The Rebirth of a Soul in another Body

Am I dead? No, that's unlikely; death shouldn't be this uncomfortable. My lungs burn with every breath I take, the air barely reaches my lungs. I taste something... Is it salt? Why do I taste salt? The sweltering heat around me is definitely unpleasant. Whoever put me in the oven for me to roast, please reconsider! I try with all my might to pry my eyes open, but they simply don't obey me, as if they were glued shut. My limbs also are unresponsive, akin to being dipped in a viscous liquid.

"ꖀꖹ ꘜꕯ ꕮꗇꝆꕷꗇꖡꗇꕷ ꕯꕷꗇꔇꗇꖾ"

I hear a soft woman's voice. My attempted movement seems to make her aware of me. The meaning of her words, however, eludes me, as she speaks a language unknown to me. She speaks quietly, in a slightly raspy voice, and sounds generally a bit unwell. But her warm feelings reach me despite the language barrier. I try again to pry my eyes open and manage to do so this time.

I try to orient myself. I appear to be on the right shoulder of said woman. She holds me close and embraces me gently. My legs reach no farther than her belly, making her either a giantess or me the size of a baby.

Looking around further, we seem to be located in some kind of small tent with not all that much inside. My nice lady friend is kneeling on a few spread-out blankets, although they look to be rather tattered and rough. There are a few cracked pots and a shelf with crude tools. This entire setup just screams poverty. Damn, if I am to reincarnate, I had hoped to at least be born to a rich family or something.

Suddenly the lady pulls me away from her shoulder. My interested spying around the room must have given her the impression I want something. She holds me up to her face and looks me in the eyes. Damn, she is a looker. I could get lost in her eyes. Whatever shade of brown that is supposed to be, with the current low lighting, it almost looks golden. To boot, she has longer black hair as dark as the night itself. What ties a neat little bow around everything else is her darker skin tone. Her most striking feature, to me at least, is, however, the pair of very large, pointy ears. I am currently looking at a dark elf, just like in the stories from back home. She does look rather thin, though, and the bags under her eyes betray her failing health as well. Her current dress also resembles a potato sack with holes cut in, rather than proper clothes. Poor lady, you deserve better! If you'd put her in one of those ball gowns and touched her up with some makeup, she'd be as beautiful as a princess. But that fantasy was very disconnected from this current reality. She seemed sad as she looked at me, though as to why, I could only guess.

During my musings she looked like she had come to her own conclusions as to what seems to be my issue. With her partially disrobing and putting me close to her chest, it was rather obvious that she was now going to nurse me. Although this is making me very uncomfortable, me resisting with all my might amounts to little more than nothing. My arms are tiny and soft. After all, I am nothing more than a baby right now. Any vocal discomfort I might show now would only strengthen her belief in my perceived hunger as well. Defeated, I just close my eyes and try to be as respectful about this as possible. To my benefit, this ordeal is over rather quickly, as it appears that her thin and probably malnourished body doesn't have much for her to give. This in turn does, however, make me worried for my growth, for I don't want to be a short king or a pocket prince in this life. Anyway, thanks for the meal...

After some time had passed and I had spent a few evenings with the lady of the house, I started to gain a better grasp on the language. I've come to the conclusion that my name may be Isayah, based on the fact she keeps referring to me as such. I swear if I introduce myself to someone and it turns out to be a cute, endearing nickname instead, I will put in my two weeks' notice for this life.

I also managed to confirm that my deepest concerns have indeed come true. We are dirt poor. This room is all we have. Being able to crawl now, I gave the room another once-over while the pretty elf lady was away. She leaves me for most of the day and then comes back in the evening with water and food. Which is not the way I'd go about raising a kid, but I guess she has no other choice. She can be happy she got me instead of a normal kid. Can you imagine how much sand I could have eaten already in her absence? When she does return, she's always covered in a thin white powder. Using my genius skills of deduction and licking a bit from her finger, it's salt. So she goes to work, gets covered in salt, wears down her body and comes back with a meagre pay of one crusty loaf of bread and a small amount of water. I love the exploitation of single mothers...

