The light was everything—blinding, all-encompassing, a cascade of gold and amber and violet that drowned out thought and memory. It pulled me through, reshaping me, until suddenly it shattered like glass, and I was thrust into cold, sharp reality.
Air rushed into my lungs, raw and unfamiliar. I gasped, the sound escaping as a thin, wavering cry. My body—tiny, fragile—convulsed with the effort. Wetness clung to my skin, and hands, large and gentle, wrapped around me, lifting me from... from what? Darkness? No, from warmth, from confinement.
I blinked against the blur, vision swimming in and out. Colors assaulted me—rich greens and browns, softer than Earth's neon glare. The air carried scents: fresh earth after rain, wood smoke from a hearth, herbs drying in bundles. No exhaust fumes, no synthetic cleaners. Just pure, living aromas that stirred something primal in me.
This was it. Rebirth.
The cry tapered off as I fought for control, my adult mind reeling in this infant shell. Limbs flailed weakly—arms too short, legs kicking without purpose. Helpless. Utterly helpless. If I could have laughed, I would have. Bitterly. Here I was, the would-be master chef, reduced to a squirming bundle.
Great, my thoughts echoed sarcastically. From washing dishes to needing someone to wipe my ass. Progress.
The hands holding me belonged to a woman—my mother now, I supposed. Her face came into focus: mid-thirties, kind eyes framed by dark hair streaked with faint silver, a gentle smile breaking through exhaustion. She cooed softly in a language that flowed like melody, yet I understood every word, as if the rebirth had woven it into my mind.
"He's here, Elias. Our little HiroVale."
Another face appeared beside hers—a man, broad-shouldered with a trimmed beard and scars faint across his knuckles. His eyes, sharp and assessing, softened as he looked down. "Strong cry. That's a good sign. Let me see him."
She passed me carefully into his arms. His hold was firm but tender, callused hands speaking of a life of labor or battle. He examined me with a practiced eye, fingers brushing my skin. "No marks. Affinities might show early—feel that subtle hum? The Stars have blessed him already."
Mira—that was her name, surfacing in my thoughts like an implanted memory. And Elias. My parents in this world. Retired adventurers, settling in EldoriaVillage for a quiet life. The knowledge came unbidden, part of the sponsorship, perhaps. Mira, a former ranked A mage with a knack for healing spells. Elias, a swordsman who once ranked A as well in the guilds. They'd chosen this fertile corner of the VerdantPlains—a region under by AetheriaKingdom—to raise a family, away from the border dangers.
Eldoria Village. The name evoked images: Thatched roofs clustered around a central market square, rolling fields of golden wheat and mana-infused herbs stretching to the horizon, a modest Hestia shrine glowing softly at the village heart. A safe haven in Aetheria Kingdom, far from the wilds or deserts, but not immune to occasional threats like blights or bandits.
I tried to turn my head, to take it all in. The room was simple but warm—a single-story home with wooden beams, a stone hearth crackling with fire, bundles of dried lavender and sage hanging from the rafters. Through a small window, I glimpsed the outside: Lush greenery under a sky painted in hues of dawn, birds with iridescent wings flitting past. No skyscrapers, no cars. Just nature, alive in a way Earth never felt.
Mana. That was the tingle in the air, a subtle vibration like static before a storm. It hummed faintly, brushing against my skin. The Stars' gift? Or just the world's essence? I focused, trying to grasp it, but my infant body betrayed me—eyes heavy, limbs unresponsive.
"Rest now, little one," Mira murmured, taking me back and settling me against her chest. The rhythm of her heartbeat was soothing, familiar in its humanity. Elias watched, a quiet pride in his stance.
They spoke in low tones as I drifted on the edge of sleep. "He has your eyes, Mira."
"And your strength, Elias. The midwives said the birth was swift— a blessing from the New Bloom phase."
New Bloom. The spring equivalent in their calendar. Day 1, Year 542 of the Star Era. The knowledge slotted into place, courtesy of the system waiting to activate. A lunisolar cycle, tied to moons and mana flows. Festivals, phases influencing magic... it all hovered at the edges of my mind, ready but not yet pressing.
I fought the pull of exhaustion. This body was new, demanding rest, but my thoughts raced. Reborn. Actually reborn. The wish had worked. No more scandals, no more dead-end jobs. A fresh start in a world where magic existed—where cooking could be something more. But starting as a baby?
Of all the ways to begin, I thought wryly. Couldn't they have dropped me in as an adult? Or at least a toddler who can hold a knife?
Still, there was a strange peace in it. No expectations yet. Just potential. The scents around me—fresh bread baking somewhere nearby, the earthy promise of the fields—stirred my old passion. I could almost imagine the kitchens I'd build, the dishes I'd create. Infused with mana? Healing stews, strength-granting brews... the possibilities flickered like stars.
Mira hummed a lullaby, her voice weaving faint threads of mana that eased my tiny form into sleep. Elias stoked the fire, the flames dancing with a soft, enchanted glow.
As my eyes closed, I held onto that spark. This was my chance. My hearth. My odyssey.
But in the quiet, a distant whisper echoed—not from the patrons, but something colder. A shadow of doubt? Or just my imagination?
Sleep claimed me before I could ponder it.
When I woke, the room was brighter, sunlight streaming through the window. Day still felt like the first—time blurred in this fragile state. Mira cradled me, Elias preparing a simple meal at a wooden table. The smells—boiled grains, fresh herbs—were intoxicating, pulling at memories of Yumi's kitchen.
I wriggled, testing my limits again. Arms waved weakly; a gurgle escaped instead of words. Frustrating. Come on, I thought. I need to move. To learn. To cook.
As if in response, a faint tingle built in my chest—the patrons' essences lingering. Demeter's grounding earth, Hestia's protective warmth, Dionysus's joyful spark. It soothed the impatience, reminding me: Growth takes time.
Elias noticed my stirring. "He's awake. Look at those eyes—alert already. A fighter, like his old man."
Mira smiled, bringing me closer to the window. "See the world, Hiro. Your world."
Outside, Eldoria unfolded: Thatched homes dotted the landscape, villagers tending fields under a vast sky. A central market bustled with early traders—humans mostly, but a beast folk or two in the distance, their furred forms carrying bundles. The Hestia shrine glowed softly, a beacon of stone and flame.
It was beautiful. Untamed. Full of promise.
And mine to shape.