Arc's vision cleared just enough to see a face looking down at him lovingly—not a goddess, not an angel, but a human woman with kind eyes.
Arc stared at her, amazed. She was very beautiful, with black flowing hair that framed a smooth, flawless face. Her golden eyes shimmered with warmth, and her porcelain-like skin seemed to glow in the soft light around them. For a moment, he forgot everything else and just observed her, trying to process the fact that someone could look so calm and human in contrast to the chaos he had just endured.
"He has your eyes, darling," said a man who was largely built and exuded a quiet, strong aura. He looked relatively handsome as well, with brown hair and black eyes, and a neatly kept beard that complimented his face. There was something solid and grounded about him, like he was the kind of presence that could command a room without raising his voice.
"But he has your looks," the woman replied, smiling lovingly toward Arc. Her eyes never left him, even during that brief interaction with the man. "He's going to grow up to be a fine young man."
"Bring him here, dear. He needs to rest," the man instructed, reaching for Arc gently.
"Okay, dear, but be careful and gentle," the woman said softly, still smiling.
"Of course I will," the man laughed nervously while lifting Arc. "He's my son, of course. I'll be very careful."
Arc's mind raced. Who were these people? Why did he feel so safe in their presence even as his instincts screamed caution? He tried to speak, to demand, "Put me down!" but only a small, unintelligible babble escaped his mouth.
"What?" he thought. "Why can't I speak?"
Then it dawned on him: he was in a child's body.
"How did this happen? I was supposed to be dead," he whispered to himself. "Did the ritual fail?"
The man carefully placed him into a crib that hovered slightly above the floor, as though floating on air. Arc felt the heaviness of his own head, the strange unfamiliar weight of his small body, and realized he could barely move. His arms were weak, uncoordinated, and felt like foreign objects attached to him.
"I really am a child… did I reincarnate?" he wondered, a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope rising in him.
The man had a device on his wrist, sleek and metallic like a miniature computer. He pressed it, and a holographic display appeared above his arm, filled with figures, graphs, and symbols Arc couldn't decipher. Arc watched it intently, recognizing the shapes of energy flows and magical signatures from his previous life, even though he couldn't read the language.
"Where is this place?" he asked silently, though the words would never leave his mouth in this form.
"His vital signs are stable, and he seems healthy," the man said to the woman, still smiling.
"Of course he's healthy, darling. He's our son," the woman replied warmly, brushing a hand gently over his tiny head. Both of them were clearly happy, their smiles unbroken and steady, and it made Arc pause.
The man moved to check the woman's vital signs, making sure she was fine while Arc rested in the crib. Every small movement fascinated him—he was seeing a world that should have been mundane to a child but was entirely new to him.
I don't get it. I'm supposed to be dead.
Well, guess I'm lucky. I get another chance to live.
He wondered if he was still himself. Am I still Arc? He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his consciousness inward. He appeared in his Soul Realm, a cathedral of obsidian and shadow, just as he remembered it. The difference was striking: his Mana Circuits, once roaring rivers of power, were greyed out and dormant.
"Why is it like this? Did the gods manage to destroy my soul?" he pondered.
No. If they had, he wouldn't be in this body. Something else had caused the suppression. Perhaps it was the child vessel itself, too fragile to hold the weight of his power.
Arc examined his Soul Realm carefully. Everything else was the same—the architecture, the energy flows, the faint whispers of past power. Only his abilities and skills were greyed out, locked away like statues in stone.
Do I still have it?
He ventured deeper, to the furthest recesses of his Soul Realm, to the place where the Ancient Power of the Beast lay. There it was, still alive but dormant, greyed out like everything else. He exhaled slowly in relief. It hadn't been destroyed. It was waiting, patient, biding its time.
Arc opened his eyes, returning to the physical world. He turned his gaze to the room. A floating table hovered nearby, and a soft blue light pulsed from a Mana Lamp above. The room glimmered with energy, bright and structured.
"I sense mana, but I haven't seen them using it. Could it be that they don't know how?" he wondered.
"No, that can't be it. Maybe it's because we're indoors," he reasoned silently.
He focused on the two people in the room. The man radiated a strong, blue aura, precise and disciplined. The woman's aura was brilliant white, calm and protective. Arc recognized both; their mana signatures were strong, even to him in this tiny, fragile body. His past experiences with perceiving mana made this clear—these weren't ordinary people.
After checking on the woman, the man kissed her forehead and then Arc's. A gesture of love, care, and reassurance.
"Rest now, dear. You need to recover your strength," the man whispered, his voice steady and comforting.
The man left the room, the door sliding open as he approached and closing behind him with a faint hiss. Arc watched, studying every movement.
Then he noticed a flag in the corner of the room, a light bolt etched onto it—he recognized it immediately. The Mark of Zeus, the god of lightning.
"So they're here too," he whispered to himself, feeling a wave of restrained rage stir in his soul. The gods hadn't just sent him away—they were present in this world, still influencing events even in this Magic-Tech era.
Arc's tiny body felt heavy with exhaustion. "Damn this body," he muttered silently, letting the tension slip just enough for sleep to claim him.
As he drifted off, the woman's gentle voice lingered in the air, warm and soothing.
"Goodnight, Kael…"