The world was warm, dark, and quiet. Something was pressing on me from all sides. I was all wet, even slimy. I couldn’t do anything; opening my eyes seemed like an impossible task.

Next thing I remember is the outside world. It was the exact opposite of what I felt before. The light hurt my eyes, and a cool breeze froze my wet skin. Loud noises, someone’s joyful cry pierced my ears. I could feel big hands touching my body.

I coughed up a liquid of some kind, and then cold tickling air filled my small squeezed lungs for the first time in my new life.

It felt as if someone attacked my yet unadopted senses all at once. That was the moment when I understood why do babies cry when they are born. I wanted to disappear again. And soon I did it in some way.

“Now I can see that my mentor’s theory was right,” was my last thought before I fell asleep.

The room was so bright that I woke up feeling sleepy and weak. My last couple of days consisted only of eating and napping. Somehow, the woman I was lying with, who was the mother of this new body, was still asleep. As I found out recently, her name was Faye Nocturne. I liked the inherited surname. After a few days, she still hadn't recovered. Childbirth is truly an ordeal.

The bed was too big for someone to sleep on it alone. I wonder where my father is? I haven't seen any men since I was born. In any other situation, this would sound a bit depressing.

Unlike in my previous life, I was certainly born into a noble family. I had seen many mansions and rich-looking rooms before, though, so I could definitely say that my new household was flourishing.

Since a noble family without a magician as the head of the family is destined to be crushed, it can be concluded that one of my parents is a mage. Accordingly, I am too. Wanting to check if this was the case, I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on my senses.

My head was foggy, and I could hardly think. I've had a headache since I was born and over time it only got worse. The bright light hurt my eyes, seeping through my eyelids. My whole body was covered with a warm cloth. The chill, fresh air cooled my face, but these vivid sensations were not what I was looking for. I sank deeper into myself, trying to discern an icy stream running through my spine, where the mana paths are usually concentrated. However, I couldn't feel anything. As I thought, newborns have almost no mana.

My ability, granted to me by my mentor, couldn't be activated either. That must be because only his blood relatives can receive power from him and use it.

Years ago, I lived in a remote village. One day, my master visited us to eliminate a monster ravaging our plateau. At a celebration organized by the villagers in honor of getting rid of the beast he noticed my sapphire-blue hair and eyes, which were clear signs of being related to him. His descendants can be found all over the world, yet one should not perceive him as a depraved male because of this. He is several hundred years old.

My mentor gave me a couple of books, and then he left us, visiting me every few months, bringing new books each time. When I was fifteen, I abandoned my village and my grandmother to travel with my teacher. 

Of course, I came back many times to see my granny, the one who raised me, but she held a grudge against me anyway.

I exhaled loudly. I stopped trying to find my mana paths and focused on my current state. I was all tied up. My mother's maids become true monsters when it comes to taking care of this new body. They swaddle this body until it turns into an egg with a window for a head.

Yeah, I still couldn’t accept this uncontrollable and uncomfortable body as my own.

What added the most to me feeling like an invasive parasite was that my new body was that of a little boy, whereas in my previous life, I was a woman. That didn't feel right.

I was a sorceress, traveling with my mentor, who granted me my power and taught me everything I know about magic, history, and people.

And now, I am just lying here, trying not to panic. Though I have a good reason to freak out. Many people would be happy to get a new chance after their death. And I am one of these people. But now, I was not glad at all. That was because of my master.

His name is Citadelorous, though he asked to call him Citrus, which I was happy to do. I like this short, fresh-smelling name much more than its more pompous version.

He was not just a mage, as one might think judging by his modesty. He was a deity of the mind, one of a kind. He could not only read memories or bend people to his will; he was able to turn minds into computer machines, enhancing any mental characteristic you can think of, such as memory, imagination, wittiness, and many others, to their limit. He could make a timid homeless man into a king with all the personal qualities a king needs. Once again, I got too carried away. It always happens when I think about my mentor.

If not for him, I would still be a village girl, clueless about the outside world and major events happening there, instead of becoming a sorceress, the one who fought for fate and the future. It may sound pretentious, but it's true.

Though if not for him, I wouldn't have died at the age of twenty-two without ever having a boyfriend. But I still admire my master.

I was known as the Mindweaver, as he granted me the power of creating memory archives from my memories and copying them into people's minds. It allowed me to become a walking library. I could transfer information right into people's heads in a snap without making them read a book or explaining a piece of knowledge for hours. 

It was also possible to create a memory archive set on a timer to put there all the stuff I wanted to forget for now and remember sometime after. These archives are very resistant and don't disappear, even though they are saved in the deepest corners of consciousness. But sadly, in my new body, I couldn't activate my ability.

My mental flow was suddenly interrupted by something that felt like an earthquake. It was my mom who woke up. A second later, I was hugged.

"Thank you for being my beautiful morning surprise," she said. I was shocked and ashamed, but I kinda liked it. The woman who was hugging me was gorgeous. She looked firm and caring, and so I hoped that I inherited at least a small part of her beauty. By the way, when I grow up, will I be into girls or boys? In any case, I hope not to become a peeking pervert like other boys do.

This thought reminded me of something. Something I forgot about when I saw my mother's eyes brimming with desperate tenderness. I will not grow up. My identity is destined to be broken into pieces and forgotten. That's why I am not happy about my rebirth. Thanks to my mentor, I know what its consequences are.

Why don't we remember anything from our infancy? Even five-year-olds can hardly recall what happened when they were two. My master was interested in this question as it's strongly linked to his specialty.

To find out, he explored the minds of babies and discovered that a little baby's mind is too weak to handle memories for long. They can slowly gain skills, but they can't retain memories. Even though he found the answer, as a true researcher, he continued his investigation.

One day he delved into the mind of a newborn baby, and what he found there was frightening. Inside the little boy was the mind of a grown man, trying to give a signal. Since after rebirth, all muscle memory was gone, he could neither say nor draw something. He was not a mage, but even if he were, the mana capacity of a little baby wouldn't let him do something notable.

He was shocked to see this, so he explored the minds of other newborn babies. Every one of them had the consciousness of a recently deceased human. Some planned to pretend to be geniuses and become successful, while others questioned the morality of rebirth, afraid they had taken the life of a newborn.

But all of them were united in one thing: they didn't yet know they were destined to lose their minds.

Around the third day of their lives, their memories malfunctioned. They gradually began to forget who they were: their hobbies, their past families, their names.

Some didn't even notice what was happening. They continued making plans about their new lives until they lost the meaning of everything.

But others realized crystal clear what was happening to them, making their agonizing disappearance even more terrifying.

When hearing a sudden, unreasonable baby’s cry, people usually don’t think much about it.

Who would think that a newborn’s cry is a hopeless call of a collapsing mind that, terrified of its fate, is slowly falling apart?

That's how Citrus solved the mystery of life after death.

My mentor was a hermit and saw no point in raising a panic. I, his best and favorite disciple, was the only one who knew about his most daunting research.