A hundred days had slipped by before I could finally come to terms with my new reality.Reborn. Again.The word still tasted strange in my mind.
My world, for now, was a quiet cradle and a ceiling painted the color of morning skies. The days drifted slowly — an endless cycle of sleep, feeding, and observation. Only one voice kept the silence from consuming me.
"A-woo!"
I turned toward the sound. A rattle spun in the air, scattering flecks of light like tiny stars. Its music was oddly cheerful, and though my body was that of an infant, curiosity tugged at me. I reached out — or rather, attempted to.
"Just a bit more," came a woman's warm encouragement.
Elisabeth. Her name had been whispered by the maids often enough for me to remember it. She smiled as she crouched near the cradle, her eyes bright with amusement.
I pushed my palms forward, wobbling like a drunk man. The distance between us couldn't have been more than a few feet, yet my limbs felt heavy as stone. My forehead tilted dangerously toward the floor — but before disaster struck, soft hands steadied me.
"There, there," she murmured, drawing me against her chest. Her movements were light but precise — not the clumsy grace of an ordinary mother, but that of someone trained. A warrior who had learned restraint.
"I think you scared yourself, little one."
Her laugh vibrated faintly through her arms. I blinked up at her, meeting eyes the color of liquid gold. There was strength in them — and something else I couldn't quite name. For a moment, I forgot how fragile I was.
"Shall we see the garden today?" she whispered, lifting me gently. The light spilling through the window washed over her hair, turning it to strands of pale flame.
The room beyond her shoulder spoke volumes about the family I had been born into — polished floors, enchanted lamps glowing with perpetual light, curtains embroidered with sigils older than kingdoms. The faint hum of spiritual energy filled the air like a heartbeat. This was no common home.
'So,' I thought dryly, 'I've landed in wealth again. Perhaps luck finally remembers my name.'
But even as the thought flickered, an older one stirred — a flash of memory. The bite of steel. Damien Zagerfield's sword buried in my chest. The last breath I'd taken as the world faded.
Vengeance.It pulsed quietly in the back of my mind, a cold ember that refused to die.
I was no longer the emotionless mage who'd once walked through blood without remorse. I remembered every humiliation, every betrayal. And though my hands were tiny now, the hunger for retribution remained vast.
'Patience,' I reminded myself. 'Power comes with time.'
This body would grow. My cultivation would return. And when it did, the Ten Eyes Mantra — that ancient gift of perception — would once again open the world to me.
For now, I had only to wait.
A yawn escaped me, unwilling but inevitable. Elisabeth chuckled softly.
"Sleepy again? Of course you are." She adjusted her hold, rocking me gently. Her heartbeat was steady, almost hypnotic. For the first time in months, I allowed my eyes to close.
But peace never lasts.
"Lady Elisabeth!"
The door slammed open, the shout slicing through the calm. A maid rushed in, breathless and pale."The head of the house is coming!"
Elisabeth stiffened. "The Patriarch? Now?"
Her tone carried a flicker of unease. Even without understanding their family politics, I could sense her tension.
"Yes, my lady—he's already inside the wing!"
The room transformed in an instant. Maids scrambled to clear tables, smooth curtains, adjust Elisabeth's attire. The air itself seemed to tighten as hurried footsteps approached the door.
Then, a shadow crossed the threshold.
He entered without a word.
Silver hair, untouched by age. Eyes the blue of glacial rivers. His presence filled the space like winter wind — sharp, commanding, absolute.
"Father-in-law," Elisabeth said softly, lowering her head.
The old man's gaze swept the room, landing on me at last. "So this is the child?" His voice was quiet, but each syllable struck like iron.
Elisabeth nodded quickly, adjusting her grip on me.
I met his stare without flinching — or rather, without the ability to. But the weight of it was unmistakable. An aura colder than death itself pressed down on the room, and a single realization began to take shape in my mind.
'No… it can't be him.'
But the more I looked, the clearer it became.
That silver hair. That frostbitten gaze. That suffocating pressure.
Roman Lionhart.The Ice Monarch of the North.Patriarch of the Lionhart family — the most feared name on the Runiya continent.
And I, somehow, was his blood.