Winter's roaring winds battered against our small wooden house on the outskirts of the village, seeping through the cracks and chilling me to the bone. Even inside, the cold was relentless, burrowing into my skin and settling deep into my bones. Normally, Father and I would have already left for the hunt, our bows slung over our backs, our boots crunching through the frostbitten underbrush. But today was different. Today, we stayed home. And I had no idea why.
The silence was suffocating. Not even Mother, usually so warm and talkative, had spoken a word. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the wooden table, her knuckles turning white. The fire crackled weakly in the hearth, doing little to chase away the eerie stillness that had settled over us. I swallowed the growing unease in my chest and finally broke the quiet. "Father, aren't we going hunting today?" Something was wrong. I could feel it, an instinctive dread creeping up my spine.
Father didn't meet my eyes. His golden ones, the same shade as mine, stayed fixed on the wooden floor. "Not today, my son. Today is... a special day."
His words were heavy, forced, as if they carried a weight too great for him to bear. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered toward Mother. She gave him a weak nod, her expression unreadable.
A special day? Then why did it feel like the world was caving in?
Father hesitated before adding, "I'm going to visit a friend. He offered us some food from today's hunt."
The words hung in the air, thin and brittle as ice. A friend? Food from a hunt? My father had no friends who shared, and he was the best hunter I knew; we never needed charity. A cold knot tightened in my stomach as I watched him wrap himself in his old, tattered cloak, the fabric barely thick enough to withstand the storm raging outside. He lingered in the doorway, his hand on the frame, his body language taut, as if braced for something, but after a long pause, he stepped into the night and was gone. I turned to Mother, my eyes wide with unspoken questions, but she only offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was awkward, almost forced, before she retreated to her bed, her back to me, feigning sleep. The air in the small house felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension. My gut screamed at me, a low, persistent hum of alarm, but I was a child, adrift in an adult silence I couldn't penetrate. So I did the only thing I could. I lay down, forcing my eyes shut, hoping sleep would make sense of things, or at least make the feeling go away. I didn't get to rest for long.
A sudden noise jolted me awake. The distinct jingle of harness, the heavy thud of hooves on frozen earth, and then, pounding knocks at the door that rattled the small house. My blood ran cold, a sudden, icy rush. The room felt suffocatingly hot despite the freezing air outside, my skin prickling with dread. Fear settled in my stomach like a stone, a thick, crushing weight that made it hard to breathe.
Mother stepped into the living room, her movements eerily calm. I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mom? ...Who is it?" She didn't answer. Instead, she opened the door.
The wind didn't just howl; it roared through the doorway like a hungry beast, snatching at the firelight and whipping a blinding swirl of snowflakes into the room. And then I saw him. Not just Father, but Father atop his horse, framed by the storm. But he wasn't alone. Behind him, a terrifying, silent wall of white. Forty men, clad head to toe in gleaming white armor, their armored horses snorting clouds of mist like dragons' breath in the frigid air. In front of them, a figure that stole the air from my lungs: a nobleman, his presence a suffocating weight, his gaze not just sharp, but a predator's stare locked directly on me. He was a fat man, yes, but the long brown beard couldn't hide the cruel smirk that twisted his lips. Unlike his men, he wore no helmet; he wanted me to see his face, to remember the man who was about to shatter my world.
My chest tightened, a vice squeezing the air from my lungs. My eyes frantically darted between the soldiers, the monstrous nobleman, and finally, my father. My father, the one who swore to protect me. My father, standing beside that fat bastard.
The nobleman took a slow, deliberate step forward, each boot crunching against the icy ground like a hammer blow. "Is this the one you're selling me?" he asked, his voice smooth, too smooth, like oil, yet dripping with a sickening hunger that made my skin crawl. Father stood motionless, his face a mask carved from ice. No flicker of regret, no hint of hesitation, just an empty, chilling "Yes."
My breath caught in my throat, a strangled gasp. My fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, my nails digging into my skin until it burned. This couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare, a cruel, waking nightmare.
The nobleman licked his lips, a gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down my spine, before waving a hand. A knight moved forward, carrying four small bags that clinked with a heavy, unmistakable sound. Gold. He handed them to the nobleman, who, without even a glance, tossed them carelessly toward my father. My father caught them without effort, his grip tightening around the bags like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. "Eighty thousand gold, as promised," the nobleman said, amusement, cold and sharp, flickering in his dark eyes. "And in three days, you'll have your house in the capital."
