Rebirth

The light began to fade, and slowly, my vision returned. A warm, orange-red glow illuminated my surroundings, likely from a candle. Above me, a wooden ceiling came into focus. Wooden ceiling? Candlelight? As far as I knew, I should be dead. If this was the so-called afterlife, it definitely needed a renovation.

I tried to move, but my body refused to respond, pinned down by something. As I adjusted to my disoriented state, a cascade of silver hair entered my line of sight, framing an angelic face with soft, silver eyes that gleamed in the flickering light. Her skin was smooth and radiant, almost luminous.

“Isn’t he supposed to cry?” she asked, her gentle voice lilting with curiosity as she glanced toward someone beyond my field of vision.

“He has to. Otherwise, his lungs won’t function properly,” another woman replied, her tone matter-of-fact but warm. As my mind began piecing together the situation, I realized something strange: the silver-haired woman wasn’t just angelic; she was enormous—or rather, I was unnaturally small.

The second woman approached, her blonde hair braided into twin tails draping neatly over her shoulders. Her green eyes, framed by round glasses, sparkled behind the reflection of the candlelight. Wait—goddesses wear glasses?

Before I could dwell on my peculiar observation, I felt myself being lifted. Panic bubbled inside me, but when I opened my mouth to protest, the words came out garbled. No! It wasn’t words—it was the babble of a child. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I was covered in a simple shawl, my body impossibly tiny.

I couldn’t deny it anymore. This was real. Somehow, I had been reborn, memories intact, into the body of a newborn.

The blonde woman, whom I presumed to be the midwife, cradled me with surprising strength. She shifted me onto my stomach and prepared to perform her duty. I tried to communicate—tried to explain—but all that came out were infantile noises. The silver-haired angel, who I now assumed was my mother, looked on tenderly. Even on my deathbed, tears were hard to come by. Now I was expected to cry by force?

And then it happened—the midwife’s firm hand delivered several sharp whacks to my bottom. Pain flared, primal and raw, and instinct overrode reason. I cried. The sound filled the room, a piercing wail that seemed to satisfy the midwife. Even with a mature mind, this body was still a child’s.

“There we go,” she murmured with a pleased smile, adjusting her glasses as she wrapped me back in the shawl. I’d already marked the midwife of doom as an enemy to all children. She handed me carefully to my mother, who held me close with an expression of pure joy.

“You can come in now, Fren,” my mother called, her voice soft but tinged with irritation.

A large man entered the room, his long, unkempt black hair sticking out in all directions. He towered over everyone, his muscular frame in stark contrast to his youthful face. His expression, though, was puzzling—a mix of fear, exhaustion, and perhaps even joy.

“Stop making that face. You’re going to scare poor Raizen,” my mother scolded lightly, smiling down at me. “If you want to hold him, then do it!”

The blonde midwife gave the man a gentle shove toward us, and my mother passed me into his massive arms. His black eyes locked onto mine, and in that moment, I saw a hint of myself reflected in his uncertainty. We were alike—both unsure of how to act in this strange situation. There was a connection, but also something deeper and greater within him. A flame I couldn’t understand.

The day had been nothing short of extraordinary, brimming with emotions I couldn’t fully process. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t the end—it was a new beginning. Whether I was in the same world or a completely different one, it didn’t matter. If Saki wasn’t some kind of oracle, then I didn’t know what she was. If I made it here, then maybe she could have too.

I had been given a second chance, and whatever the reason, dying again wasn’t an option.