Darkness. Warm and silent, it cradles me like a gentle ocean. I drift in this void, cocooned by soft, liquid warmth. A steady thump-thump resonates around me—rhythmic pulses that soothe my stirring consciousness. It is the heartbeat of Mother, a distant drum that anchors me to this new life. In the hush, I hear the faint hum of energy coursing beyond these walls: the distant hum of mana currents flowing through the world. They sing at the edge of hearing, a lullaby of power that reminds me I am more than just an unborn child.
At first, my awareness is fragile. Sensations come only in fragments. I feel the gentle sway of fluid around my small form and the muffled vibration of voices echoing now and then from the world outside. I have no eyes to see light here, no lungs to draw breath—only the warmth, the pulse, and that omnipresent hum of mana. Each sensation is a tiny thread, and slowly I weave them together, forming a tapestry of understanding. I am alive… again.
Faint memories drift toward me like motes of light in the dark. At first they are distant and blurred: the impression of flames dancing, of shadows twisting in an endless void, of a voice shouting arcane words. I grasp at these fragments. A searing pain blossoms in my recollection—I remember a final battle under a bleeding sky. Images sharpen: I stood against the Abyssal Breach, a tear in reality vomiting forth darkness and horrors. I was Aerion then, Grand Magus of the Ebon Spire, ancient and proud. I recall pouring every ounce of my strength into a blazing torrent of spells, sealing that malignant rift. The memory of the Abyssal howls still rings in the deepest recess of my mind. In those last moments, as the breach consumed my life force, I felt death’s cold embrace. I see a final image: blinding light as my soul tore free… and then nothing.
Yet now, from that nothingness, I awaken. Why? How am I here, feeling and thinking, when I remember dying? A realization dawns slowly, sending a ripple of awe through my tiny form. This warm darkness is not the afterlife—I have been reborn. I am in a womb, an unborn infant with a soul as old as the mountains. The notion is both astounding and bewildering. Fate has woven me a new thread. Instead of passing on to whatever lies beyond, I have returned to the beginning of life itself. My thoughts whirl with questions. Did the cosmos grant me a second chance? Or is this some twist of magic—perhaps a reward for my sacrifice, or a task yet unfinished requiring my return?
As I ponder, I test the boundaries of my new existence. Tentatively, I will my arm to move. In the close confines of this nurturing abyss, I feel a faint stir—my hand, tiny and weak, brushes against the curved wall of flesh that surrounds me. The sensation is distant, muffled by embryonic fluid, but it’s there. These limbs are so frail, a far cry from the battle-scarred hands I once had. I uncurl my fingers slowly. The action is clumsy, but I feel them respond. A mixture of relief and frustration courses through me. I possess knowledge and skill from a lifetime of mastering the arcane, and yet I inhabit a body that can barely wiggle its own fingers. Patience, I chide myself. I have walked the path from novice to Grand Magus once before—I can do so again, even if it begins literally from the womb.
More important than physical movement is the flow of energy within. I turn my focus inward, to the core of my being, seeking the presence of mana inside me. In my past life, my mana core was a brilliant sun housed in the center of my chest, cultivated over decades of study and struggle. Now I sense only a tiny spark, a delicate embryo of a mana core nestled within this infant body. It is weak—barely a candle’s flame—but it exists. As my consciousness brushes against it, I feel it flicker in response. A gentle warmth blooms from that spark, spreading through me. For the first time since my rebirth, I truly feel my magic.
The moment I acknowledge that spark, the ambient energies around me stir. My soul’s long memory recognizes this sensation with wonder. This new body possesses an Omni-Element Physique—an affinity to all elements. Even in this raw, unformed state, I can sense the truth of it. Where a normal mage might reach only into one element—fire, water, earth, or air—I sense all. Streams of elemental mana coil around me in curious harmony.
I feel a glimmer of heat from somewhere nearby, perhaps the warmth of my mother’s blood carrying a trace of the Fire element, and I welcome it. Simultaneously, a cool current of Water mana swirls in the fluid embracing me, responding to my awareness. The airy whisper of Wind tickles at my consciousness with each subtle movement I make. Even the solid thrum of Earth is present—a resonance coming through the very bones of my mother and the world cradling us. All four classical elements, dancing at the edge of my perception, neither pulled in nor pushed away. They simply exist with me, drawn subtly by the nature of this body. It is as if they recognize me, brushing against my soul like old friends greeting a long journeyed traveler.