My father's lips twitched, then stretched into a grin, one I had never seen before. It was alien, grotesque, the smile of a man who had just sold his soul and was pleased with the price.
My throat went dry, parched and aching. I turned to Mother, pleading silently, but her face was a blank wall. Cold. Distant. In that horrific moment, I knew. She had already let go of me in her heart long before they arrived.
Two cavalrymen dismounted, their movements swift and brutal, and approached me. My feet were rooted to the spot, heavy as lead. My mind screamed, a frantic, useless cry to run, to fight, to do something, anything. But I was frozen, trapped, drowning in the suffocating horror of betrayal and shock. Before I knew it, before my brain could even register what was happening, cold metal snapped around my wrists, the sound echoing the breaking of my world. Hands gripped my shoulders, rough and impersonal, treating me like nothing more than a sack of grain. And then, pain. A sharp, sudden prick in my neck, like a wasp's sting. My vision blurred, the edges of the world dissolving, my head growing heavy, impossibly heavy. My father's face was the last thing I saw, his greedy hands still clinging to those bags of gold, his twisted grin the final image burned into my mind as darkness swallowed me whole.
I woke to the sound of chains scraping against stone, mixed with the muffled sobs of children. My head throbbed, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I was still dreaming or if the nightmare had become real. The stone floor beneath me was cold, my body stiff, and the air was thick, damp, suffocating.
The dungeon stretched endlessly, and the cries of the other children filled the space. But I could barely hear them over the pounding in my chest. Their eyes were sunken, faces pale and drawn, each one as broken as the next. Some lay motionless on the cold floor, others huddled in corners, staring at nothing. The hopelessness hung in the air like a heavy fog. But I wasn't like them. I couldn't be. I had to survive.
My thoughts immediately went to my parents, to the betrayal that had led me here. My father, the man who should have protected me, had sold me. The man who called me his son, who raised me, had abandoned me without a second thought. His cold grin, the one he gave to the nobleman, still burned in my mind.
I needed to escape. I needed to survive.
The cell door was locked, but the keys hung from the belt of a guard who passed just out of reach. My fingers twitched with the urge to act, but I forced myself to wait. Patience was key. It wouldn't be long. In the cell with me were three other children, two boys and a girl. They all looked miserable and weak. The boys lay on the floor, barely moving, while the girl sat in the corner, her condition slightly better than the others. She wouldn't be a threat to me.
I focused on the guard, studying his every movement. He was distracted, walking down the hall with his back turned. This was my moment. I moved quickly, reaching through the bars and grabbing the keys before he could even react. My heart hammered in my chest as I slid the key into the lock, the door creaking open with a soft groan.
But I didn't step out immediately.
The other children were watching me now, their eyes full of desperate hope. They whispered for me to help them, to escape together. I felt the weight of their gazes on me, but I pushed it away. Weakness wasn't something I could afford. They would only slow me down. I couldn't save them.
I looked at the first boy, a child not much younger than me. His wide eyes were filled with fear, but I also saw something else, a glimmer of hope. He wanted to trust me. But I wasn't here to make friends. I wasn't here to save anyone. The second boy tried to speak but couldn't. His malnourished body wouldn't allow him.
Then the girl stood up, surprisingly more composed than I had expected. She smiled, her voice rising with excitement. "You have the key! We can escape together now!" God knows how the guards didn´t hear her.
Escape? Together? I pity her. I could try to escape with her, but it would be too troublesome. The other two were out of the question.
"Stay here. I'll get help. We'll escape together," I lied, my voice reassuring her as I stepped toward the door. She looked so hopeful, so happy I almost felt bad. But I wasn't planning to return. I was escaping alone. And to do that, I needed her quiet, she would only be a nuisance if I had tried escaping with her. She couldn't know the truth.
I stepped out of the cell, glancing around once more. There were many cells, but fewer torches than I expected. From what I could see, the others were in such a pitiful state they couldn't even stand, let alone shout for help. At the end of the hallway, I saw the guard who I had stolen the keys from. He was napping. What a fool.
This time, I'd take his knife and his life with it.
I struck fast. My left hand drove his own knife into his throat, slicing through his vocal cords. Blood pooled on his chest, soaking the little armor he had. He bled out silently, collapsing without a sound. I felt nothing. Not for him, not for the life I had just taken. It was me or him. And I chose me.
