The iron scent of blood and the heavy, damp smell of upturned earth usually defined Eiden's world. For thirty years, his life had been measured in the distance of a sword's reach and the tactical maps of the Insole Kingdom. As he stood on the ridge overlooking the scorched remains of the final battlefield, Eiden felt a sensation he hadn't known since his youth: peace. The war was over. The borders were secure.
He returned to the capital not as a conqueror seeking a throne, but as a tired man seeking a bed.
The throne room was cold, despite the hearths roaring with coal. King Valerius sat atop his gilded chair, eyes tracing the scars on Eiden's face. Eiden knelt, the joints of his plate armor groaning under the weight of his fatigue.
"The northern tribes have retreated beyond the Frostfire peaks, Your Majesty," Eiden said, his voice raspy from decades of shouting commands. "The Insole Kingdom is whole once more."
"You have served us well, General," the King replied, his voice smooth and dangerously neutral. "You are the shield of this nation. What reward could possibly suffice for thirty years of blood?"
"Retirement," Eiden said simply. "I wish to lay down my sword. I have spent more time in a tent than in a house. I wish to live normally, far from the sound of drums."
The King's expression didn't flicker. "A humble request for a man of your stature. Go, rest. We shall discuss the details of your pension in the morning."
Eiden bowed and retired to his private chambers within the palace. He stripped away the heavy layers of leather and steel, feeling the ache in his bones that no victory could soothe. On the bedside table sat a simple pewter cup of water. He took a long, deep draught, the cool liquid sliding down his parched throat.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching to unlace his boots, but his fingers refused to move.
A cold, heavy sensation began to spread from his stomach. It wasn't the warmth of sleep, but the icy grip of paralysis. He tried to stand, but his legs were leaden. He collapsed onto the floor, the impact dull and distant. As he lay there, staring at the flicker of a candle, his lungs seized.
'Poison,' he thought, the realization hitting him with more force than any mace. 'After thirty years... the King wouldn't let a man who knows the army's loyalty walk away. A retired general is a potential rebel. A dead general is a martyr.'
His vision blurred. The ceiling of the palace faded into a suffocating darkness. Eiden, the General of Insole, died on the floor of his own room, betrayed by the crown he had spent his life defending.
Light. It was too bright, cutting through his consciousness like a blade. Eiden tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, but his limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated, and impossibly small. He tried to speak, to demand to know why the poison hadn't finished the job, but all that emerged from his throat was a high-pitched, wet gurgle.
"Nu-uh, e-uu?"
The voice he heard wasn't his own. It was a muffled, melodic sound. Everything was out of focus, a swirl of colors and shadows. He felt himself being lifted, the sensation of warm skin against his own.
"Shoo... la mi, de..."
He blinked rapidly, his infant eyes struggling to adjust. Slowly, the world began to take shape. Above him was a woman. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a cascade of hair as white as a winter moon. Her eyes were soft, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and overwhelming love.
Behind her stood a man with sharp, noble features and hair as black as the midnight sky. He looked down at Eiden with a grin that spoke of immense pride.
'What is this?' Eiden thought, panic beginning to rise in his chest. 'The palace is gone. The pain... the paralysis... it's gone. Who are these people?'
He tried to look around, his neck feeling like a stalk of grass supporting a heavy stone. The room was modest but warm, built of sturdy timber and filled with a scent he couldn't recognize—something sweet and floral.
"*Lu... Abe...*" the woman whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "*Abe Thorne...*" (this is ** is to show that he can't understand the language.)
Eiden froze. He didn't understand the language, the sounds were alien and rhythmic, yet he could feel the intent. They were naming him. They were looking at him as if he were the center of their universe.
'I died,' he realized, the logic of a general finally cutting through the confusion. 'The water was poisoned. My heart stopped. I didn't survive... I've been born again. Reincarnation? Like the legends of the Far East?'
The thought was absurd. Magic and rebirth were the stories told to children to keep them entertained during long winters. In the Insole Kingdom, there was only steel and strategy.
A third person entered his field of vision. This woman wore robes of deep forest green and carried a leather satchel. She looked older, her face lined with the wisdom of a healer. She spoke to the white-haired woman, her voice sounding concerned.
"*...mi no? Ka re su...*"
The mother responded, her face clouding with a hint of worry. She gestured toward Eiden, her hands moving over his small chest.
'I can't understand what they're saying,' Eiden thought, frustration bubbling up. 'But from what I can deduce... they're worried about me. Why? I feel fine. Better than I have in decades.'
The mother pointed at his face and then at his quiet, still body. Eiden realized he hadn't made a sound. He wasn't crying. To them, he likely seemed catatonic or ill.
The healer nodded and reached into her satchel. She pulled out a small, glass vial containing a shimmering green liquid, but she didn't open it. Instead, she closed her eyes and held her hand over Eiden's forehead.
"Euu!"
The word was sharp, a command.
Suddenly, a bright, emerald light erupted from the healer's palm. It wasn't a reflection or a trick of the light. It was physical. It was humming. It was warm.
'Is that... magic?' Eiden's mind raced. 'Fairytale books. They were real. This world... it has magic.'
He stared at the light, mesmerized. As a general, he had always looked for the advantage, the edge in battle. Seeing this power manifested so casually by a village healer sent a jolt of adrenaline through his tiny frame. he felt an intense, burning curiosity.
As the green light descended toward him, intending to wash over his skin and check his vitals, Eiden felt a strange pull in his center. It was as if his very soul was a vacuum, starving for the energy the healer was emitting.
Without meaning to, he reached out—not with his hands, but with his essence.
The green light sucked into him. It spiraled into his chest like water down a drain, disappearing into his pores.
The healer's eyes snapped open, her face turning ashen. She staggered back, her hand trembling as the light vanished far faster than it should have. She looked at Eiden, then at the mother, her mouth hanging open in shock.
"*...ka? Ma...*" the healer whispered, her voice shaking.
The mother leaned forward, asking a frantic question, her white hair brushing against Eiden's cheek. The healer looked at the mother, then back at the baby. She looked like she wanted to scream, to run out and tell the village what she had just witnessed.
But then, the healer looked at the mother's worried eyes. She saw the love and the fear there. The healer took a deep breath, forced a stiff smile, and shook her head, gesturing that everything was normal. She whispered something dismissive, tucking her hands into her sleeves to hide their shaking.
Eiden didn't see the rest. The moment the green light had entered his body, a wave of immense, crushing heat had filled his veins. It wasn't painful, but it was overwhelming. It was as if he had tried to drink an entire ocean in a single gulp.
His vision swam. The white hair of his mother and the black hair of his father merged into a blur of gray.
'Magic is real,' was his final thought, a grim, determined smile forming in his mind. 'And it belongs to me.'
His eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness claimed him once more, leaving the healer staring in silence at the sleeping infant named Abe.