The Life After Death

  Chapter 2: A New Perspective

  The little silver-white-haired girl lifted her head again, her bright, curious voice ringing through the room and pulling every gaze toward her. “Mama! Is he my brother?"

  Elara smiled softly, brushing a hand over her silver-white hair. “Yes, Helena, he’s your little brother.”

  So that's her name… tilting my head as our eyes locked.

  Helena’s eyes lit up with delight, though her expression quickly turned thoughtful. “So... what’s his name?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “His name is Emrys,” Elara replied patiently, her voice warm.

  “Em... Emmmm... Emriss?” Helena attempted, the name fumbling off her tongue. She scrunched up her face, clearly dissatisfied. “That’s too hard. I’ll just call him Em!” she declared, nodding as if her decision was final.

  Em? What kind of half assed name is that?

  But then again, this wasn’t about me, it was about her. Helena had claimed it with such certainty, her little voice brimming with pride as she named me ‘Em.’ It was a name born from her affection, and for that reason alone, I found myself accepting it.

  Alright, I thought with a reluctant smile. Em it is...

  Helena’s grin widened as if she had just achieved a great victory. She bounced on her toes and pointed at me with a playful glint in her eyes. “Em! You’re my little brother now, and I’m your big sister. That means I get to tell you what to do forever!”

  I groaned. Forever? Wonderful. I’ve been alive less than a day, and she’s already planning my submission. A tyrant in the making.

  Elara held me close, gazing at me with her eyes filled with a quiet wonder that I still couldn’t reconcile with the cold detachment of my past life. “There’s something about his eyes, Raiden,” she said, her voice as steady as the flickering candlelight around us. “It’s as if they hold the promise of something great, something good.”

  Raiden chuckled, his deep voice filling the room like a rolling thunderclap. “Sharp eyes like those don’t just happen by chance, Elara. They’re a sign of strength and determination. My boy… he’ll leave his mark on this world, I’m sure of it.”

  Elara smiled, “My little Emrys,” she murmured, her voice as soft as the glow of the candles around us. “Enjoy this world.”

  She placed me carefully in a small wooden cot lined with thick, woven blankets. The movement was slow and deliberate, as though she feared I might break. As she stepped back, my view shifted, and for the first time, I could truly take in my surroundings.

  The room was simple but full of life. The walls, made of roughly-hewn timber, carried the scent of aged wood and faint traces of smoke from the hearth. Each detail drew me further into the reality of this world.

  As I took in the room, I began to wonder, what kind of history does this place hold?

  The simplicity around me seemed almost deceptive, as though it hid stories just waiting to be uncovered. A soft breeze wafted through an open window, bringing with it the earthy aroma of fresh grass and wildflowers. It was a far cry from the artificial sterility of the world I once knew. Instead, there was warmth. A lived-in warmth that wrapped around me like an old, familiar blanket.

  I turned my head slightly, my infant neck straining against its limitations. The cot itself was sturdy and unadorned, carved with care but devoid of embellishments. The blankets smelled faintly of lavender.

  The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the faces of my new family. Elara’s dark hair gleamed in the golden glow, her expression serene as she tidied the small table by the hearth. Raiden leaned against the doorframe, his broad figure taking up most of the space, a proud grin still plastered across his face. Helena, sat cross-legged on the floor, stacking wooden blocks into an unsteady tower.

  Everything felt so... raw. So genuine. It was a sensory overload compared to my past. The smells were richer, the air heavier, the sounds more layered. Each creak of the wooden floor, each rustle of the breeze through the open window, felt alive in a way I couldn’t yet articulate.

  And then, reality came crashing down. A warm, wet sensation spread across my lower half, and the mortification hit me like a freight train.

  Did I just... I thought, horrified. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not me. I don’t care if I’m an infant, this is unacceptable.

  A low whimper escaped me—entirely involuntary, I swear—and Elara was at my side in an instant.

  “Oh, my poor little one,” she cooed, lifting me with practiced ease. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

  This is humiliating, I grumbled, though all that escaped my lips was a pathetic gurgle. I was a tyrant. A killer. And now I’m reduced to... this.

  As Elara carefully changed me, her movements steady and practiced, I couldn’t help but notice Helena watching intently from her spot on the floor. Her eyes were wide with unabashed curiosity.

  “Mama, why does he make those funny faces?” Helena asked, tilting her head as she studied me. “He looks like he’s mad.”

  “He’s just a little uncomfortable, darling,” Elara replied with a soft smile, her tone as gentle as the touch of her hands. “Babies aren’t used to these things yet.”

  Uncomfortable? That was an understatement. The heat rising to my face was not from discomfort but from sheer embarrassment.

  I am not making funny faces, and if I am, it’s because I’ve just been subjected to the ultimate indignity while my so-called sister gawks at me like I’m her latest entertainment.

  Helena giggled, clearly enjoying my predicament. “He’s so squishy and funny. I like him, Mama. Can I help next time?”