The sheer size of these cells made it clear, this had to be a castle or some sort of fortress. I pressed myself against the wall, staying low as I peered down the hallway. Two guards stood to the left, engaged in conversation. They were better equipped in iron armor, fully alert, scanning their surroundings even now while deep in conversation. They looked like higher-ranking soldiers. Behind them, I spotted a door. My possible ticket out of here. But even if I managed to get past those two, what if that door led deeper into the dungeon instead of a way out?
Just as my thoughts finished, the guards moved down the hallway to the left, further into the section with more cells. This was my chance. I had to act fast, I knew damn well I couldn't fight them. I crept toward the door, which was made of iron and had some writing on it in black ink. But I couldn't make it out. My parents and I had barely enough to eat and drink, education was a luxury we couldn't afford. Most of the villagers couldn't read; only those who worked in the capital or larger cities could. The only lessons I'd received were from my father, who had taught me how to hunt and, more importantly, how not to trust anyone—no matter how close they were. That lesson was the last one he gave me and the lesson that I won't forgive.
How was I supposed to open this door, though? I could only hope it wasn't locked. I carefully gripped the handle—it turned, and to my relief, it wasn't locked. Still, I hesitated. I decided to take a quick peek inside.
I peeked through the door, trying to make sense of what lay beyond—when suddenly, a searing pain ripped through my stomach. My body froze, my breath hitched, and only then did I realize what had happened. One of the guards had crept up behind me. I looked down in horror, watching as his sword was buried deep in my gut. Was this it? I hadn't even lived to see fifteen. Had I truly no luck? I just wanted to survive.
The guard yanked his sword out, and I collapsed onto my knees, desperately trying to hold my insides together. My fingers trembled as they pressed against my torn flesh, warm blood pooling beneath me. Damn it—I was crying. It hurt. It hurt so much.
A voice rang out, though distant, like a muffled echo. The other guard had been alerted. I could see them talking, their figures shifting in my blurry vision, but I couldn't make out their words. I was too busy trying to stay conscious, too busy trying to do something, but what could I even do?
My tears fell freely. My knife—where was it?
I tried to reach for it, but it had fallen too far. Even if I somehow grabbed it, what could I do against iron-clad knights? Damn it. Damn it all.
Then, the door I had peeked through earlier creaked open.
A figure of impossible light and terror stepped through the doorway. Clad in armor that shimmered like liquid moonlight, she seemed to drink the very air from the corridor. Her presence wasn't just overwhelming; it was a physical force, pressing down, stealing breath. And her eyes—they weren't eyes, but twin suns of searing, molten gold, radiating an ancient, terrifying power. This was no ordinary witch. This was something else, something that defied understanding.
She didn't move, didn't speak. She simply was. And then, with a blink that seemed to momentarily extinguish the light in her eyes, the world dissolved into a horrifying spectacle. The guards were unmade. Their bodies didn't just rupture; they were pulverized, flesh and bone instantly reduced to a thick, crimson paste that erupted outward in a geyser of blood and gore, coating the stone walls. Their heavy iron armor clattered to the ground, now mixed with the grotesque, unrecognizable mush that had been their bodies, forming sickening puddles.
How? How did she do that?
I gasped for breath, my body weak, but somehow, I was still alive. No, that wasn't right—I should've been dead. My gut was torn open, my blood was everywhere, and yet...
"This is not your fate, child." Her voice was a paradox, a melody of impossible calm and profound sorrow that resonated not in my ears, but directly in my mind. It settled there, a strange, invasive warmth amidst the cold dread, carrying the weight of ages and the weariness of countless tragedies. Her lips remained still, the lack of movement adding another layer to the uncanny nature of her power, as if sound itself was merely a thought she projected into existence.
I shuddered.
This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. I wanted to ask something—anything—but how could I? For God's sake, I was barely holding my own guts.
Her glowing eyes softened, the intensity dimming slightly, her gaze filled with something I didn't recognize. Pity. "I pity you, Adamas."
"I will bestow upon you my last engraving, the Engraving of the Tree of Good and Evil. I hope you find peace in another world, one among the countless infinities that exist beyond your understanding. Many have met a fate similar to yours, plucked from their reality, but you..." she hesitated, a flicker of something akin to regret in those burning eyes. "I pity you, for I have heard of what would have been your true fate. Perhaps, in the vastness of the worlds beyond, you will hear whispers of my name. May you do what is written in the book of life and not be corrupted as the rest have."