Though I've assumed as much already, this woman is indeed my mother. If the fact she nursed me so far wasn't enough of a confirmation, I've managed to get a glimpse of myself as well. One of the few vases and jars in our room held a bit of water, mostly used by her to clean herself or me. Though muddy the water may be, it was clear enough to show me my reflection, and as one might guess, I too have her stunning, almost golden eyes, a bit of a black fuzz coming in on my head, her darker skin tone and, most importantly of all, pointy ears. Though mine do seem a bit short, maybe they'll come in as I age.

As for the single part, I've yet to see even the slightest presence of a father in my new life. Maybe he died in a war or something, and I look a bit like him. That could be as to why she always looks at me with a deep sadness in her eyes. Though guessing is all I can do at this point.

Back to the room. Now that I am able to move around of my own accord on the ground, I realise everything's sandy and salty. Most likely being blown through the air and carried in here by Mother. Using my deductive genius again: it's hot and it's completely dry. I'd wager we are somewhere in a desert. In said desert is a way to extract salt, probably a mine or a quarry. If Mother Dearest is going there daily, it's no wonder her body is in such a state. Seeing her care for me like this despite everything breaks my heart, but what am I to do in this tiny body? The only thing that comes to mind is to try to be as little of a burden as I can...

Life went by without much incident for a year, almost two. However, to my dismay, I seem to have caught the nastiest fever known to man. Or in this world known to elves. The days before, I could already hear pained groaning and coughs all around me. I'd guess similar tents with similar down-on-their-luck elves just beside us. Given my impression of the standards of hygiene and sanitation my mother and I enjoy here, if they were to be applied to multiple people, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an illness sweeping through sooner or later. At first it started with just a mild cough, nothing too worrying. But just a few days later the world was spinning, my limbs aching and my head splitting. As I drifted between feverish dreams and the shabby tent, one would not be remiss to think my time in this world would already come to a conclusion. The worry in Mother's face betrayed the very same fear...

One such day, my mother brought something to me. She sat me up, gave me a small brown object and more water than she had probably had herself the last week. Taking a moment to focus my vision on the object in my hand, it strongly resembled a seed. Not unlike one from a peach. Do they have magical healing peaches in here?

"ꕗꗞꖦꘜꗞꝆꖹ ꗱꝆꖹꖡꕯ ꗱꕯꖦ ꕯꕷꗇꔇꗇꖾ"

Based on what I've learnt about her language so far, she wants me to swallow it? She looks at me with tearful eyes. She looks almost desperate. Very well, Mother knows best. I take the seed, toss it down my throat and take a big gulp. This thing feels two sizes too large for my throat; no wonder she gave me so much to flush it down with. While the water has soothed my parched throat, aside from the dull pain of forcing it down, I feel no noticeable change. Maybe it needs some time to settle before it takes effect. I lie back down and try my best to cling to life, for Mother. It is clear to see she's wearing herself down even more to get me through this. I owe it to her to hold on.

After taking her medicine, my dreams started to repeat. I always find myself in a large burning forest, with a gigantic tree, larger than most buildings from my own world, looming over it all. From all sides fire streaks across the skies, straight for that larger-than-life tree. Around me I hear screams. The smell of smoke, sulphur and what I can only approximate as burning flesh fills my nostrils as I am retching on the ground, this close to relieving myself of the contents of my stomach. Beside me I see a glowing white silhouette of a woman looking at the tree, unflinching. When she turns to look at me, I am jolted back to reality. This hellish scene is forced upon me again and again for what feels like an eternity but was most likely closer to two weeks. Spinning out of control, like on a carousel, I swap between reality and dream, seeing her over and over again.

Every night, however, ends with the coming dawn. After this harrowing struggle against the illness, Mother hugs me tight, crying tears of relief. My eyes also fill themselves with tears of joy, for I am unsure if I was ever this happy to be alive. There is one thing that still worries me, though...

"ᘝᕞᕮᘂ ᕋᕮᘯᖇᕮ ᗞᕮ ᘯᗩïᒋ ᕮᔕ-ᘕᕞ"

Why is the glowing silhouette from my dreams in our tent and talking to me?

And why in yet another language I cannot understand?