I wailed in a gut-wrenching scream, snatching another chance at life from the clutches of Death.
Pain ripped through my core as my eyes snapped open. A bright, glaring light blinded me, followed by an overflow of tears. I had to squint to keep my eyes from wavering, but even that proved to be hopeless.
The light receded and dimmed, and in its place, a huge, radiant head loomed closer, staring at me unblinkingly.
Startled, I cried, exerting every ounce of my will to break free from the giant’s grip. But my efforts were futile. I couldn’t muster up the barest minimum of strength. All my energy was wasted on wailing. No matter how much effort I put into speaking, all I managed was incoherent wailing.
The giant held me close, as though afraid to let go. Then through blurry eyes, I noticed the bright auburn locks cascading over her shoulders, her exterior pale and feminine. She was staring at me kindly, tears in her eyes, a deluge of raw emotions playing across her luminescent face.
Finally, I grasped the ultimate conundrum of my predicament. The woman wasn’t a giant. She was likely as normal as a human could be. It was I who had shrunk, nestled in the protective custody of her arms as if I were a baby to be pampered.
In fact, I was a baby—a newborn, at that.
The woman cradled me and passed her other palm over my chest. She whispered soothing words into my ears—words I was hopeless to comprehend—yet they calmed my restless heart. A dim, golden string of light spilled from her palm and disappeared into my skin as she rubbed my chest.
Something inside me resonated with the light. My chest grew warm as the combined effort of the light and her soothing voice drove the pain away.
Relieved, I tried to contemplate the sheer absurdity of my situation. This could have been a feverish dream for all I knew, a figment of my imagination. Not for a second did I believe that events such as reincarnation or rebirth were normal… At least, not with my memories intact…
Wait, who was I?
My memories failed me. Only an image remained in my mind…
I was dying… somewhere chilly and dark… with an icy knife in my chest…
The thought of my father—with whom I had a love-hate relationship—crossed my mind, yet no mental image of him appeared. Only a vague silhouette.
I forgot him first. Utter terror gripped me as I lost more and more about myself. The most emotion-laden memories went first: my friends, companions, and family—people I could trust with my life. The memories drifted off like wisps of river fog threading their way up in the sunlight. Despite all my efforts to cling to the fog, it slipped from my grasp.
All that was left of me was the vague impression of my education. Without a second thought, I tried to put it to the test… The best I could muster with my current mental faculties was to count to thirteen before I felt a strain in my mind.
I turned my attention back to the woman. The incandescent feature of her skin had dimmed while I dealt with my inner turmoil. Under her care, my pain vanished too, though the powerlessness lingered.
Well, I was a baby, for God’s sake.
My fragile brain turned to mush just thinking about the mysteries of such an event. I had no choice but to sleep on the problem...
Several hours later, I awoke again, properly cleaned and swaddled in a cotton cloth, still within the protective custody of the woman… My mother?
I tried to commit her face to memory. It was a demanding job with my terrible baby eyes. At least she didn’t glow like a lightbulb anymore—I wondered what that was about.
She appeared to be in her early thirties, fair-skinned, her face symmetrical and pale. A little sickly, perhaps, as if she had been through a great battle recently. Maybe she hadn’t fared well in labour, yet she could still stand with a baby in her arms.
Sometime later, the door of the hovel opened, and a man came in. Tall, dark, and bald, he was swathed in black attire and looked somewhat frightening to be my father. Then his eyes found me, and the look in them changed. Tears streamed down from those bloodshot eyes as he picked me up into his arms. The man was large, built like a boulder, and his arms were… not particularly gentle.
He kissed me on the cheek, once, twice, thrice, and wiped his tears. I contemplated another bout of cries. Thankfully, the man returned me to the more responsible person. Kissing her on the head, he led us to sit on a bedroll, and finally uttered some words into my ears.
Obviously, my feeble brain failed to grasp the words. But then a sharp pain stung my left palm, jolting me awake. I wailed once more, eliciting her to cradle me on her lap. The pain washed away, soon followed by a voice.
