Snow fell in thick, silent sheets over the empty park.
The city lights blurred into soft halos behind the curtain of white. Couples hurried past with linked arms, scarves wrapped tight, laughing into each other's shoulders as they escaped the cold. Families dragged sleds and carried paper bags filled with last-minute gifts. Everyone had somewhere warm to go. Everyone had someone waiting.
Except me.
I sat alone on the frost-crusted bench, collar turned up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of a coat that no longer smelled like home. My breath came out in slow, ghostly plumes that dissolved almost instantly. Above me the sky was the color of old bruises—dark purple bleeding into black. No stars tonight. Just snow and silence.
I tilted my head back until the flakes landed on my eyelashes and melted into tears I hadn't realized were already there.
"Another life…" The words slipped out, barely louder than the wind. "If I get another life… I'll protect them. I'll become strong enough. Strong enough that no one I love ever has to disappear again."
My voice cracked on the last word.
I laughed once—short, bitter, more breath than sound.
"My name… was Izumi Horaki."
Twenty-four years old.
Dead inside long before the body caught up.
"I lost them all. Mom. Dad. Horashika…" Her name hurt worse than the cold sinking into my bones. "If you were still here you'd probably kick my ass for sitting here feeling sorry for myself, wouldn't you?"
The memory of her crooked grin flashed behind my eyes—bright, fearless, the kind of smile that used to make me believe the world could be kind if you just tried hard enough.
Tears slid hot down frozen cheeks and froze again before they reached my jaw.
"I can't even think straight anymore," I whispered. "I just… I don't want anyone else to feel this. Not ever. I want to go home."
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes.
"But I don't have a home anymore. Just a house. An empty fucking house."
I forced myself to stand. Legs numb. Heart heavier than the snow piling on my shoulders.
That was when I saw her.
A tiny figure—no more than four or five—standing motionless in the middle of the wide road. White dress. No coat. No hat. Just long dark hair whipping in the wind and a small, confused face turned toward the oncoming headlights.
A black sedan barreled down the slope, tires hissing on the thin layer of snow. Too fast. Way too fast for this weather.
"Hey—!"
My shout drowned in the wind.
The crowd on the sidewalk thickened—people stopping, gasping, phones already raised—but no one moved.
I didn't think.
I ran.
Pushing through bodies, coats, elbows. Snow stung my face like needles. My boots slipped once, twice—I caught myself, kept going.
The car's horn blared, long and panicked.
The girl still hadn't moved.
I reached the curb in one desperate leap.
"Kid—!"
Too loud. Too late.
I threw myself forward.
Arms wrapped around a tiny, fragile body. I twisted, putting my back between her and the metal monster.
Impact.
Not pain—not at first.
Just pressure. A sickening crunch that vibrated through every bone. Then heat. Then cold. Then nothing.
The world tilted sideways.
Snowflakes kept falling, lazy and uncaring, onto my open eyes.
I heard screaming—distant, muffled.
Someone was crying.
The little girl was safe. I could feel her small hands clutching my coat.
That was enough.
Darkness rushed in fast, like black water rising over my head.
And then—
A voice.
Soft. Warm. Impossibly gentle.
"You're brave, little one."
The words wrapped around me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
After that… nothing.
∞
Darkness.
Not the kind you see. The kind you feel.
I existed and didn't exist at the same time. No body. No heartbeat. No breath. Just awareness floating in endless black.
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
I tried to scream.
Silence.
So I counted.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
…
Three hundred forty-five thousand Mississippi.
And then—
Voices.
Distant at first. Echoing.
"…healthy boy…"
"…look at him…"
"…so small…"
Warmth flooded in next. Not temperature—something deeper. A heartbeat not my own. A rhythmic thump-thump that cradled me.
I was inside someone.
Alive again.
Reborn.
The realization hit like a second impact.
I tried to open my eyes.
Too bright. Too heavy.
So I slept.
And slept.
And slept.
∞
When I finally managed to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds, the first thing I saw was her.
Silver hair like moonlight spilled over silk. Eyes the color of fresh blood—ruby red, piercing, yet impossibly soft when they looked at me.
She was beautiful in a way that made the word feel small and useless.
A goddess holding me against her chest.
My mother.
She smiled down at me, and something inside my new, infant heart cracked open.
"Hello, my little rain," she whispered. "I've been waiting for you."
Her voice was music and safety and everything I'd lost.
I didn't know how to cry properly yet, but tears came anyway—hot, helpless, grateful.
She kissed my forehead.
"I'm Luna. Luna Arcboard. And this—" She turned slightly.
A man leaned over us. Black hair like the night sky itself. Eyes the deepest blue I'd ever seen—cold as glaciers, yet melting the moment they met mine.
My father.
Dane Arcboard.
He reached out with careful fingers and brushed my cheek.
"Welcome home, son."
Home.
The word pierced straight through me.
I cried harder.
They didn't understand why.
They just held me tighter.
∞
My name became Rainhart Arcboard.
I had three older siblings.
Amura—oldest brother. Silver hair. Purple eyes. Same sharp, handsome features as Father, but with a protective scowl that could probably stop a charging dragon. He looked at me like he was deciding whether to kill me or adopt me forever. Then he grinned—wide, boyish—and declared I was finally the little brother he'd always wanted.
The twins—Luna and Lina. Five years old when I was born.
Luna had silver hair like Mother and bright, laughing red eyes. She talked enough for both of them. Always carrying me, singing off-key lullabies, declaring me "the cutest baby in the entire world."
Lina was quieter. Pale gold hair—so light it almost looked white. Same ruby eyes, but hers stayed half-hidden behind long lashes. She rarely spoke. Instead she brought me flowers. White spider lilies. Every day. Silent offering laid beside my crib like a secret promise.
One afternoon, when I was maybe six months old, she stood on tiptoe, clutching a single bloom.
Mother knelt beside her.
"Lina, sweetheart. Talk to your brother."
Lina's cheeks flushed pink.
She leaned close.
"Hello, Rain," she whispered. Voice soft as falling petals. "I'm your older sister… Lina."
I stared at her.
Tried to shape the sound.
"L…i…na…"
Her eyes went wide.
Mother gasped.
"Honey! Dane! Come quickly—Rain said his first word!"
Father and Amura nearly knocked the door off its hinges.
I said it again, slower, proud.
"L…i…na…"
Father laughed—loud, joyful.
"He loves you more than anything, Lina!"
Lina's face crumpled. Not sadness. Something softer. She climbed onto the bed, wrapped tiny arms around me, and hugged so tight I could barely breathe.
I tried to hug back.
Sleepiness crashed over me like a wave.
I fell asleep curled against her chest, her heartbeat the last thing I heard.
∞
Time moved strangely after that.
Days blurred into months.
I learned faces. Voices. Smells.
Mother smelled like night-blooming jasmine and warm milk.
Father smelled like steel, cedar, and the faint metallic tang of mana.
Amura smelled like leather and adventure.
Luna smelled like sugar cookies and sunshine.
Lina smelled like lilies and quiet secrets.
I didn't know what I looked like yet.
But I knew I was loved.
And for the first time in two lifetimes…
I let myself believe it might last.