My name is Aldric Vaelor—failure, loser, talentless.
Call me anything. It won't hurt more than the truth.
For twenty-six years, I trained.
Swordsmanship, magic, discipline…
Day after day, night after night, I pushed myself until my bones cracked and my spirit tore.
But no matter how hard I tried, I never moved forward.
I remained at the starting point of my life.
Sometimes I wondered—
Did the gods truly abandon me?
And now… here I am.
Bleeding out on a silent battlefield, pierced straight through the heart by a long, cold blade.
No one will remember me.
No songs. No stories.
Just an unmarked corpse among thousands.
As darkness swallowed me, I whispered with the last breath in my lungs:
"God… if you exist… tell me—
why did you abandon me?
Why?"
The world faded.
But then—
A warm, gentle whisper brushed against my ear.
"Did we really abandon you?"
Another voice followed, deep and amused.
"No… I don't believe we did. Aldric, we have been watching you."
My fading mind jolted awake.
Gods? Voices?
Was I hallucinating as I died?
The first voice spoke again, filled with something like pity… or hope.
"You have not been forsaken. Your struggle has moved us.
So we shall grant you a new chance."
Light swallowed me whole.
When I opened my eyes again—
I heard children crying.
My vision was low to the ground.
My body felt weak and small.
I looked at my hands…
Tiny. Soft.
A child's hands.
Shock froze my breath.
I…
I had been reborn.