Consciousness returned like shattered glass piecing itself back together.
I gasped—but no sound came.
My lungs burned, pulling in air that felt too thick, too warm. My body felt wrong—compressed, weightless, wrapped in something soft and suffocating.
Where...?
Voices. Muffled and distant, speaking words I couldn't understand.
I tried to move—but my limbs wouldn't obey. Heavy. Weak. Like they weren't mine at all.
What happened? Where am I? Mom—
The thought hit me like a blade through the chest.
Mom.
The memory crashed over me in waves—each one sharper than the last.
The phone call. The doctor's voice. Her death. Running. The impact. Blood on concrete.
I died.
The realization settled into my bones, cold and absolute.
I died.
But if I died... then why am I breathing?
I forced my eyes open.
The world exploded into light.
Blinding. Overwhelming. Too much. Everything was too bright, too sharp, too *real*—like reality had been cranked to a volume my brain couldn't process.
I tried to scream, but all that came out was a weak, pathetic wail.
What—?
A face appeared above me. Soft features. Golden hair. Eyes the color of spring leaves, wide with relief and exhaustion.
She was crying.
"Shal... veris... en'thal," she whispered, her voice trembling.
I didn't understand the words—but I felt them. Felt the love in them.
A woman. Not Mom. But...
She cradled me against her chest, and for the first time, I felt the truth settle in with horrifying clarity.
I'm a baby.
No.
No, no, no—
My thoughts scattered, panic clawing through me. I tried to lift my hands—but they were tiny. Soft. Fingers barely able to curl.
This isn't real. This can't be real.
But the warmth of her body, the steady beat of her heart against my ear, the exhaustion radiating through her—it was all too visceral to be a dream.
I was reborn.
Time moved strangely.
Hours felt like days. Days felt like minutes. My mind—my adult mind—was trapped inside the body of an infant, and the dissonance was maddening.
I couldn't speak. Could barely move. My vision was blurry, my hearing muffled.
But I remembered everything.
Every moment of my past life. Every word. Every face.
Mom's smile. Her laugh. The way she'd ruffle my hair when I was stressed.
And then—the call. The fall. The darkness.
The grief sat in my chest like a stone, cold and immovable. But I couldn't cry. Not really. Not the way I wanted to.
All I could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling of this strange new world, and wonder:
Why?
Why was I brought back?
And why here?
---
The woman—my new mother—visited often. She'd hold me, whisper soft words in that melodic language I didn't understand, and press kisses to my forehead.
She smelled like lavender and rain.
There was a man, too. Tall, with dark hair streaked with silver and eyes like storm clouds. He looked at me with a mixture of pride and... something else. Wariness, maybe.
He'd stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that felt wrong for a father looking at his newborn son.
Does he know?
Can he tell I'm not... normal?
It happened on the seventh night.
I was lying in my crib, staring at the soft glow of candlelight dancing across the ceiling, when I felt it.
A pull.
Not physical. Deeper than that.
Something inside me—something vast and coiled—*stirred.*
My vision flickered.
And then—
Everything changed.
The world didn't just sharpen. It exploded into clarity.
I could see *everything.*
The grain of the wood in the ceiling. The threads in the blanket. The particles of dust drifting through the air, each one illuminated by candlelight like tiny stars.
But it wasn't just sight.
I could *feel* the room. The space between objects. The distance from the crib to the door. The flow of air currents. The faint hum of something... energy?
It was like the universe had peeled back its skin and shown me its skeleton.
What... is this?
And then I heard it.
A voice—cold, mechanical, and impossibly clear—echoing inside my skull.
---
> [SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE.]
>
> [WELCOME, ANOMALY.]
>
> [LIMIT SYSTEM: LAYER 1 UNLOCKED.]
>
> [PERCEPTION LIMIT — ACTIVE.]
---
I froze.
A... system?
The voice didn't respond. But I felt it—something vast and incomprehensible coiled around my soul, like a serpent made of infinity.
And then the information *flooded* in.
Perception Limit.
I could see energy now. Not just light—but the life force flowing through everything. Through the walls. Through the candle. Through the woman sleeping in the chair beside my crib.
Golden threads of light pulsed beneath her skin, flowing through invisible channels—like veins, but made of something else entirely.
Mana,I realized instinctively. *That's what this world calls it.
And I could see all of it.
Every particle. Every flow. Every limit.
---
I tried to move—and this time, my body obeyed.
Slowly, shakily, I lifted my tiny hand.
The motion felt strange. Foreign. But precise.
I focused on the candle across the room.
*LDistance: 2.7 meters. Flame temperature: approximately 800°C. Oxygen consumption rate: minimal. Wax density: low-grade organic compound.
The information came effortlessly, like breathing.
I can see the structure of reality itself.
And more than that—
I can feel its edges.
Three days later, they came.
I was lying in my crib when I felt them—three pulses of energy approaching the house, each one distinct and powerful.
Mana signatures,I realized. Strong ones.
The door opened, and my father stepped inside, his expression grim.
Behind him came three figures dressed in white robes embroidered with gold thread—symbols I didn't recognize, but somehow felt the weight of.
The Church of Order.
The leader was a woman with silver hair and eyes like polished steel. She moved with the kind of grace that came from absolute confidence in her power.
A mage. No—more than that.
Fourth Circle,I thought instinctively, reading the density of her mana core. An Archmage.
She stopped at the edge of my crib and stared down at me.
For a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Velkor," she said softly, her voice like silk over steel. "This child..."
My father stepped forward. "What about him?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she raised one hand, and golden light flickered at her fingertips—a diagnostic spell, I realized.
The light washed over me.
And then—
Her expression changed.
The confidence vanished. Replaced by something I didn't expect.
Fear.
"Impossible," she whispered.
"What?" My father's voice was sharp now. "What's wrong with him?"
The woman pulled her hand back like she'd been burned.
"He has no Core."
Silence.
"What?"
"No Mana Core," she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. "No Runic Circles. No divine resonance. He is... blank."
My father's face went pale. "But that's—"
"Impossible," she finished. "Every living being is born with a Core. It's the foundation of existence in this world. Without it, he should be... nothing. A hollow shell."
She looked at me again, and this time, I saw it clearly.
She's terrified.
"And yet," she continued slowly, "I can feel *something* inside him. Something vast. Something... wrong."
---
[THE MIRROR]
That night, after they left, I lay in my crib and stared at the ceiling.
No Mana Core.
An Anomaly.
I didn't understand what that meant yet—but I could feel the weight of it settling over me like a shroud.
And then I felt it again.
That pull.
I closed my eyes—and suddenly, I wasn't in my crib anymore.
I was standing in a place of endless white.
No walls. No ceiling. Just infinite space stretching in every direction.
And in front of me—
A mirror.
Massive. Ornate. Framed in silver and glass so clear it felt like looking into another dimension.
But it wasn't reflecting me.
It was reflecting *versions* of me.
Hundreds of them. Thousands. Stretching into infinity.
Each one stood in a different pose. A different age. A different world.
Some were smiling. Some were screaming. Some were soaked in blood.
And they were all staring *back at me.*
One of them stepped forward—a version of me with white hair and cold, empty eyes.
He smiled.
> "Welcome to the Limit System, Rin."
>
> "You're not the first of us to break. But you might be the last."
I tried to speak—but before I could, the mirror shattered.
---
I woke with a gasp, my tiny heart hammering in my chest.
The room was dark. Silent.
But I could still feel it.
The system. The mirror. The reflections.
And deep in my soul, something vast and infinite whispered:
> "To see the edge of the world is to stand at the border of God."
I stared at my small hands in the darkness.
What am I becoming?