Chapter 1 – Death and Rebirth

  I’m blind! I can’t see a damn thing! What the hell happened? Where am I? A hospital? No… wait...why can’t I move? My arms, my legs...they’re useless. And worst of all, I can’t see or hear properly.

  Calm down, Jonathan. Panicking won’t help. Just call for a nurse, a doctor...someone.

  “Gurgle...” What the hell was that? That wasn’t my voice. That was… gargling. I can’t even speak!

  This is bad. Really bad. The explosion, or whatever it was, must have wrecked my body. That’s the only explanation.

  The last thing I remember… we were installing the magnets for the stellarator, prepping the reactor. Then the rumble. Blast. But there shouldn’t have been an explosion! The reactor wasn’t even powered yet. Was it sabotage? A terror attack? Someone is going to pay for this.

  My thoughts drift; my parents, my siblings, and my girlfriend. Damn it, I can’t leave them like this.

  Wait… my vision. It’s clearing up. Shapes. Blurs. Please, God, if you’re out there...let me see.

  The haze lifts. And then...clarity.

  A woman. A beautiful woman. Blonde hair, green eyes, a face like something out of a painting. And... uh...yeah, she’s… generously built. Who the hell are you, lady?

  Then another woman leans over. Wrinkled face, sharp eyes, and a grandma face that honestly deserves its own fan club. A wise old woman look, no denying it.

  But… wait. Why are their faces so huge?

  They’re speaking, but I can’t understand a word. It sounds… French?

  And then it hits me.

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  I’m not in a hospital. I’m not paralyzed. I’m… a baby?

  A freaking baby.

  Dammit! I got reincarnated! This can’t be real...this is straight out of the manga I used to read!

  “Waaaaaahhh!”

  Dianne – POV

  My baby boy is so beautiful...so impossibly beautiful, just like his father. His tiny face is flushed red, his lips trembling as though he is caught between two worlds, deciding whether to stay in silence or announce himself to the heavens. For a terrifying moment, I thought he might not choose life at all.

  When he first slipped into this world, slick with blood and trembling, there was no sound. No cry. No breath. My heart stopped in my chest. The midwife and I exchanged a look of dread, and I felt the cold hand of despair clutch at me. I had known this fear before, when neighbors lost their little ones in childbirth, when the gods seemed to demand a cruel price for every blessing.

  “Breathe, little one,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, breathe.”

  The midwife rubbed his chest, muttering prayers under her breath, her hands steady though her eyes betrayed her worry. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with silence. My ears rang with the absence of sound.

  And then...finally he opened his eyes and cried.

  A sharp, piercing wail filled the room, so loud and so alive that tears burst from my eyes. Relief washed over me like a tide, and I clutched him to my chest, trembling with gratitude.

  “Thank the heavens,” I whispered, pressing my lips to his damp forehead. “Thank the gods above.”

  Even though life is hard, even though the world is cruel to people like us, I am thankful. Thankful for my children; my firstborn Jack, my sweet Serena, and now, finally, this miracle in my arms. My Nathan.

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  I chose the name Nathan because it belonged to the great hero of the kingdom, a man sung of in ballads and remembered in stories told by firelight. A man who defended the weak and stood against tyranny. I pray to the gods that my son will be blessed with even a fraction of that strength, though I know the gods are fickle in their gifts.

  “Another healthy boy, Dianne. The gods be blessed,” the midwife said, her wrinkled face softening into a smile.

  “Yes, thank the gods,” I replied, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and tears.

  She bustled about, preparing a steaming cup of dark liquid. “Dianne, you need to drink the concoction I prepared. It will help with the fatigue and blood loss. It will bring your strength back.”

  I nodded, too weary to argue. “Thank you, Grandma Nia,” I said, using the name everyone in the village called her. She had delivered half the children in our hamlet, and though she was not my blood, she was family all the same.

  Before I could take a sip, there was a knock at the door. My husband’s voice followed, warm and eager.

  “Can we come in now?” Jakob asked, his tone carrying both restraint and impatience.