Her eyes. I wouldn't forget them. Whoever she was, she was unlike anyone I had ever met. I didn't understand her words, these pronouncements of other worlds and endless infinities, but for some reason... she reminded me of my mother. That same warmth, buried beneath layers of terrifying power.
My vision blurred. The sounds around me faded.
Darkness took me.
I opened my eyes—or at least, I thought I did.
The pain was gone. My wounds were gone. But something was wrong.
I reached out to touch my hands, but they weren't there.
Was I a ghost now? Was this it?
And where was I?
The space I was in defied every law of nature I knew. Endless orbs surrounded me, swirling like galaxies, not just thousands, but millions, billions, stretching into infinities that folded back on themselves. It wasn't just one infinity, but layers upon layers, dimensions stacked beyond comprehension. I floated within a vast white expanse, a place with no up, down, left, or right, where the very concept of direction felt meaningless. The orbs moved in a dizzying, spiral pattern, an eternal, silent dance of light and shadow that seemed to exist outside of time itself. There was no past, no future, only an eternal, terrifying present. I felt utterly disconnected, somehow out of bounds, adrift in a place that wasn't meant for existence.
Then, I felt it.
A pressure unlike anything I had ever known. It wasn't a physical weight, not like being crushed by stone or armor, but a cosmic force that bore down on my very essence, on the core of my being. It felt like the combined gravity of a million collapsing stars, compressed into a single, unbearable point. My entire being screamed, not just my physical body, but my soul, my consciousness, every fiber of what I was. The primal urge to flee was overwhelming, a desperate, useless instinct in a place with no direction, no escape. I wanted to run, to hide, to cry, to cease existing entirely, but there was nowhere to escape, nowhere to shield myself from this all-encompassing force.
The presence was everywhere, not just around me, but within me, a silent, vast consciousness that filled the void and permeated my very being. It was like trying to hold back an ocean with cupped hands.
It was suffocating, not for lack of air, but from the sheer magnitude of its existence, a crushing weight on my spirit. It was petrifying, freezing me in place despite the frantic screams of my instincts. It was overwhelming, a force so immense, so utterly beyond human scale, that my mind reeled at the edges of comprehension. This... this wasn't human. It wasn't even the power of the witch, vast as it was. This was something else entirely.
Was this the presence of a God? Was this what it felt like to stand before the architect of existence, or perhaps something even older, something that predated the gods themselves? The thought was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a chilling realization that I was a speck of dust in an unfathomable cosmic ocean.
I turned my head, a slow, desperate movement in the timeless void, searching for something—anything—to anchor myself to, a point of reference in the boundless white. But before I could complete the turn, before my eyes could find purchase on anything solid, reality itself cracked.
It wasn't a sound, but a sensation, a tearing, a fracturing of the very fabric of existence around me. The space shattered like glass, the endless orbs and the white expanse splintering into jagged fragments. Colors inverted in sickening flashes, time twisted and warped, stretching and snapping like a frayed thread, and the seams of reality tore apart, revealing glimpses of... something else, something chaotic and raw, before collapsing entirely.
I gasped awake.
My eyes fluttered open, blurry shapes shifting around me. Voices murmured, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. My arms were numb. My legs refused to move.
It couldn't be.
Had I been reborn?
There was no way in hell that I had been reborn, but it would make sense. I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond. I could barely keep my eyes open. I was so sleepy. My head hurt, and from what I could make out with my eyes, my body was incredibly small—oh man.
I...
This was too much. Too overwhelming. My mind couldn't process everything that had happened. I was alive, but in a body that didn't feel like mine. Was this really my second chance, or was it just another cruel joke? I didn't know.
I was too tired to care.
Too much was happening.
I'm taking a nap, hopefully this is all just a weird nightmare.
I regained consciousness slowly, the heavy fog of unconsciousness lifting with each passing moment. The air was warmer than I expected, fresher. No stone walls, no damp air. No sense of cold or suffocating despair. This place felt... safe. Too safe.
I couldn't quite move, my body uncooperative. The weakness felt like a prison. I tried to focus, but everything was unfamiliar. The room had wooden walls, a few modest pieces of furniture, nothing extravagant. There was a sense of simplicity, of quiet normalcy, that didn't belong in my world.