  Absolutely not, though it came out as a gurgle. Helena’s grin only widened, her delight in my helplessness both infuriating and endearing.

  Elara gently carried me over to a small basin filled with warm water. She hummed softly as she washed me, her hands steady and practiced. The warmth of the water was comforting, even if the situation was mortifying. At least I feel like a king being washed by a beautiful woman.

  Helena, of course, stood nearby, watching intently with wide, curious eyes. “Mama, why is he all wrinkly?” she asked, tilting her head.

  Elara chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “All babies are like this, darling. He’ll grow out of it.”

  Helena nodded solemnly, as if Elara had imparted some great wisdom. “He’s still cute. Even if he’s squishy.”

  Once I was cleaned and dried, Elara lifted and carried me to the large mirror mounted on the wall. Placing me carefully before it, she smiled. “There, my little Emrys. See yourself?”

  The glass was smooth but slightly warped, its surface catching the candlelight and reflecting it in soft, golden hues. She held me up gently, her hands steady and warm, and for the first time, I saw myself.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The reflection staring back at me was both foreign and familiar. A tiny face, round and soft, framed by a few wisps of red?streaked black hair—nothing like Helena’s cascading, silky silver?white strands.

  But it was my eyes that truly held me captive. The left was a deep, endless black like Elara’s, and the right a burning crimson like Raiden’s. Heterochromatic, a perfect blend of the two people who now called themselves my parents. Raiden had said I carried both their eyes, and now I finally believed him.

  I stared at the mirror, at the strange little face that was mine. My eyes—their contrast was striking, almost unnerving. The black held a calm depth, while the red burned with a fierce vibrancy, like embers waiting to ignite. Together, they were a paradox, much like myself. A killer reborn as a child. A man with blood-stained hands given a second chance.

  However, I have to admit, a smug grin forming in my mind, this kid is handsome. No, not just handsome, stunning. These looks are going to cause trouble someday. Mothers, lock your daughters away, for I’ve been reborn with a face that will bring cities to their knees!

  And then, it hit me. My gaze shifted downward, and the sudden realization struck like a lightning bolt. What in the world...? Is that… mine?

  My tiny infant body was shocking enough. But the sheer size of... well, my most personal area left me speechless. This… this can’t be right. It’s so small! Where did it all go? A mix of horror and disbelief surging through me.

  Embarrassment coursed through me like fire, and I could practically hear my own past self laughing in my head. From ruling the underworld to this? This is cruel, even for karma. Mothers, lock up your daughters? Forget that, they’ll be laughing too hard to be worried about me.

  I closed my eyes, feigning sleep to escape the sheer embarrassment of all that had transpired. If only unconsciousness could wipe away the indignity of the day.

  Elara dressed and wrapped me in a warm blanket, her hands gentle and precise. "Rest well, my son," she whispered, her voice as soothing as the warmth of the firelight. She cradled me for a moment longer, her gaze soft yet filled with unspoken resolve, before humming a quiet lullaby that melted the last of my lingering thoughts into sleep.

  The days that followed were a whirlwind of adjustment, for them and for me. Elara’s gentle care, Raiden’s booming laughter, and Helena’s relentless poking became the rhythm of my new life. Each of them brought something unique to the chaos of my rebirth.

  Elara, with her soft voice and endless patience, would hum lullabies as she rocked me to sleep. She would coo words of encouragement as if her voice alone could shield me from the strangeness of this new world. Her presence was a balm, soothing and warm, utterly different to the harshness of the life I had left behind.

  Helena, of course, was a force unto herself. Determined to keep me entertained, she would stack wooden blocks within my line of sight, grinning triumphantly every time I blinked in her direction as if I had just crowned her the world’s greatest architect. Her antics, though exhausting, brought a peculiar lightness to the days. I couldn’t decide if she was a blessing or a test of my patience.

  Raiden’s hearty voice filled the home with stories of his so-called adventures, ‘bedtime stories for kids,’ as I would call it. His tales painted him as a man of bravery and strength, and the pride in his voice as he spoke to Helena made it clear he envisioned the same for me. I could feel his occasional glances my way, fiery eyes softening as if he saw something he couldn’t quite place.

  Maybe he thinks I’m destined for greatness, I mused. Or maybe he’s wondering if I’ll ever stop gurgling and making funny faces.

  Meanwhile, I grappled with the limits of my infant body. Each movement was a trial, every attempt at communication reduced me to gurgles and whimpers. At times, I found myself crying without reason, my small body betraying me with uncontrollable outbursts. It was maddening. I had once commanded legions and crushed men with the sheer weight of my intellect, yet here I was, unable to control even my own hands.

  My memories of my past life remained sharp, like a double-edged sword. I recalled every calculated move, every ruthless decision, every kill that had cemented my rule in the shadows. The clarity of those memories mocked me now. What good was my brilliant mind when I couldn’t even hold my head upright?

  Despite the frustration, a part of me began to accept the absurdity of it all. This was my reality now. And if this was the price of a second chance, then I would pay it… begrudgingly, but willingly.

