Chapter 4 :Trapped in Silence

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Three months had passed since I was reborn. Or at least, I think it had been three. Time didn’t feel real in this body. Not when I could barely move, barely speak. Not when my days were stitched together by naps, milk, and the rhythmic hum of a lullaby I couldn’t understand.

They called me Kenji. I heard it often—usually wrapped in warmth, in the soft voice of the woman who held me. I didn’t know the language, not yet, but some words began to repeat enough that I could guess at them. “Mama.” “Sleep.” “Eat.” “Good boy.” Maybe a dozen. Maybe more. The words blurred together like smudged ink.

This new life had a rhythm. I would wake up to the sound of birdsong or the soft creak of wood beneath footsteps. Then came feeding(breastfeeding). At first, I resisted—humiliated by the act, by the reality that I was an infant again. A high school student reduced to this. But hunger always won. After a week or two, I stopped flinching.

The worst part wasn’t the helplessness.

It was the silence.

My voice was gone. My body barely responded. And yet, my mind was loud—too loud. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw their faces. My friends. My father. I couldn’t even remember my mother’s voice anymore. That thought alone kept me up through endless stretches of dim-lit afternoons.

The people around me moved with kindness. My mother—my new mother—was radiant. Golden-brown hair. Warm eyes. A smile that could’ve cracked my walls if I hadn’t already been numb. She held me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t broken. Like I wasn’t a soul stuffed into the body of something unfinished.

I watched them all in silence. My mother. The man who must’ve been my father. The maid with the quiet steps. I watched and listened, days blending into nights. But I didn’t cry. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile.

Because none of this felt real. Not when the weight of everything I’d lost still sat like a stone in my chest.

Until one afternoon, something changed.

I was lying in the cradle. The sun was low, casting golden slivers across the room. My tiny fingers curled weakly against the soft blanket. Sleep began to creep in—and then, I felt it.

The pull.

A jolt surged through me. Familiar. Wrong. My vision twisted. The world slipped.

And then, white.

That place again. Endless. Empty. Cold in a way that wasn’t physical.

I floated.

And just like last time, he appeared.

Silver hair, disheveled. Golden eyes, too amused for their own good. That same smirk plastered across his face.

"Ah, you're finally back," he said casually, like we were old friends. "You've been doing well for a little guy."

Something inside me snapped.

I don’t know what it was exactly. Maybe it was the smirk. Maybe it was the condescending tone. Or maybe it was just everything I had swallowed down over the past three months finally clawing its way up.

I glared at him. And then I screamed.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!"

The god blinked. Caught off guard, maybe.

"You drop me into a world I didn’t ask for, rip me from the people I love—and now you’re cracking jokes like we’re pals? Go to hell!"

My voice was hoarse, broken from months of silence, but I didn’t stop.

"Do you know what it’s like to remember everything but not be able to do anything?! To sit there like a doll, listening to strangers speak gibberish while my real life rots in the back of my mind?!"

I took a breath, but it only made the fire worse.

"I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask to be born again! I didn’t want some goddamn second chance. I wanted my life! I wanted to graduate with my friends, maybe confess my feelings, maybe fix things with my dad—and you took that from me!"

The god’s face slowly sobered. The grin faded.

"Are you done?" he asked quietly.

"NO!"

Tears burned in my eyes. Rage mixed with grief, twisting my gut.

"You show up now like some all-knowing asshole, acting like you’re doing me a favor. But you don’t care. You just… watch. Like it’s entertainment."

Silence stretched. The white space around us seemed to still.

Then the god sighed.

"You're right. I don’t fully understand what you went through. Not really. But I do know pain when I see it. And you're drowning in it."

I shook my head. "You don’t get to act concerned now."

"Maybe not," he said. "But I didn’t bring you here to piss you off. I came to offer something. A small help. That’s all."

I stared at him, jaw tight.

He raised a hand, and golden script began to swirl around me. Symbols I couldn’t read glowed like warm embers.

"What…?"

"The language," he said. "Of this world. I’m giving you the ability to understand it. Speak it. No more isolation. No more sitting in silence."

I blinked. The words I’d heard for months began to make sense—echoes of meaning sliding into place.

I looked at him again. My fists still clenched.

"Why?"

He met my gaze, expression soft. "Because I saw you, Haru... i mean Kenji. Curled up in that cradle. Eyes wide open. Not crying. Not laughing. Not even blinking sometimes. Just... gone inside. I've watched countless souls get born. But that silence in you? That wasn’t normal. That was grief. Real grief. And yet, you kept breathing. You kept listening. That... that matters."

I didn’t thank him. I didn’t smile.

But I felt the warmth of the script wrap around my soul, filling some part of me that had been empty too long.

The white began to dissolve.

"You still hate me," he said as the world faded.

"Yeah," I muttered.

He chuckled. "Good. Use it. Rage has its place too. Just don’t let it be the only thing left."

The void collapsed.

I returned to the cradle. My mother’s arms were around me.

But this time, her lullaby had meaning.

And for the first time in this new life, I didn’t feel completely alone.