I looked between them to find that neither of the two had uttered the words. Furthermore, the voice was clearer, younger, and comprehensible, and it rang in my mind.
[You have been Named.]
[Arilyn Arcis O’Ryon, welcome to the paths. The Spell understands your unique circumstances. The Paths are partially open for you.]
What in the world?
I was flabbergasted.
Who are you?
No ideas of what it could be came to mind. All I could do was listen to the words until they finished their commentary with a presentation of a lustrous green box with text written in it.
[Profile]
Arilyn Arcis O’Ryon
Path: U/A
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Honours:
U/A
Attributes [1/8]:
Cognition (Elementary) +1
Gift:
[Fractal Soul]
[You can summon your Profile by staring intently at the mark in your left palm.]
Dumbly, I ran the words through my mind. It seemed to be something only I had heard and seen, as my mother betrayed no sudden reaction to suggest otherwise. True to its words, I found a small intricate wheel mark on my left palm.
Compared to my reincarnation, this was only a little startling.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible to transfer one’s voice into another’s mind. Some trick with vibrations? Magic?
That reminded me—my mother had magical power? In my earlier restlessness, I had failed to grasp the implication behind that. Was she a healer? Considering her spell had driven away my pain…
Could she teach magic to me? Was it possible? Had I inherited the power from her? Dozens of such questions crawled through my mind with little to no explanation.
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered all of it to be a drunken dream. Mother always thought I had a knack for creativity…
Mother…
Mother, who looked after everyone, worked tirelessly, and never received all that she deserved… I sighed as I remembered one last fact.
My mind lingered on my name. Arilyn was countless times better than Paul, or whatever I had been called in my previous life. Now, what did it mean by Fractal Soul? On that topic, what was a soul? Was it what reincarnated me?
And what about attributes? Cognition? Was it what I thought it was? Brainpower?
Whatever it was, I didn’t have much of it. Drowsiness fell over me, leaving me with no choice but to rest in the warm embrace of sleep.
****
The scream of something unholy awakened me from my rest. An involuntary cry tore from my throat as more soul-chilling screeches echoed around me.
Darkness surrounded me, while biting gusts of wind made me almost regret being alive. I was being carried, held tightly against a woman’s chest—my mother!
She dashed with furious efficiency, never pausing to search for the source of the cries. Perhaps she was being reckless, holding a newborn in her arms like that, but I couldn’t blame her if we were being chased by monstrous creatures.
Several large, bat-like creatures dove towards us. With thin, almost invisible wings, their sinewy forms glided menacingly through the air.
One came dangerously close, but my mother gave it only the attention it deserved. With her free arm, she swatted it aside, sending its twisted body flying several metres. More attacked from each side, forcing her to falter—until dozens of thin golden strands extended from her and lashed out at them. The golden tendrils didn’t kill them right away. Instead, she dragged them forward, yanking on the threads of power until their bodies jerked under the strain and tore apart.
Seeing her effortlessly dispatch so many of these creatures eased my fear, but then the true horror announced its presence.
A quavering shriek froze her in her tracks. My eyes fell on something so massive I could barely take it in. It was several metres tall, standing on six feet, hairless, with leathery skin and sinewy muscles.
Sensing us, it barrelled forward, jaws parting with another bone-chilling scream. My mother’s grip on me tightened as golden strings of power gathered around her arms. She cradled me against her chest, the shimmering energy shielding me from the monster’s cry.
Then, a figure blurred into view before the massive creature could reach us—a sword in hand, glowing with malevolent light.
With a single swing, he cleaved the monster’s claw open, blood spilling in a fountain. Although my mother’s hold prevented me from seeing the entire fight, I could tell the man—my father—knew what he was doing.
Relief washed over me. I was still too disoriented to grasp everything, but I didn’t fancy another brush with Death.
My mother shouted something at him as she rushed past—words I couldn’t understand. I suspected he didn’t hear them either, fully absorbed in battling the impossible foe.
He shouted back and surged forward. I thought I heard him speak my name—the very name he had given me.
