2. Reborn

  A second before Kal died, he wondered what came next.

  Their parents were Christians. Uncle Rob and Aunt Jill were Christians as well. But he? He never found the appeal of religion.

  And still he wondered – when he opened his eyes again, would he see clouds and angels guiding him to heaven, or pools of molten lava and imps holding tridents ready to punish him for all eternity?

  Surprisingly – or not – it was neither.

  Blinding light. Heat. Pressure.

  Kal gasped – only, it wasn’t a gasp. It was a shrill. A helpless wail. He found the sound odd.

  ‘That didn’t come from me, right?’ he thought.

  He was being squeezed, his body struggling, forced forward by unsees forces. The sensation was disorienting, suffocating, but he had no control. Then, suddenly, he was free.

  Cold air surrounded him in an instant, shocking his lungs into action. He cried instinctively, not sure what was going on with him.

  His vision was blurry, but he could make out flickering lights, movements, and the shadowy figures of people surrounding him. The smell of hay and…dung filled his nose. Somewhere in the distance, he heard soft murmuring, hushed voices filled with excitement.

  “Ruhaka shiv’na, tolma resi?” A woman’s voice cooed. “Fethka la no-resh?”

  Kal blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his sight. He just cried – he couldn’t stop himself.

  He felt himself being wrapped in a warm fabric before being handed over. The hands changed – these one broader, more rigid.

  “Noltha renh.” A deep, masculine voice said.

  Kal struggled to make sense of it all. The words meant nothing. It wasn’t English.

  ‘Maybe it’s…Portuguese?’ He thought, then immediately internally facepalmed. ‘Hell, who am I trying to fool? Even if it was Portuguese, how would I even know?! I never even heard someone speak Portuguese in my entire life!’

  His thoughts spun as the realization slowly formed in his mind.

  He had just…been born? No, that wasn’t possible. He had lived. He had died. But here he was – small, weak, wrapped in soft blankets, and cradled like a newborn.

  The deep-voiced man holding him chuckled, his voice deep and warm. “Shetan maru, lohka te res.”

  The man was big, his arms strong. But he held Kal with a gentleness that contrasted his imposing presence. His features were partially obscured by Kal’s blurred vision, but he could tell the man had a strong jaw, dark eyes and a loving expression.

  Kal wanted to speak, to ask what was happening, but as he opened his mouth, only more cries escaped. His heart raced. Slowly understanding his new predicament – he was indeed a newborn.

  Heaven was fake. Reincarnation was real.

  Then, he heard it.

  “Kalvin.”

  They had called him Kalvin – his real name.

  He tried to laugh, but all that came was another infantile wail.

  ‘Of all the names they could have given me…they chose the one I already had.’ Kal thought. It was comforting.

  He didn’t believe in fate, but this – this had to mean something…right?

  His new father – his father? – chuckled warmly. Then, gently, he handed Kal off, and suddenly he was enveloped in a different kind of embrace. The arms that cradled him now were softer, the touch lighter, yet just as firm and loving.

  The warmth was immediate, soothing. He could feel the steady rhythm of the heartbeat beneath him.

  A delicate hand brushed over his head, finger trailing against his soft scalp with such tenderness that made his heart skip a beat.

  “Oh, Kal,” The beautiful woman whispered, her voice like a melody, smooth and affectionate. The rest of her words he couldn’t understand. “Resihi tolah ka noren…”

  Even without comprehension of the new language, Kal felt the meaning – the love, the devotion, the promise to keep him safe from all the dangers and harm the world could bring to him.

  His vision was still blurry, but he could make out the shape of her face, framed by cascading brown hair. Her scent was light and comforting, like flowers – daisies to be precise. She was breathtaking, not just in beauty but in presence – an undeniable gentleness, a quiet strength, something deeply maternal.

  ‘This must be my new mother.’ Kal thought.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He didn’t even know her name, but somehow, he already trusted her. She had filled with warmth and love he hadn’t felt in years – not ever since his first mother had died…

  Kal’s mind spun with questions. ‘If I was reincarnated…why do I still have my memories? Why am I still me?’

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall everything – trying to grasp onto the last things he remembered. The crash. The car flipping. The windshield shattering. And his brother –

  His brother!

  Panic surged through him. His twin. His other half. What happened to him?

  Kal tried to think of his brother’s name, but it was like grabbing something intangible. His mind reeled, the name literally at the tip of his tongue, but nothing came. He remembered his face, his blonde hair, his voice, even the way he laughed, but his name – the most important part – was missing. No matter how hard he tried to bring it forward, it just wasn’t there.

  ‘Why? Why was that the thing taken from me?’ he thought, feeling his soul was on the verge of tears.

  His mother hummed a soft tune, trying to calm him. It grew gentler, soothing him. He felt her hand stroke his tiny head again, and against his will, the warmth of her touch steadied him.

  ‘Would she be a good mother? Would she love him the way his first mother had?’ This thought filled his mind.

  And what about his father? He had no way of knowing what kind of people they were.

  He couldn’t know for sure, but there was no hostility radiating from them. No roughness, no tension. His new father approached his new mother, wrapping a loving arm around her as they both watched him, exchanging words in a language he didn’t understand.

  Tears welled up in his tiny eyes. He was always a crybaby, but these tears were different. He knew his brother would blame himself for what happened. He hoped – no, he prayed – that his brother had survived the crash and Vassallo’s men. That he would live on.