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Awe fills me. In my previous life, I had affinities hard-won through arcane rites and innate talent, but never all at once. This Omni-Element Physique is something extraordinary. Ambient mana of every type responds to my mere presence. It is unrefined now—a chaotic, gentle swirl without focus—but it promises unimaginable potential. I suspect that once I am born and can properly train, I will wield all the elements as my tools. For now, I am content to simply exist in this quiet symphony of raw magic, marveling at the gift fate has woven into my reborn flesh.
Enclosed in darkness, I delve into contemplation. My mind, though housed in an infant body, carries the weight of two lifetimes. Two lifetimes… The thought is surreal. I have the wisdom of Aerion, decades of learning and battle, of joy and sorrow. I also have the blank slate of this new life, Kael Ashborne—a name I do not yet know, but an identity that awaits me. The burden of knowledge and memory presses on me, heavy and heady all at once. How strange it is, to hold memories of casting world-shaking spells, while currently unable to even speak or see. It’s almost laughable, yet also profound.
In the silent void, I muse on fate. What is the purpose of this second birth? I recall the moment of my death—closing that hellish Breach at the cost of my life. Perhaps the breach would not stay sealed and the world would need a guardian again. Could it be that the universe refused to let me go? Or is this simply the natural cycle of souls, reincarnating from one life to the next, with mine retaining its memories by some cosmic accident or divine design? It’s a mystery I cannot solve from here. And yet, I cannot help pondering the mysteries of the universe that I once probed as a scholar. Life, death, and rebirth—threads of a tapestry far greater than any one soul. Now I am a living paradox: a newborn that is ancient; a soul reborn, born twice into the world of the living.
As time drifts on (minutes? hours? It’s impossible to tell in this gentle dark), I embrace the burden of my dual existence. Knowledge is heavy, yes, but it is also empowering. I know secrets of magic that no infant ever should. I carry the history of a life lived fully. I am Aerion, yet I am also this new soul. With that acceptance comes resolve. This life is a gift—I will not squander it. Whether by fate’s grand design or fortunate chance, I have another opportunity to live, to grow, perhaps to shape the world anew or protect it once more. A wry thought crosses my mind: I wonder what the sages would say if they knew one of the greatest magi now floats as an unborn babe, contemplating the cosmos from his mother's womb.
Amid these reflections, I feel an urge—a pull at that little spark of mana within me. The Grand Magus in me hungers to reassert itself, to grasp even a fragment of the power I once commanded. Carefully, I reach out with my nascent will toward the mana spark in my chest. It flickers eagerly. Gently now, I caution myself. I must not overdraw—this body is still forming and fragile.
With utmost care, I draw a thread of mana from that spark. It responds, a thin tendril of warmth uncurling inside me. My heart (both the physical one and the soul deep one) quickens with excitement. The sensation of controlling magic again, however small, is exhilarating. The tiny thread of mana wends its way through my body, meeting my awareness. For a moment, I try something simple: just a minor exertion of will, to move the energy in a circle, guiding it as I would have in my old body.
To my delight, the mana obeys. It flows through my developing limbs and back to my core, a closed loop of shimmering energy inside the womb. There are no outward effects—no spell cast, not even a spark visible to the eye—but I feel the difference. In this quiet darkness, power has returned to my grasp, if only in the smallest measure. A contentment settles over me, deep and profound. I have taken the first step, however small, on the path to reclaiming my strength.
As I release the thread of mana, letting it dissipate harmlessly, a wave of fatigue washes over my unborn body. Even that tiny exercise has tired me. I am, after all, still not fully formed. I allow myself to rest, drifting again in the comforting embrace of the womb. My last thoughts before this chapter of awakening ends are resolute and filled with quiet wonder: Here in this darkness I have begun again. I am weak now, but I carry greatness within me. In time, the world will know of Aerion reborn. For now, I simply curl within the warmth and dream of the power that will one day answer my call.