can feel it."
The sound of her voice did something to him. People always said a mother's voice could fix anything. He hadn't believed it—until now.
And the name. "Rain." He didn't mind it. In his past life, he had been "Kingston"—a name given by parents he couldn't remember. He had never had a choice. But hearing them pick his name in real time felt different. Like he finally had a say in who he was. Rain. He liked the way it sounded.
As time passed, Rain lay in the crib, thinking. Alone. His new parents slept in the other room; the house was quiet. Night, he guessed.
He thought about reincarnation not with anger, but with a strange sense of hope. In his old life, everything had been decided for him. Prison had been the final proof. No freedom. No future.
But now… now it felt like a clean slate. He could choose who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Maybe he'd study. Maybe pick a real job. Something meaningful.
He wondered where he was. The language was the same, so perhaps somewhere near his old life. But the climate was different. He had died in winter, and here it felt like summer. Another country—or maybe another world entirely.
The only thing he truly hated about reincarnation was how young he was. Twenty-eight and suddenly unable to move his arms or legs—it felt like being shackled in chains he couldn't escape. Just like prison.
Minutes passed, and the exhaustion of a newborn overcame him. His eyes closed instantly.
When he opened them again, sunlight poured across his face. Real sunlight. Something he had never felt behind prison walls. Warm, comforting. For the first time in his life, he lay on a proper bed, head resting against a pillow. Simple, but luxurious.
Through the bars of his crib, he watched his parents begin their day. His father dressed quickly and stepped outside; Rain guessed work. His mother stayed behind, tending to him. Feeding him, changing him, performing tasks that humiliated him to even think about as a man of twenty-eight.
Days passed slowly. In prison, he had kept busy—working out, cleaning, doing anything to stay active. Now, all he could do was watch. He memorized their routines, habits, and conversations. He learned his father worked as a guard, though not who or what he guarded. His mother stayed home. There were no other children—just him.
It took several days to learn their names. They rarely used them, favoring "honey" or "love." Eventually, Rain pieced it together.
His mother was Ysara—like "Sarah," just spelled differently. His father, Caelum. Unique, yet simple. Perfect.
Still, Rain never called them by name. Ysara had birthed him; Caelum worked to provide. They were his parents, no matter how strange it felt.
Even though most days were routine, one stood apart. Rain guessed it was a weekend; his father didn't leave for work. Instead of resting, he went outside to train.
Rain had noticed the sword his father carried each day. At first, he assumed it was a tool for work, or perhaps a hobby. But today, it was practice.
From his crib, Rain watched. At first, the movements seemed casual, playful. Then, everything changed.
His father drew the blade. Up until now, it had stayed sheathed. The moment it left the scabbard, Rain's eyes widened. The motion was seamless, impossibly fast. Arcs of steel cut through the air, too quick for his infant eyes. Something radiated from him—presence, pressure, almost an aura. For the first time, Rain was afraid of the man who had raised him.
Then, a slip. The blade nicked his father's arm, drawing blood.
He rushed inside, calling for his mother. Rain expected bandages—but what came next was far stranger.
His mother appeared, annoyed but tender. "I told you to be careful out there. It's your day off. You don't always need to use that sword. It's probably old. You need a new one."
His father smirked. "A true swordsman never discards a blade before its last breath."
She didn't answer. Instead, she closed her eyes, cupping his wound with both hands, whispering words Rain didn't understand—a strange, alien language.
The air shifted. A breeze from outside slipped through the walls, brushing Rain's tiny face. Multicolored light bloomed around his parents, swirling like sunlight and moonlight colliding, before settling into tiny sparkles that danced like stars. Rain was mesmerized—and terrified.
What just happened?
His father chuckled. "It's a good thing I have a wife who's a healer. Without her, I'd be dead by now."
She giggled. "You better be thankful for me." They kissed, calm as if nothing extraordinary had occurred.
Rain stared, bewildered. A healer? Magic? Were his parents insane? Was he?
As the shock settled, rational thought returned. Magic hadn't just appeared in his old world. There was only one conclusion: he wasn't in his world anymore.