I was a man crafted from lies.
Not born from them—crafted.
Layer by layer, like a mask forged from stolen faces.
In my past life, people called me many things:
merchant, advisor, negotiator, friend…
but those were just titles I wore long enough to take what I needed.
My true name? Even I forget it now.
Conmen don't need real names.
They just need believable ones.
I built my world on deception—
sweet words, false promises, smiles sharpened like blades.
I drained fortunes, manipulated families, turned lovers against each other just to secure my next scheme.
And then—
I ruined someone who didn't deserve it.
A boy… too kind, too trusting.
He handed me his family's inheritance because he believed my lies about "tripling his money."
I took everything and vanished, as I always did.
Two weeks later, he took his own life.
I read it in the newspaper while eating breakfast.
The world blurred around me.
For the first time, my heart felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Poisoned.
That night, I went to the only place my feet could guide me—the old shrine on the hill.
In the silence, under the carved wooden face of a forgotten deity, I knelt.
"I don't deserve forgiveness," I whispered, "but… if there's any chance—any chance at all—let me make things right. Give me a life where I can repay what I've destroyed."
My voice cracked. My hands trembled.
"For once… let me live without lies."
The lights of the city flickered in the distance.
Wind brushed the shrine bells.
For a moment, I thought I heard something—a soft voice, neither kind nor cruel:
"Very well."
Then a truck's blinding lights filled my vision.
Impact.
Darkness.
And the life of a liar ended.
---
I woke to warmth.
Small, fragile, suffocating warmth.
Crying filled my ears.
A woman's voice weeping with joy.
A man chanting thanks to the heavens.
I couldn't move, but I understood instantly:
I had been reborn.
And I wasn't alone.
Two older children—toddlers, really—peeked at me from behind their mother's arms.
Silver hair, ember-gold eyes, the faint aura of nobility… yet their clothes were simple, patched, humble.
We were in a village house—small wooden walls, a fire pit, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a cold wind slipping through cracked windows.
The woman—my new mother—smiled warmly.
The man—my father—held her tightly, shoulders shaking with relief.
But beneath their joy… I sensed fear.
A fear they were trying desperately to hide.
Even as a newborn, something in me—my instinct, my past, my curse—felt it.
A secret hung heavy in the air.
The place we lived had no grand name.
The villagers just called it "The Outskirts."
A cluster of wooden houses scattered along a river, cradled by quiet forests and gentle hills.
There were farmers with hands thicker than tree roots.
Herbalists who smelled of crushed leaves.
Fishermen who sang old songs as they cast their nets.
Children who tasted sunlight like a blessing.
No one spoke of kings.
No one spoke of angels.
No one spoke of politics or destiny.
Life was simple.
Life was honest.
Life was peaceful.
And deep inside, a man who once lived by lies felt something unfamiliar:
Contentment.
---
Growing Up Among Kind People
My first memories were filled with warmth:
the soft fur of village dogs nuzzling against me
the laughter of old women as they argued over recipes
the thump of axes splitting firewood each morning
the smell of river water mixed with fresh soil
Everywhere I went, people smiled at me.
"Ah, little one! Are you here to steal my apples again?"
"Don't let him near the goats—he's too cute, they'll faint!"
"A good boy, that one. Bright eyes. Kind smile. He'll grow strong."
I had never received kindness freely before.
In my old life, every smile given to me was one I had manipulated into existence.
Here… people smiled because they wanted to.
And each smile was a tiny thread pulling me deeper into this new life.
---
My Siblings — Three Hearts, One Bond
Arian — The Protector
Arian, the eldest, was only four years older than me but he acted like a grown man.
If anyone looked at me too long, he glared.
If I fell, he carried me.
If I cried, he held my hand until the tears stopped.
When we walked through the village, he always placed himself between me and the road—
as if the world needed to get through him before reaching me.
He wasn't jealous.
He wasn't harsh.
He was just… loyal.
So loyal it scared me sometimes.
Sera — The Shadow Beside Me
Sera, only two years older, was soft-spoken but sharp-eyed.
She followed me everywhere—
to the river,
to the orchard,
to the chief's garden where she absolutely wasn't allowed.
She held my hand constantly.
If anyone teased me, she puffed her cheeks like an angry cat.
If I scraped my knee, she cried harder than I did.
"Don't leave me behind," she would whisper.
"Promise you won't."
And even as a child, her devotion was deep enough to shake me.
Me — The Weakest
While Arian scared wolves with a stick
and Sera climbed trees like a squirrel—
I struggled to lift buckets half my size.
I got tired quickly.
I caught colds easily.
I couldn't keep up with the village children in games or chores.
But my siblings never mocked me.
Arian taught me slowly.
Sera waited patiently.
My parents encouraged me warmly.
"Everyone grows differently," Mother said.
"You're meant for something special. I can feel it."
I didn't understand then.
I just wanted to keep up with the people I loved.
---
Daily Life Before Destiny Interfered
Mornings
I woke to the smell of breakfast:
warm porridge
baked root vegetables
herbs simmering in clay pots
Father returned from early hunting with fresh game.
He'd ruffle my hair and lift me onto his shoulders while Mother laughed.
Afternoons
I played with village children:
hide and seek among cornfields
skipping stones at the river
catching fireflies in jars
climbing rocks (with Arian behind me in case I slipped)
Sometimes the chief told us old legends of heroes and monsters.
I sat between my siblings, listening quietly, heart full.
Evenings
Mother lit a small fire.
We gathered around it as she taught us songs from her hometown.
Arian would rest his head on Father's lap, exhausted from training.
Sera would curl beside me, playing with my fingers.
And I…
I felt something warm growing inside me.
Not strength.
Not power.
Not potential.
But belonging.
For a man who had lived a life of lies, belonging was a miracle.
---
Seeds of Who I Would Become
Even without magic or a system, something in me remained from my past life:
I read people easily.
I noticed moods before they were spoken.
I sensed tension like a hound smelled blood.
If a villager was sad, I was the first to comfort them.
If a fight broke out, I was the one who calmed everyone.
If children argued, they came to me for judgment.
Adults called me: "a wise little one,"
"sharp as a blade,"
"so understanding for his age."
But it wasn't wisdom.
It wasn't magic.
It was guilt.
Guilt from the old life.
Determination to never hurt people again.
I wanted to help.
I wanted to be good.
I wanted to earn this second chance.
Little did I know…
Everything I loved was temporary.
Peace was only the first chapter.
The calm before the storm.
A storm none of us saw coming.
Not yet.
Not in those warm village days filled with laughter, bread, river water, and innocent promises.
For now…
I was just a weak boy
in a quiet village
surrounded by love.
A miracle I never believed I deserved.