The warmth faded slowly, like embers dying out after a fire.

“Well,” he said calmly, adjusting his strange round spectacles, “there’s nothing to worry about. His heart is strong. His body is healthy. A perfectly normal child I would say.”

The room seemed to exhale.

“Oh, thank the Gods,” my mother whispered, holding me closer.

My father let out a laugh that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. “I told you,” he said proudly. “It’s because of your prayers. The God of Life, Aeritus, must have heard you.”

A god?

So this world believed in gods too.

But not the kind I knew.

They had names. Domains. Worship.

Different rules, I thought. Different prayers.

The doctor—Mr. Minato—cleared his throat. “Have you decided on a name?”

My ears perked up.

A name?

I listened carefully. This was important. Very important.

My father straightened up like he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Of course!” he said. “I was thinking—why not name him after the legendary assassin mage? Lionheart. The Devil in Black. The man who brought nations to their knees!”

He boasted proudly.

Mr. Minato closed his eyes and sighed.

I didn’t hate it.

Actually… it sounded kind of cool.

My mother, however, did not share that enthusiasm.

“Dear,” she said softly but firmly, “our son is not going to be named after a murderer.”

My father’s shoulders dropped.

I felt the disappointment too.

Shame. I could’ve lived with that.

She looked down at me then, her expression changing. Gentle. Reverent.

“He survived when he shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “He is a miracle. A gift from the Gods.”

She kissed my forehead lightly.

“So I want to name him Aren.”

Aren.

She continued, “It means the miracle granted by the Gods.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then my father laughed warmly. “Aren Aoyama,” he said. “That’s a fine name.”

So that was it.

A name given to me by my mother.

I didn’t understand this world yet—but I knew this much:

names carried weight.

Mr. Minato asked my father to step outside. Their voices dropped low, serious. I couldn’t hear what they said.

Before I could try harder, my body betrayed me again.

I am falling asleep.

Darkness came easily in this life.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Time didn’t mean much yet. There was no longer any alarms or any schedules for me to follow.

I couldn’t move properly. Couldn’t even turn my head the way I wanted. This body was overly sensitive—fragile, slow, irritating.

But one thing was clear.

I had been reborn.

And this was my new family. A family I had started to care for with time.

I slept most of the time. When I was awake, I observed. Slowly, bit by bit, I began to regain some control.

That’s when I realized something else.

I wasn’t their first child.

I had an older sister.

Misa Aoyama.

She was only a year or two older than me, but the difference felt enormous. She had already mastered her body—crawling, grabbing, laughing loudly.

How I envy her?!

She slept beside me every day.

She played games with me too, if that’s what those strange, rule-less actions were supposed to be. She’d poke my face, tug my fingers, make random noises and laugh.

I didn’t understand them.

But I played along.

She was always happy to have me there.

I liked having a sister.

She reminded me of Aiko. Her smile and innocence were just like her. Maybe all sisters are caring and also slightly annoying.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I heard Aiko’s voice. She told me stories I couldn’t understand anymore, but they were comforting all the same.

At around two or three months old, my greatest mode of transportation was my mother.

Whenever I wanted to see something, I cried and raised my arms.

This was not manipulation.

This was education.

She’d carry me around the house, showing me things without realizing she was teaching me the layout of the world.

She had long black hair and shining green eyes. Her smile was wide and calming.

I didn’t know if it was because she was my mother—but she looked like an angel to me.

The house itself was modest. A wooden cabin with three rooms, a kitchen, a small study, and a hallway.

But the most interesting thing in the house was the magical broadcaster.

It was like a television—but entirely magic. Four crystal lamps projected images into the air.

Royal news only.

Since I couldn’t read yet and was too small to leave the house, it became my main source of information.

According to the broadcaster, we lived in the nation of Sayra.

This small town was called Aota.

The current ruler was the Eleventh King Shackllen Heysten.

Sayra was the largest of the Fourteen Kingdoms of Aestria.

Kings here weren’t inherited or elected—they were trained and chosen by a commission known as the Saints.

Knights. Magical beasts. Demons. Witches.

Too much information.

But one thing was clear:

This was a magical world.

Although I was greatly intrigued by it the most urgent task wasn’t power or destiny.

It was mastering this tiny, fragile piece of meat I was stuck in.

Unfortunately, my mother noticed how quietly I watched the broadcaster.

A baby wasn’t supposed to do that.

So I had to act normal. Cry a little. Wiggle. Be useless. 

My father wasn’t home often.

Guess some things never change.

He was the head guard of the town and close friends with the town's chief, Elden Striet. Elden often visited with his daughter, Lise Striet, who was about my age.

My mother was kind to guests.

But strict with me.

Why couldn’t she just let me go outside?

I adapted.

I decided to make the most of this life.

The best part of the day was nighttime, when my mother sang lullabies to me and Misa.

I could enjoy this.

I was a child, after all.

She also read fairy tales. Stories of heroes and monsters.

But the most amusing thing I learned?

People here believed the world was flat.

What are you living in—the stone age?

I decided I’d prove them wrong when I grew up. Become a great scientist.

Then I learned the truth.

This world really was flat.

A massive land surrounded by endless water, held in place by towering walls of ice.

No water spilling. No edge falling.

Impossible.

And yet—real.

This world kept surprising me.

And something told me it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.