  “Of course, come in,” I said, smiling despite my exhaustion.

  The door creaked open, and Jakob stepped inside. His broad shoulders filled the doorway; his hunting leathers still dusted with snow from the early winter chill. His eyes, however, softened the moment they fell upon me and the bundle in my arms. He crossed the room in three strides and leaned over, peering at his son.

  “What name did you give my boy?” He asked, his voice hushed as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the moment.

  “Nathan,” I said softly. “After the hero of old.”

  Jakob’s lips curved into a smile. “A good name. Strong. I pray to the gods that he will be healthy and blessed.”

  “By the will of the gods,” I echoed.

  From the doorway, a small voice piped up. “Mama, Papa? Can we see our brother now?”

  Jack, our eldest, peeked around the frame, his brown hair sticking up in every direction. His eyes were wide with curiosity, his hands gripping the wood as though he feared being turned away.

  “Of course, Jack. Come in. Is Serena with you?” Jakob asked.

  “I’m here, Papa!” Serena’s voice rang out, and she darted into the room, her little feet pattering against the floorboards. She clutched a rag doll in one hand; her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Jack, Serena,” I said, beckoning them closer, “this is Nathan, your younger brother.”

  “Hello, little brother,” they said in unison, their voices filled with wonder.

  By then, Nathan had already latched onto my breast, his tiny mouth working greedily. His hunger was fierce, his will to live undeniable.

  “He sure is hungry,” I said with a nervous chuckle.

  “I bet he is,” Jakob replied, smirking in that way of his.

  “None of that yet, hunter!” Grandma Nia snapped, wagging a finger at him. “Your wife needs to rest for at least a month.”

  Jakob raised his hands in mock innocence. “What? I don’t know what you mean!”

  “Men and your libidos,” Grandma Nia muttered, rolling her eyes. “My late husband was just like you. Gave me nothing but trouble.”

  Jakob chuckled. “I bet you still miss Old Nan.”

  “Miss him? Ha!” Grandma Nia barked a laugh. “That old goat was as randy as an orc in heat. Gave me seven children for my troubles, despite his obtuseness and horniness. Still, I am grateful to the gods for blessing me with him.”

  Jakob’s smile softened. “We still miss him, Grandma Nia. He was a good village chief. Kept things fair. Unlike the one we have now.”

  Her expression darkened. “Keep your head down, Jakob. There’s nothing we can do. The new chief is more concerned with pleasing the lord of these lands than helping his neighbors.”

  “I know, I know,” Jakob sighed.

  He looked back at Nathan; his eyes filled with pride. “At least we’ll have a new hunter when little Nathan grows up.”

  “Now, now, dear,” I said gently. “We let Nathan decide what he wants to do when he grows up. He still has a decade before such choices weigh upon him.”

  Jakob nodded, though his shoulders slumped. “Of course, honey. I just wish I could have given you and the children a better life.” His voice cracked with quiet sorrow.

  I reached out and touched his hand. “None of that, dear. We are happy as we are now.”

  But even as I said it, I felt the weight of truth pressing down on me. In spite of the joy of a newborn, we all knew what it meant...another mouth to feed. Another fragile life to protect in a world that cared little for peasants like us.

  The nobles and the kingdom had promised reforms, promised fairness, promised that the sweat of our brows would not be taken so freely. Yet nothing had changed. The fields still demanded our blood and toil, the taxes still stripped us bare, and the lords still feasted while our children went hungry.

  I looked at Nathan, his tiny fingers curled around mine, and my heart ached with both love and fear. My only wish is that our children will have a brighter future than what we have now. That they will not know the same hunger, the same cold, the same endless struggle.

  The gods are strange; sometimes cruel, sometimes benevolent, often both at once. They give with one hand and take with the other. It is ironic, almost mocking, how they weave joy and sorrow together so tightly.

  Still, as I held Nathan close, I whispered a prayer. Not for riches, not for glory, but for survival. For love. For the strength to endure.

  Because in this world, that is the greatest blessing of all.