"Starting over hurts like cold steel going through your chest.
Still,
the real wound is not the beginning…
is the terror of what we do not know,
waiting to devour us."
****
After the shadow enveloped me and I fell into a deep sleep, I woke up during the night with Emanuelle talking to Isabel.
I didn't pay much attention to the conversation between the two, since it wasn't that important to me and I couldn't understand a single word they were saying. My attention was on the feeling the shadow gave me as it wrapped itself around my small body.
It was just like the feeling when I was immersed inside that stream in the afterlife. I felt no cold and much less heat; it was a feeling of similarity between the two of us, as if the body was now complete.
As I remembered the metallic, bloody taste I had in my mouth as the shadow fed on the soldier, a feeling of nausea rose up my throat. The shadow, which enveloped me with its cold comfort, seemed to vibrate with the memory of that taste. It was as if I had not only eaten, but as if the shadow was an extension of my own stomach, and I was tasting that death through it.
I wonder if I should feel remorse for yet another person I had killed, directly or indirectly… but what's the point of feeling remorse now? If I've done this a few times on Earth… here I still had a good reason — maybe not the best, but still a reason.
Anyway… I don't want to keep thinking about it.
To try to dispel that horrifying and unsatisfying memory, I began to observe the pace at which the cart walked and rattled on the uneven, potholed dirt road.
My mind was still exhausted from everything that had happened so far, but, to escape the horrible thoughts that insisted on remaining, I turned my attention to the population of that city.
Seeing that whole periphery full of poor people — certainly exploited by corrupt rulers — some memories of my hometown came to mind. Both here and there, poverty was glaring. I remember that after the First World War, Germany entered a gigantic recession, driving many families into poverty.
I saw some people starve to death. The crime rate rose in a way that never made sense by the standards we experienced before the war. It wasn't the best, but the population lived relatively well.
Our family was not as affected by the recession and crisis, as my father and mother came from an upper-middle-class family with influence in regional politics.
With the end of World War I, the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, and the rise in poverty and crime, it became clear how easily the population embraced the Führer's populist rhetoric— and how he came to power so quickly.
None of this justifies the cruelties he and the entire party committed —myself included, when I created false reports about Aryan supremacy—, but it helps to understand how he rose.
After all, a population in poverty is one of the best ways to manipulate it.
I turned my face to the woman who was sleeping calmly next to me. My new mother had a serene face, too handsome for the standard of the commoners I saw during our run through alleys and poorly made streets.
I still had doubts about what she really was. If she was a thief… or perhaps a fugitive from some forced marriage, like so many who existed for a long time on Earth.
If she's a thief, I don't really know what to think about it… as much as I wasn't a "military" in my past life, I had training and even came to be recognized as a — even though my role was more focused on reporting and the rituals the Order practiced.
But if she is fleeing a forced marriage, then her story is perhaps much sadder than I can imagine. Being forced to have relationships with someone she doesn't even love, just because it would be beneficial to her family… that's when the family wasn't simply forced to hand over their own daughter to some noblewoman, just because he wanted her.
I looked at the little girl I believed to be my sister.
She would chat quietly with Isabel and sometimes let out a small smile — a smile that seemed to fill a void I didn't even know still existed inside my chest.
I looked back at my mother, and the mere possibility that I was the product of abuse left me depressed and filled with hatred for that man. Just imagining my daughter Isolte going through such pain squeezed my chest.
My mother didn't look that old, maybe twenty at most. Maybe that's why I'm superimposing Isolte's image on it.
I was absorbed looking at my mother when she moved. I was still in his arms, wrapped in some cloths —maybe blankets— that kept me warm. I couldn't see what outfit I was wearing, but I knew I was dressed in something.
Her gaze carried a lot of fatigue and a deep pain, as if she had run a marathon.
She turned to me, looking deep inside my eyes, and her lips formed a smile. A smile of relief, as if seeing a "miracle" right before her.
Running her hand over my face, she said softly:
— [It's okay, my son… it's okay!] — She paused briefly, coughing weakly, and spoke again: — [Now everything will work out. The three of us are going to live far away from that damn thing!] — With a tired smile, she turned to talk to Emanuelle.
In his last sentence, there was a feeling of deep hatred. I still don't understand what she means, but the hatred was blatant in her voice.
After a few minutes of conversation between her, Emanuelle and Isabel, my mother turned to me.
I was silent, lost in thought about life —both current and past— and didn't even pay attention to what they talked about.
Back in the present, noticing her look at me, I saw that she began to pull away a part of her dress.
My eyes widened at the same time.
You see… it's okay that I've been reincarnated and am now in a baby's body, but mentally I'm still an adult.
All my life, I have had only one woman — my wife— and never anyone else. It wasn't like I saw naked women out there. So don't get me wrong: when my eyes widened when I saw her pull out her breasts, it wasn't out of modesty or childish shame. I wasn't a virgin who blushed at the sight of a breast.
Okay, the first time I saw my wife naked, I was nervous… but that's normal for any young person, right?
But that wasn't the reason for my reaction now.
The truth is, I just wasn't psychologically prepared to be breastfed. This takes a lot out of someone who has an adult mind and is suddenly reborn as a baby — and still has to deal with the fact that his new mother will feed him.