  And even if he couldn’t remember his name, he promised he wouldn’t forget what he meant to him.

  ‘I don’t know why I was given this second chance…’ Kal thought as he felt his new mother holding him tighter, rocking him gently. ‘But I’ll live this life right. For me. And for you.’

  When Tristan opened his eyes, his mind was still reeling from the conversation he just had with that…thing – a devil, surely. He couldn’t say for certain, but after that mysterious exchange – and the seal now etched onto his soul – what else could it be? Something was off.

  But it was too late to take anything back.

  The being had promised his brother would survive the car crash, that he would go on to live a long and fulfilling life. And Tristan would do anything for his brother. Even be reborn under these cryptic, unsettling circumstances.

  The being had warned him of a difficult road ahead. But it had also promised that if he played his cards right, he would have a significant role in this new world.

  Its name was Gartan, though that meant little to Tristan. It wasn’t someone – or something – he knew. Just a pair of floating, yellow-glowing eyes, suspended in an endless void of darkness. The name carried no weight, nothing he could recognize. And yet he was a god – or at least he claimed he was.

  Another question gnawed at him.

  ‘Why me?’

  He knew that every day, close to 160 thousand people die worldwide. That’s around one million every week. In the grand scheme of things, his death was insignificant – just another among millions. So why was he the one chosen?

  He couldn’t say…

  But one thing was certain: even in death, he had looked out for his brother. He had ensured both of them would survive. They were apart, but they were alive.

  And for now, that was all the comfort he needed.

  A rough grip yanked him from warmth, jolting him into the first moments of his new life. The immediate sensation of discomfort, followed by an overwhelming sense of wrongness. Harsh light stung his eyes, and an unfamiliar scent of incense and aged wood filled his tiny nose. His body, so small and fragile, struggled to adjust to its new reality.

  His blurred vision quickly caught the details of his surroundings. Lavish furniture, golden ornaments, thick and luxurious curtains – in short, wealth. This was not an ordinary home. He had been born into money.

  This felt wrong. Gartan had promised hardship. But with such riches…how difficult could this new life be?

  A tall young man with ashen hair and rich red eyes, dressed in extravagant robes, held him carelessly, barely sparing a glance at the crying woman lying in bed – Tristan’s new mother.

  “Kresha vol’nat ferat!” The man barked impatiently.

  The woman sobbed, her voice desperate. “Nesh! Tol revas Kal’tir, neshi, neshi!” But the man ignored her entirely. His grip was too tight, his presence radiating something evil, something that made Tristan’s newborn body want to recoil.

  An old woman – the midwife who had assisted in the birth – shrunk away in fear.

  The man’s hands felt wrong. Cold. Devoid of feelings. There was something unnerving about him beyond his ashen hair, his harsh demeanor and the fear he summoned in the women – something deeper that Tristan couldn’t quite place easily. It was a sense of control, of absolute power.

  The robed man turned sharply to another figure in the room, an older man with glasses hunched in the corner. “Maester Flaghern, gashit ilnaien?!”

  The old man, dressed in robes resembling those worn by mages in fantasy novels, approached Tristan cautiously. He studied him for a moment before his eyes widened in shock. He stumbled backward, falling to the floor, hands shaking as he babbled. “Fethka…Nesh val’torin! Reshta vol Karnet! La fiedern eha Ifrit!”

  Tristan tried to understand the new language, but nothing made sense to him.

  But he could tell enough from the tone – Awe. Fear.

  But why? Why would this old man react with such reverence and terror at the mere sight of him?

  His new father’s lips curled into the widest of smiles. Then he laughed, deep and almost maniacal, sending a chill through Tristan’s tiny body as he lifted him up in the air. “Val’neti shorn ka resthal. Moa asedar!”

  Whatever he said, it sounded significant – like a promise.

  Then, the man leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to Tristan’s forehead, but there was nothing loving about it.

  Finally, he shoved Tristan into his new mother’s arms. She cradled him as though he was the most precious thing in the world, her warmth soothing – the complete opposite of the man who had just held him.

  This – at least – was comfort.

  For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in it. To experience this unconditional love he had long forgotten. Then, his thoughts drifted back to his brother.

  ‘Wait a minute…’ He thought, panic gripping him. ‘I can’t remember his name!’

  His mind scrambled for a name, but there was nothing. A void where it should have been. That thing – that demon, Gartan – had done this. He had taken something from him.

  Suddenly, his new father spoke again, and one word cut through the haze.

  “Tristan.”

  ‘Of course, they had named me Tristan. Figures. All part of Gartan’s vision – whatever it was.’

  Tristan’s gaze shifted to the man who held him mere moments ago. The extravagant robes, the cruel glint in his new father’s eyes, the dangerous scar beneath his eye, the opulence of the room.

  His new father was rich. But he was clearly not a good man. A criminal, surely – but of what level?

  Tristan closed his tiny eyes, realizing his new life really was going to be a lot similar to his first.

  ‘Here we go again…’ He thought to himself, preparing for the worst, hoping for the best even when the best was something that never happened to him.

  Either way, this time he was ready.

  He won’t let his impatience lead him.

  This time he would plan, he would strategize, he’ll make something of himself.

  He was certain of it.