Before I could process more, I felt something—someone—lifting me. The movement was gentle, soothing, almost like I belonged there. I let it happen. There was no point in resisting.
Then I heard her voice.
"Shh, Eden... it's okay. You're safe now."
Eden?
A sudden pang of realization struck me. I wasn't Adamas anymore. I had been reborn as Eden, a name that meant nothing but now felt... permanent.
Her arms were warm as she cradled me, but I could feel the chill of something deeper in my chest. I had died. I had been reborn in some... strange world.
"Your name will be Eden Seraphiel," she repeated.
I didn't argue. What could I even say as an infant? I had already lost that battle the moment I had crossed over to this world. The witch had said it herself, my fate was no longer my own. I had no say in who I was now, at least that's how I interpreted her words.
As I lay there, I became aware of a strange sensation on my forearm, cold and sharp. The engraving. The Tree of Good and Evil. The symbol I had seen just before my world had shattered. I hadn't been able to fully process it at the time, but now I could feel it clearly, like a part of me. It wasn't just a mark; it felt like a conduit, a direct connection to the immense power I had witnessed. It was a constant reminder of the being, if even, that had pulled me from my world and into this one, a power so vast it could unmake men with a thought. It felt like a faint, intricate scar beneath my skin, visible and tangible only to me. Neither my new mother nor father seemed to notice it as they held me, their gazes fixed on my face, not my arm.
My new mother was still holding me. Her dark eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural hue, fixed on me with a warmth I couldn't quite explain. But for some reason, in the deepest part of me, I could feel an odd connection to her.
I looked past her at the man standing nearby. My new father, I realized. He was mid-thirties, strong and muscular, his green eyes focused on me with a kind of pride that struck me as almost... overwhelming. There was a softness there, but it wasn't out of place. It made sense that this was my father now. He had the look of someone used to battle, someone who had fought, bled, and survived. He seemed like the kind of man who would be able to protect what he cared about with his own hands. His smile, though genuine, felt distant to me. But I couldn't ignore the fact that it was there.
I studied him for a moment, trying to place the familiarity. There was something about him that resonated with me, some feeling of recognition buried beneath the surface. But no matter how hard I tried to pinpoint it, I couldn't make sense of it. This man was a stranger. But that didn't matter now. He was my father. And I had no room for doubt.
I shifted in my mother's arms, my mind racing. Eden Seraphiel. The name repeated in my head, but I didn't need to focus on it too much. I had already made my decision. I would accept it. There was no use in clinging to what had been. This body, this life—this was mine now.
My new father moved closer, his hand resting on my head with a tenderness I wasn't used to. "You'll be strong," he murmured. "You'll be more than I ever was." I didn't even know what strength meant in this new life. But I didn't need to. I would figure it out as I went along. I had no choice.
My mother's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You'll be great," she said softly. "I know you will." The words, meant to be comforting, felt hollow, almost mocking. Great? I, who had just died a pathetic death, betrayed by the man who raised me? The idea was absurd, a cruel joke from a universe that seemed to delight in my suffering. I felt a profound indifference to her pronouncement; her belief meant nothing in the face of my past reality. Not in this world. I had no time for uncertainty. I had to focus.
There was something else, something more unsettling. Her eyes. The color, the glow. I had never seen eyes like that in any witch I had seen. In my world, the stronger the witch, the more their eyes shone an otherworldly glow, often in hues that didn't make sense. But her eyes... they were different. She was most likely something like a witch or some kind of magician, but unlike any I knew. The witch who had branded me with the Tree of Good and Evil was definitely something beyond concepts or ideas, a force that existed outside the bounds of normal understanding. And now, looking at my new mother, I couldn't even be sure if the concept of "witches" or "magicians," as I understood them, even existed in this world. Was her glowing gaze a sign of power, or something else entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at me.
Something about it made my stomach tighten, but I couldn't focus on that now. I couldn't afford to. There were more important things to consider.
The engraving. The mark on my arm. The witch that engraved the mark. My new parents. The life that awaited me.
Everything was so new, so different. The rules of my old life no longer applied. I was a blank slate now, a new man, and the only thing that mattered was how I played the game in this world.
The world of Eden Seraphiel.
I had no time for regret. No time to mourn the life I had lost. This was my reality now. And I would survive, I will not let myself be as helpless as I was in my first life.