My name is Éder. I'm twenty-nine years old… or at least, I was.
My mother died giving birth to me. My father, on the other hand, chose to watch his company grow instead of his son. I grew up surrounded by silence, money, and absence. The allowance he gave me was generous, and I spent it like a man who believed life had an expiration date.
I wasted nothing.
I experienced everything.
I never believed in anything that couldn't be measured. I was a convinced atheist. Science was my only altar. If there was no life after death, then the only thing that mattered was living with brutal intensity.
And that's exactly what I did.
Hunting. Fighting. Fishing.
Ancient instincts ran through my blood. I always believed there was something primitive buried deep inside us—an echo of what humanity once was. I fed that echo constantly.
And I was good at it.
Fast. Precise. Fearless.
Until the day everything ended.
During a hunt, the bullet meant to claim another life ended up claiming mine instead.
I remember the impact.
The metallic taste filling my mouth.
The ground rushing up to meet me.
And then…
Silence.
But the silence didn't last forever.
When my consciousness returned, there was no divine light. No angels. No heavenly voices welcoming me.
There was only pain.
A crushing pressure spread across my entire body, as if the world itself was squeezing me from every direction. I tried to scream—but nothing came out. I tried to move—but my body wouldn't respond.
Panic hit me immediately.
I was conscious.
But I had no control.
Then I felt it.
Two hands holding me.
Firm. Careful.
I was lifted into the air.
And then—
Smack.
A sharp slap landed on my backside, forcing a sound out of me.
But it wasn't a man's shout.
It was the weak, fragile cry of a newborn.
The sound echoed in my ears, thin and helpless.
No.
That was impossible.
Warm, delicate hands wrapped around my body soon after, holding me close. A woman's voice spoke softly near my ear. The language was unfamiliar. I couldn't understand a single word…
But I could hear the emotion in her voice.
My vision was blurry. Shapes and lights blended together in a hazy dance. I could barely distinguish anything before exhaustion dragged me into darkness once again.
When I woke up later, my mind was clearer.
Or at least… as clear as it could be inside such a tiny body.
For a few moments, I simply breathed, feeling the air move in and out of my lungs—lungs that felt far too small for my thoughts.
Then I began organizing my memories.
The hunt.
The gunshot.
The fall.
Darkness.
Crying.
And now… this.
There was only one logical conclusion.
As absurd as it sounded.
I had been reincarnated.
If my body allowed it, I would've laughed.
Me. Of all people.
A man who mocked religion.
A man who rejected the idea of souls, spirits, or life after death.
And yet here I was.
If this was irony, the universe had a cruel sense of humor.
Maybe it was just a hallucination before my brain finally shut down.
Maybe my mind was creating a fantasy to soften the moment of death.
But everything felt far too real.
The fabric beneath my back.
The scent in the air—fresh wood, damp earth, and something faintly floral.
The distant sound of birds…
Birds I had never heard before.
Slowly, I started paying attention to my surroundings.
I was lying inside a cradle made from pale wood, carved with intricate patterns that resembled leaves and twisting branches. The bars weren't iron, but braided vines woven together with perfect craftsmanship—flexible, yet strong enough to hold me.
Golden sunlight poured through a circular window, bathing the room in a gentle glow.
The walls looked… alive.
Not built.
Grown.
As if the entire house had been shaped from a massive tree rather than constructed from cut planks.
Nothing about this place resembled the modern world.
Nothing about it resembled Earth.
My heart began to race.
This wasn't a dream.
I had been born into another world.