  That evening, as the world outside our small home darkened, Raiden leaned forward in his chair with an expectant smile. "Helena, do you know how your father and the Ember Order faced the Scarecrowls?" he began, his deep voice carrying a sense of pride and nostalgia. Helena’s eyes widened as she plopped down onto the floor beside him, hanging onto his every word.

  I froze. The Ember Order? Scarecrowls? Here we go again with one of his tales, barely suppressing a snicker. Of course, Raiden would name it after something fiery. Probably thought it matched his hair. Subtlety clearly wasn’t his strong suit.

  Raiden spoke of his order of five, Brannick, Sorrel, Kaelith, Mira, and himself. They were called the Ember Order, a force to be reckoned with. Or so he made it seem.

  Raiden grinned. "We weren’t just a group, Helena. We were a family on the battlefield. Each of us knew the other’s moves before they made them."

  I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of recognition. Not from shared experiences, but from the raw camaraderie Raiden described.

  How is he so good at making these things up? stifling a laugh. Seriously, did he rehearse this in front of a mirror or something?

  "Tell me, tell me! Were they big? Did you fight them with your bare hands?” Helena asked eagerly, her silver hair catching the firelight as she shifted closer.

  Raiden laughed heartily, ruffling her hair. "They were enormous, their flames hotter than any forge, capable of melting steel. But your father didn’t flinch. You know why?"

  This should be good. What’s it going to be? Some heroic nonsense about bravery, or maybe he’ll say the fire was scared of his hair? I mean, she’s a kid. Of course, Raiden is spinning these tales. Probably thinks it’ll make him look more impressive, or maybe he just likes hearing himself talk. Either way, I assumed this was all just some glorified bedtime story to keep her entertained.

  Helena gasped, leaning in. "Because you’re super strong?"

  "Of course! And because I have a little help," Raiden said with a wink. He turned toward the fireplace, his broad figure silhouetted against the dancing shadows. His hand hovered over the logs, and stretched open and a small flame erupted from his palm as he shot it into the hearth.

  The flames danced like a living thing, licking the wood before settling into a steady burn. The room filled with warmth and light, and Helena’s jaw dropped in awe.

  I stared, my infant eyes wide and unblinking. What was that! Fire? Magic? The word foreign yet exhilarating. The flames reflected in my eyes as I tried to comprehend what I had just witnessed. Does this world have magic?

  In my old world, power was logical, calculated, a precise tool to be manipulated. But this? This was unpredictable and alive. It wasn’t born of circuits and commands but of will and a force I couldn’t yet understand. The sheer unpredictability of it thrilled and unsettled me in equal measure.

  A new thought crept into my mind as I recalled Raiden’s earlier words about the Ember Order. If this magic is real, then so are his stories, a chill running through me.

  What kind of world had I been reborn into? How much of this magic, this power, was waiting to be uncovered?

  More importantly, why had Raiden stopped? He spoke of the Ember Order with pride, yet here he was, living a quiet life. Was it by choice, was it Elara? I needed to know. I wanted to uncover the truth behind his tales and the mysteries of this magic-infused world.

  “Papa! You did it again! Show me more!” Helena exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

  I blinked, taking in her words. Again? So, she’s seen this before, my mind churned as the implications sank in. This wasn’t some rare occurrence, magic was common here.

  The fire Raiden whisked wasn’t just some cheap circus trick, it was power that came at his command. My mind raced with questions, How did it work? Could I wield it? And if so, would I be able to bend it to my will, or would it consume me like the flames themselves?

  Raiden turned towards me with a wide grin, his fiery hair catching the light of the flames. "This world is full of magic, son," he said, his voice steady and confident. "One day, you’ll hone it too, and I’ll teach you how to master it."

  I stared at him, intrigued and sceptical. Teach me? Well, let’s hope your lessons go better than your storytelling, but... I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to it.

  The thought of wielding magic, of summoning fire as effortlessly as Raiden had, stirred something deep within me. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was hunger.

  What other forms of magic exist in this world? Can I command the elements, reshape reality, or bend the very fabric of nature? My thoughts spun as I watched the flames flicker and dance. If magic was truly at my fingertips, then this second life might hold far more promise than I’d ever imagined.

  As I drifted into thought, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips. The possibilities stretched before me like an uncharted horizon, and for the first time since my rebirth, I felt a flicker of excitement.

  One day, I would master it. One day, I could command the same power Raiden had shown me tonight. And maybe, just maybe, this magic would make me strong enough to protect the people I was beginning to care about.

  In my past life, strength had always been a tool, something I wielded to protect my power to kill, and to control. But now, for the first time, I felt the pull of something far greater than ambition. A desire to love, to guard, and to stand beside those who mattered. My family.

  The idea was foreign yet grounding, a stark contrast to the ruthless existence I had once led. And for the first time, I embraced it. For now, though, I would wait, learn, and watch. My time would come soon enough.