Morning arrived quietly, unremarkable as any other. Sunlight crept through the window of Ludwig's apartment, falling across his face until his eyes reluctantly opened. He brought a hand up to block the light, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and finally pulled himself upright.
His vision settled. Around him sat the familiar mess of his studio — takeout containers, scattered clothes, the general debris of a life lived without much energy to tidy it. He rented the place cheap enough that whatever was left over could feed him. His eyes swept the room until they landed on the smartwatch sitting on the nightstand.
He needed it. A chronic immune disorder had made the device non-negotiable — his body had a habit of giving out without warning, collapsing under the weight of some unnamed failure that no doctor had managed to properly diagnose. The medication he took wasn't a cure. It was damage control.
He sat for a moment at the edge of the bed, blank-faced, letting himself exist before the day demanded anything of him. Then he reached for the watch, strapped it on the way he always did, stretched until his joints popped their satisfaction, and made his way to the bathroom.
Then, as usual, he collapsed.
Oxygen, maybe. Or a vein sealing itself shut. No one would ever know.
The smartwatch stopped detecting a heartbeat.
---
It was sudden. My body simply dropped, as though a switch had been thrown. As if I had died right there on the floor.
And yet — I hadn't. I couldn't have. I was still here, still thinking. Still *me*.
But the darkness around me was total. I had no weight, no limbs, no anchor. The last thing I could piece together was that I'd woken up this morning, slept well, and had been heading into an early shift. Now my mind existed somewhere between that memory and this void, cycling back and forth like a wheel spinning so fast it had become something else entirely — formless, frantic.
Thinking about the present made it worse. Whenever I tried to locate myself in the *now*, something blocked the thought. I couldn't visualize where I was. I couldn't place myself.
And yet I wasn't gone. My thoughts were still running, still alive — I could feel my inner voice working. But something was wrong with the language. The words I'd spoken my entire life had become slippery, then strange, then gone. I could no longer form letters or sentences. Only raw thought remained, shapeless and untranslatable.
Then something *pulled* me — whether it was me or just my mind, I couldn't say — and a blinding white light crashed into my eyes.
It hurt. A searing, desperate kind of pain, like my eyes needed water immediately. And somehow, there were tears. They came on their own.
...tears?
I opened my eyes.
They felt strange. Familiar and foreign at once. Everything was blurred and cloudy, and turning my head didn't help. Then a hand appeared and gently wiped my face. It was large — large enough to dwarf whatever face it was wiping — but its touch was soft. Warm. Unmistakably feminine. Something in me ached for it in a way I didn't understand. My hands moved instinctively toward it.
My hands.
As my vision cleared, I looked at them properly.
They were a baby's hands. Tiny. Completely out of proportion with any memory I had of my own arms.
No. Could it be—
"Sweet little child, your mother is here."
A woman's voice, gentle and close. I tried to turn toward it, but my neck protested immediately. I kicked out with my legs but only caught air — I was being carried.
Have I been reincarnated?
The thought surfaced slowly, then settled. It seemed I had. Which meant I had died.
"Mother Helen — what gifts does my child carry?" The same gentle voice, now directed outward.
It was soothing. Sleep was already threatening to pull me under.
"Let me examine him."
A new face appeared above me — a woman, older, though *old* felt like the wrong word. There was an ageless quality to her, something that sat between maturity and grace. Her hands came close, large enough to shadow my face, and instinctively I tensed. But the warmth of whoever was holding me kept me from spiraling into panic.
The woman stepped back. She was smiling, but the smile carried something heavy.
"He is gifted. Not in magic — magic will play a role, but it will not be his focus. His power in that regard is average." She paused. "His insight, however, is the highest this family has ever seen. And his intelligence is nearly equal to it — around a level of 78."
"78?" The gentle woman's voice sharpened slightly. "At his coming-of-age?"
"No."
Silence.
"My son has that level of intelligence now?" She looked down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Worried. Wondering.
What is it?
"Yes. He carries the insight of a leader and the mind of a scholar. Whether that proves to be a gift or a burden remains to be seen." The older woman bowed her head. "I'll take my leave. You should have the Count come to you."
Once she was gone from my sight, my eyelids grew heavy. I yawned. I was nearly asleep when another figure entered my field of view — a woman in a maid's uniform. The sight of it pulled me back, faintly amused. A maid's outfit, in a world like this?
But her hand was gentle on my face, and sleep began to find me again.
Then a knock at the door.
I cried.
"Shh. Shh. Little Hanz. Your mother is here."
The door opened. A man stepped in — young, but with eyes that carried the weight of someone much older. Sharp. Unyielding.
"Magdalene. How is the child?"
"He's well."
"That's not what I'm asking."
"...His magical ability is average —"
"Then he will not be my heir."
"But Sir Johanne —"
"Enough. You understand what the von Rosen name requires. A heir with average magic is no heir at all. He's no better than a peasant by those standards."
Magdalene said nothing.
"I'll name Louisina's son as my heir."
The gentle woman — my mother — looked down at me.
"I am your wife," she said quietly. "And this is your child."
"Magdalene." His voice softened, just slightly. "My love for you is real. That's exactly why I'm saying this now. If I name this child my heir, my father will have my head. It is the agreement we made."
"But you don't understand — his intelligence, his insight —"
"Then he'll command my armies when he's grown, or hold one of my vassalships. But he will never lead von Rosen."
My mother looked at me again. Her jaw was tight, her lips pressed together.
"I'll be in the capital for the foreseeable future. The king has declared a Casus Belli against the Kingdom of Ortus and is calling every noble house to raise arms — seventy thousand men in total. My father will command his forces. I'll hold position at the capital." He paused. "If the city falls, I fall with it. Should that happen — when Louisina's son takes the seat — you are to go to Northham. I've already sent word to my vassal. You will serve as regent there until this child comes of age."
"Yes," she said.
He hesitated. Then he leaned forward and kissed her — slow, deliberate.
Something cold moved through my chest. Jealousy, maybe. Or the ghost of betrayal. I couldn't explain it.
"I'll take my leave."
He was gone. My mother looked down at me, her eyes wet.
She had wiped my eyes when I needed it. I wanted to wipe hers. I reached — or tried to. My arm fell well short.
I made a sound instead. Whatever came out was garbled, shapeless, the kind of noise that meant nothing and everything at once.
But her crying softened.
And that was enough.