The first few days were a hazy, disorienting blur of instinct and overwhelming sensation. Leo—a name that felt like a ghost clinging to a consciousness adrift—was a prisoner in a vessel of helpless flesh. His world had shrunk to a cycle of primal needs: a searing hunger that made him wail, a discomfort that felt like a crisis, and an exhaustion that would swallow him whole in an instant.
He was swaddled tightly, a cocoon of soft linen that should have been comforting but instead felt like another form of bondage. His vision was still a mess of blurred shapes and light, his hearing muffled as if his head was still submerged. But through the sensory chaos, two presences became his anchors, his sun and moon.
The woman, Kaelia, his… mother. Her scent was the first thing his new brain cataloged with clarity—a mix of fresh linen, a faint floral perfume, and something uniquely, comfortingly her. Her voice was a melody, sometimes laced with tiredness, but always, always warm. She was his source of food, of warmth, of a safety he felt too guilty to accept.
The man, Valerius, his… father. His presence was a different kind of constant. Larger, solid, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the crib. He was not as physically present as Kaelia, but when he was, his attention was absolute. Leo would feel those keen, intelligent eyes on him, studying him with an intensity that was unnerving. It was not the gaze of a man simply doting on a newborn; it was the assessing look of a Duke inspecting his legacy.
Today, his vision was a little sharper. He lay in a lavishly decorated bassinet, within a room that spoke of generations of wealth and power. A vaulted ceiling arched overhead, and sunlight streamed through a large stained-glass window, casting colored patterns on the polished stone floor. Tapestries depicting heroic battles and mythical beasts adorned the walls. It was a world of opulence he had only ever read about in his history books.
The door opened with a soft click, and the Duke entered. Leo watched him, a giant from his lowly perspective, as he walked over to the bassinet. Valerius was not smiling. His face was a mask of solemn duty.
"Today is an important day, little one," Valerius said, his voice low. He reached in and, with a surprising gentleness, lifted Leo from the cushions.
Leo's instinct was to tense, to rebel against the helplessness. But he forced himself to remain limp, playing the part of the oblivious infant. He was carried across the room to a heavy, ornate wooden stand. Upon it rested a single object: a sword.
It was not a toy, nor a ceremonial piece meant for display. It was a weapon of war. The blade, though polished to a mirror shine, bore the faintest hairline scratches of use. The hilt was worn leather, molded to the grip of a hand. The pommel was a simple, unadorned sphere of dark steel. It was brutally practical, a tool for killing. The air around it seemed to hum with a faint, metallic coldness.
"This is the sword of my father, and his father before him," Valerius's voice was a reverent whisper. "It has defended these lands for five generations. It has spilled the blood of traitors and monsters. It has upheld the law of the Empire and the honor of our house."
He held Leo closer, allowing the infant's unfocused gaze to fall upon the blade. Leo felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. This was not a blessing. It was an induction. A chain of expectation being locked into place.
"One day, this will be yours," the Duke continued, his tone leaving no room for fantasy. "You will not merely hold it. You will wield it. You will be responsible for every life within our borders. Your strength will be their shield. Your judgment will be their law."
Leo's mind, the mind of a disillusioned history student, recoiled. He saw the countless stories of kings and lords, of the immense weight they carried, the paranoia, the isolation, the bloody decisions made in dark rooms. He had romanticized it once, from the safe distance of centuries. Now, faced with the reality—the cold, hard steel of it—he felt only a profound, soul-crushing dread.
No, he thought, the silent scream echoing in the vault of his skull. You have the wrong person. I can't even manage my own life. How can I be responsible for thousands?
He wanted to explain. To tell this stern, hopeful man that he was a ghost, an imposter, a cosmic mistake. That the soul inside this child's body was already broken, unfit for the glorious destiny being laid out for him.
All that came out was a gurgle.
Valerius misinterpreted the sound. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips, transforming his stern features. "You see? You understand. The blood of Eldoria knows its duty."
He carried Leo away from the sword and over to the window. For the first time, Leo got a clear look at the world outside.
His breath caught in his tiny lungs.
The Eldoria estate was built on a high vantage point. Below, a bustling town of stone and timber houses sprawled out, smoke curling from chimneys. Beyond that, vast, green fields stretched towards a distant, dark line of an immense forest. But it was the sky that held him transfixed.
It was a deeper, richer blue than Earth's. And there, hanging in the daytime sky like a second, smaller sun, was a shimmering, ethereal tear. It was a wound in the fabric of the sky, a ripple of opalescent light, pulsing with a soft, magical energy. It was beautiful and terrifying.
The Mana Veil, the knowledge came to him, unbidden, from the depths of Altherion's fading memories. A scar from the Godswar. The source of this world's magic.
Magic. It was real. The air itself tasted different—cleaner, sharper, charged with a potential he could feel on his skin.
The disconnect was so violent it was nauseating. One moment, he was a failed student in a silent apartment, and the next, he was the heir to a dukedom in a world where magic stained the sky.
He saw the people in the courtyards below—guards in polished armor, servants in simple tunics, children chasing a dog. Their lives, their hopes, their futures. The Duke's words echoed in his mind. Your strength will be their shield.
The weight of it was a physical pressure on his chest, heavier than any depression he had ever known. This wasn't a second chance. It was a sentence. A life of duty and performance, trapped in a role he had never auditioned for.
He looked up at the Duke's face, at the pride and expectation etched there, and felt a wave of crippling unworthiness. He was an error in the system of fate, a glitch in the code of reincarnation.
As he was carried back to his bassinet, the opulent room felt less like a nursery and more like a gilded cage. The love of his new parents felt like a chain. The majestic world outside the window felt like a stage for a play he was doomed to fail.
He closed his eyes, retreating into the only sanctuary he had left—the dark, quiet space behind his own eyelids. The thought that had been his constant companion in his first life returned, now amplified by a terrifying new context.
I don't belong here.
To be continued...