Then something smashed into us from behind, nearly knocking me loose from her grasp. But her grip was stronger than I had imagined. She clutched me tight as we slammed into the ground. My vision blurred, and so did my consciousness.
I fought to remain awake. If I were to die again, I wanted to witness it with my eyes open.
I was hopeless to win that fight.
Darkness swallowed my thoughts, and all I could do was pray to the unknown gods that we would survive.
****
I was alive.
The experience left me dazed, but when I opened my eyes, daylight filled the world, and there was no trace of those blighted creatures.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same for everyone. My mother was with me, but my father was nowhere to be found. As the days passed, he did not return.
My heart pounded at the memory. In all honesty, I remembered very little about him—only that he was tall, gloomy, and bald, with calloused hands that were terrible at holding babies. But then I remembered when he named me, the sheer joy on his face.
I sighed and decided not to jump to conclusions just yet.
We had moved from the hovel where I was born to somewhere better in the countryside, perhaps. Life flourished here, and so far I had seen no signs of those cursed creatures.
My early days were peacefully boring, with little to do beyond contemplating life, death, and reincarnation. There had to be a reason, a purpose for my rebirth. Just as gravity operated, there must be laws governing life and death.
The topic was so nerve-wracking that I had to spend equal amounts of time staring at the monotonous, inclined roof to recalibrate my feeble brain. The wooden house did not speak of wealth—I guessed I missed out on that lottery—but it had four separate rooms, nice furnishing, and most importantly, it was warm and cosy.
Imprisoned by the weight of my own head, my daily life was filled with immaculate tasks like drinking, sleeping, peeing, and defecating. Only one of these could I manage on my own.
The worst part was my occasional inability to control my bowels. I was fairly capable of managing them while awake, but on many occasions, I’d wake to the smell of my own piss. And then cry.
Infantile amnesia, please erase those embarrassing memories first!
I prayed, clasping my palms together.
Only when my mother came to change my clothes and sing me to sleep did I find relief. She was an angel like that.
I was awake in my cradle when my mother came to check on me. Her lips curled into a smile upon seeing me reach out my arms towards her. Yes, that was all I could manage, along with some jumbled mumbling.
Although I had learned many words since my birth, my vocal cords were not yet developed enough to articulate any of them. For instance, if I wanted to say mama, it came out as “Yaya” at best.
My mother would always adopt a childish voice to call my name when speaking to me. This occasion was no different. I showed my appreciation with giggles, which brought a radiant smile to her face like spring sunshine. She lifted me, ensuring my clothes were dry. It was the Afternoon Stroll Time, arguably my favourite part of the day.
Every day, she carried me around the neighbourhood, past the same houses and wheat fields, as a few people came to talk with her. My attention, however, drifted everywhere. Today, it was skyward, where flocks of cloud folded together to create a spiral pattern.
I knew my eyes weren’t perfect—far from it. I struggled to track moving objects. Perks of being a couple of months-old baby. Yet, I didn’t believe there was nothing magical about the pattern. As though prompted by my thinking, those magical threads of light high within the clouds revealed themselves to me.
[A new Way is accessible: Fractal Sight (1/10)]
I blinked, feeling a prickling pain in the back of my mind. Groaning, I tried to understand what just happened.
Well, it proved there was something mystical about the spiralling clouds, though it failed to explain anything more, much like my own existence.
By the end of our stroll, mother cast the same spell on me, regardless of my state. I suspected she could somehow read my exhaustion by looking at my face. Golden light spilled from her fingers in a string of chains and disappeared into my skin. The mystical power washed away most of my weariness.
I had formed a distinct mental image of the light threading in eight separate ways through my body in a clear, symmetrical form. Naively, I entertained the notion that if I could latch onto this warm power and somehow tame it, I might become a sorcerer or healer one day.
The familiar sensation stirred in my left palm, and the Spell’s voice manifested to quash my childish fantasies.
[A new Way is accessible: Meditation I (1/10).]
Of course,
I thought, how could I forget that visualisation was a crucial part of meditation?
And that was precisely what I had been practising since day one.
At least, there was another Way to keep me invested.