The first thing Charles felt… was weakness.
Not the ordinary kind.
Not the kind that comes from hunger or exhaustion.
This was deeper.
It clung to his bones like rot. It sat in his chest like something broken that had never healed.
His breath came shallow. Fragile.
"…again…"
The word slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken.
His voice was young.
Too young.
A ceiling made of uneven wooden planks greeted him. Gaps between them let thin rays of sunlight seep through, cutting across the dim room like silent blades.
Dust floated in the air.
The smell—earth, dry straw, and something faintly bitter—filled his lungs.
Charles frowned.
This isn't… a hospital.
His thoughts felt slow. Heavy. As if his mind had been dragged through mud before waking.
Then—
Pain.
A sharp pulse behind his eyes.
And suddenly—
Memories surged.
White walls.
Machines beeping.
A weak body lying on a bed that felt too big.
A life spent staring out windows.
A name called by nurses.
A diagnosis repeated too many times.
A future… that never came.
Charles gasped, his fingers tightening against the rough fabric beneath him.
"I… died."
The realization came quietly.
No drama. No denial.
Just truth.
His last memory was clear—
Rain tapping against glass.
A faint smile on his lips.
And darkness swallowing everything.
"…so this is after?"
His voice trembled slightly.
Not from fear.
From confusion.
A sudden creak pulled him back to the present.
The wooden door opened slowly.
Light flooded in.
And in its frame stood a woman.
She looked… tired.
Not weak—but worn. Like life had carved small lines into her face and never gave them back.
Her hair was loosely tied, strands falling over her cheeks. Her clothes were simple, patched in places.
But her eyes—
Warm.
"Charles?"
Her voice was soft, cautious.
"You're awake…"
Something inside him shifted.
Not from his past life.
But from this body.
A faint echo.
A connection.
"…mother…"
The word came out naturally.
Unforced.
And yet it stunned him more than anything else.
The woman—Laura—froze for a moment.
Then her expression broke.
Relief.
Pure and overwhelming.
She rushed forward, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his forehead.
"You scared me," she whispered. "You've been burning for two days."
Two days.
Charles blinked slowly.
His body… felt like it had been through war.
Every muscle weak. Every breath shallow.
So this wasn't just rebirth.
This body had been close to dying.
"I…"
His throat tightened.
Words didn't come easily.
Not because he didn't know what to say—
But because too many memories were colliding at once.
Another surge.
This time not from his past life.
But from this one.
Running across dry fields.
Barefoot.
Laughing with children whose names he barely knew.
A small house.
A man with a rough voice but steady hands.
Calloused fingers gripping a farming tool.
"…Vaner."
Charles's eyes widened slightly.
His father.
"Still weak?" Laura asked gently.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
There was exhaustion in her eyes.
But also… something stronger.
Care.
The kind that didn't need words.
"…yes."
It was the truth.
His body was weak.
Fragile.
Even sitting up felt like climbing a mountain.
Laura nodded, not surprised.
"I'll bring you something warm. Don't try to move."
She stood, hesitated—
Then gently brushed his gray hair back.
"You'll be fine," she said softly.
And then she left.
Silence returned.
But not the same silence as before.
This one was… heavier.
Filled with thought.
Charles slowly raised his hand.
Thin.
Pale.
Small.
"…fourteen," he murmured.
The number came from memory.
This body's age.
Fourteen years old.
And already this weak?
He let out a quiet breath.
"Not much changed…"
A faint, almost bitter smile touched his lips.
In his previous life, he had been trapped in a failing body.
Now—
He was given another.
Different world.
Different life.
Same weakness.
"…no."
His expression hardened slightly.
Not the same.
Not completely.
This world felt different.
Even from the small room alone, he could tell.
No machines.
No distant city sounds.
No artificial life.
Just—
Wind.
Faint… but present.
He could hear it slipping through the cracks in the walls.
Charles slowly turned his head toward the small window.
Outside—
Dry land stretched beyond what he could fully see.
The soil looked tired.
Cracked.
Like it had given up on growing anything long ago.
A few scattered houses stood in the distance.
Simple.
Quiet.
Small.
A village.
No—
A community.
The kind that survives.
Not thrives.
"…interesting."
The word slipped out without thought.
And yet—
There was something in his chest.
Something unfamiliar.
Not fear.
Not despair.
Curiosity.
In his previous life, the world had always been out of reach.
Something he could only observe.
Never touch.
Never explore.
But now—
Even in this weak body—
The world was there.
Open.
Waiting.
Another memory flickered.
This body's memory.
Forests beyond the fields.
Rumors of travelers.
Stories whispered at night about knights… monsters… distant cities.
His heartbeat quickened slightly.
Weak.
But alive.
"…an open world."
The words felt strange.
But right.
For the first time—
Charles slowly pushed himself up.
His arms trembled immediately.
Pain shot through his body.
His vision blurred.
But he didn't stop.
"…not dying again."
His voice was quiet.
But firm.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Bare feet touched the cold wooden floor.
Unstable.
Uncertain.
Alive.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
Not wide.
Not dramatic.
But real.
"Charles!"
The door burst open again.
This time—
A man stood there.
Broad shoulders. Rough features. Clothes stained from work.
Vaner.
He froze when he saw Charles standing.
"…you idiot boy," he muttered.
But his voice carried relief more than anger.
Charles looked at him.
Really looked.
This man—
Was his father.
Not from blood of the past.
But from this life.
"…sorry."
The word came out naturally.
Vaner clicked his tongue and walked over, placing a firm hand on Charles's shoulder to steady him.
"Don't push yourself. You're barely alive as it is."
Charles let out a small breath.
"…I know."
And yet—
His gaze drifted back to the window.
To the barren land.
To the distant unknown.
Something inside him had already changed.
He had died once.
He remembered what it felt like to have no future.
Now—
Even in weakness.
Even in a broken body.
He had been given something again.
A beginning.
And this time—
Charles wasn't going to spend it lying down.
To be continued…