As I waged this internal war, my stomach decided to make that pretentious old hunger noise…
Shit. Betrayed by biology itself.
She finished exposing her breast and approached me carefully.
— [You're really hungry, son… Mommy will breastfeed you now.] —
At first I fought, I resisted. My ex-lieutenant, ex-occult mind screamed orders of revulsion. But my stomach growled again, even louder, a pretentious, traitorous sound. Shit. Betrayed by biology itself. I, who survived the war and killed myself to escape guilt, was being defeated by a biological reflex.
With a mental sigh of defeat, I gave in. The baby's mouth closed over the breast. And to my horror and relief, it was the most natural thing in the world.
Three days had passed since I was reincarnated in this world, where magic really exists and is not something intangible as it was on Earth.
Here, in addition to being able to see and feel what is being done, you can also physically touch the spell cast.
Not that I'd ever touched a spell — after all, I spent those three days more sleeping than awake. And when I was awake, my mom would play with me or breastfeed me… well, that part of breastfeeding is still weird to me.
The taste of milk is also peculiar. I can't describe it accurately, but it falls somewhere between sweet and salty.
Aside from the moments when she breastfed me, I could tell she hadn't yet fully recovered from the magic she cast in the alley.
And as for why I knew magic could be played, this came exactly from the moment she erected the earthen wall to defend us — I could clearly hear the swords slamming against the solid wall she created.
Besides, I still try to understand what that shadow that accompanies me is. Whether it's some kind of magic, a spirit coupled to my life energy, or something else entirely… and perhaps feeding on it.
To be honest, I've even considered it a spiritual, pact-like thing, especially since when she "wrapped herself" around me, I felt the same feeling I experienced on that ethereal plane of the afterlife.
But leaving my speculations aside… During these three days of travel, almost nothing happened. Only at one point did we find a cart overturned, with blood strewn across the ground. I believe it was the work of bandits, but it could also have been some wild beast attack or something similar. Either way, I'm glad we weren't attacked.
During the trip, my mother also changed her clothes, leaving behind those expensive clothes that attracted a lot of attention.
Now she wore a simple, knee-length dress made of thick, rough fabric in a dull shade of brown. The sleeves completely covered his thin arms.
On his feet, he wore a light shoe — nothing fancy compared to the one he wore the day I was reincarnated.
Her red hair was tied in a ponytail that ran down her back. The bruises I saw when I woke up were still there, but they were starting to get better.
Her adornments — earrings, bracelet and necklace — she had removed and stored inside a compartment that only opened when she injected mana. This was my first contact with a magical object.
Isabel had also changed her clothes. I wore a dress just like my mother's, but much more worn — or maybe "older" is the right word.
She also took off her silver adornments and kept them next to my mother's. Emanuelle did the same.
Speaking of my sister, she was wearing a little jumpsuit with a skirt that went down to below her knees. When our mother told her to change her clothes, she threw that typical childish tantrum — and it brought back another memory of Isolte… How I wish I could give my life so she would have lived.
Pain consumes me, but there's no point in thinking about it now. Unfortunately, there's not much to do and the only possible course of action is to move on… even if I don't want to. After all, at any moment I can take my life again and put an end to everything.
We finally entered another city, after three nights and three days of travel. I believe the despair was so great that Isabel offered to drive the cart during the night, while the coachman did the same in the morning.
Of course, at times it was necessary to stop to rest the horses and even to feed ourselves.
Before we got to this city, we passed through another one a little smaller. That's where my mother bought the new clothes and some groceries we consumed during the trip.
I thought we were going to sleep in that city, in some inn, maybe even with a small bed — but we didn't have time for that. If we were there for five hours, it was a lot.
This coachman must have a huge patience… I thought, when we finally reached this third city, much larger than the previous one.
I have almost no memories of the first city where I woke up, but with the little awareness I have now, I realize that this city must be much poorer than the first — and a little richer than the second.
One of the first things I noticed is that these two cities were not walled, but had around them a wide body of water, somewhere between 20 and 30 meters. Unlike the first city, which in addition to being walled also had the same body of water and a greater number of soldiers at the entrance.
They wore light chainmail armor and carried swords strapped to their waists.
One of the soldiers, more corpulent, seeing us stop, came towards us and asked who we were.
Isabel started talking to him — seemed to be in charge of the entrance.
He was tall, somewhere between 5'7" and 5'9". His body was thin, but not weak. His face showed weariness, as if he had worked all night. Under my black eyes, I noticed deep dark circles, confirming that I probably hadn't slept at all.
On the right cheek, there was a scar that ran down from the eye to the mouth.
It seems this soldier is old at war… concludes by observing that mark.
After Isabel finished the conversation, she reached into her leather bag and took out two gold coins, handing them to the soldier, who smiled broadly as soon as he received them.
Of course, I couldn't help but notice that he looked around to make sure none of the other four soldiers had seen the bribe.
How do I know it's bribery? Well… it's just an intuition.
But let's face it, soldiers accepting bribes is nothing new. On Earth, how many times have they not tried to bribe me into passing certain rich kids into university?
I'm not going to lie: I accepted a few times… but anyway.
After Isabel paid the bribe, the soldier walked away and waved to another, who was next to the wooden bridge where there was a gate blocking the passage.
Reaching out, he proclaimed:
— [Welcome to the city of Sephira.]