23 - The Theory of Reincarnation

Valrion’s question seemed to catch Octavia off guard. Her expression stilled for a moment, clearly processing the implications of his words. Then, her face broke into a wide smile, and she burst out laughing. Even Fina, who was hanging clothes a few feet away, paused to glance at them with confusion before resuming her work.

“Oh, you’re silly,” Octavia said playfully. “If I’m an escapee, then you must be reincarnated.”

The response made Valrion jolt slightly, though he quickly regained his composure. To keep Octavia from suspecting anything, he forced a grin, masking his unease behind the innocent curiosity of a child.

“In-ca-na-ted?” he asked, drawing out the syllables as if the concept was entirely foreign to him. “What is that?”

Octavia’s gaze softened as their eyes met. There was something unspoken in the way she looked at him—a quiet, almost imperceptible knowing that made him wonder if she truly understood more than she let on. It was as if there was a shared secret bouncing silently between them.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling as she returned to the clothesline. She picked up a shirt from the basket and adjusted it where it had snagged in the breeze. Her movements quickened, and Valrion noticed how her gaze seemed to flit around like she was deliberately avoiding his.

Soon, she began humming again, resuming the melody from earlier. Her steady motions and calm demeanor gave the impression that everything had returned to normal, but Valrion’s wariness refused to settle.

Many Eruvians believed in reincarnation—the idea that a person would be reborn after death.

Even so, they varied greatly. Some thought they would only be reborn within their own family groups as a collective of souls traveling together through eternity. Others insisted they would be reborn into the environment they had longed for in their previous lives. Some even claimed that the worst people would return as animals, paying for their misdeeds in unfavorable forms.

When it came to eidolons, humans often asked what would happen to them after they died. It was one of the most common questions, though mortals didn’t fear death itself as much as they dreaded the unknown that lay beyond it.

Eidolons would usually respond with a calm smile and say, “It’s whatever you believe.” That was pretty much the truth. The free will of Eruvians extended even into the afterlife.

Humans who imagined a land of edible clouds and shimmering glitters would find themselves there, while others wishing to be reborn as their daughter’s grandchild would have their souls follow that path. Even those daring enough to dream of godhood might have their soul sent into the dreams of the divine—though no known instance of this had ever occurred.

The people around Valrion were adults, and they weren’t fools. With the way he had acted so far, it wouldn’t be surprising if Octavia—or even his parents—had considered the possibility that he was reincarnated. While their religion didn’t seem to emphasize the concept, that didn’t mean each one of his family members was strictly bound by its teachings.

Would it matter if Octavia knew?

If Valrion were to choose someone to trust in this world, it would be his parents, not the people working for them, no matter how nice they had been to him. On the surface, Octavia might have acted out of curiosity about his origin, but he couldn’t be certain of their intentions. At least not now.

Unwilling to linger on such a topic any longer, Valrion initiated another one, “Octavia, I want to sleep in the bedroom instead of the kitchen.”

Octavia paused mid-motion, looking at him again while raising her brow. “Oh? All right. I’ll talk to your mother about that.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Valrion smiled, standing there for a second as he contemplated whether there was more to add. When nothing came to mind, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the kitchen.

[Level: 5]

[EXP: 10/145]

[Health: 297/297]

[Mana: 30/31]

As Valrion grew older, his mana regeneration had become faster—it now took less than an hour to recover a single point, though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact timing. His gaze landed on the blazing hearth, the flames leaping and crackling. The thought of using some mana to avoid reaching its limit crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Saving everything for the upcoming practice session with Sergius seemed like the better choice.

Shifting his focus, Valrion decided to find his mother and share his wish to stay in the same room with her again. Heading to the study near the common room, he noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the narrow gap, he could see her seated at her desk, sorting through documents. Her hand moved steadily, organizing papers or jotting notes with a quill.

Not wanting to disturb her concentration, Valrion stepped away and went to the front of the house. Sergius often spent his mornings tending the garden or chatting with passing neighbors, but the area was eerily quiet. If Sergius wasn’t outside, he had to be somewhere nearby. It wasn’t typical of him to leave after making a promise about their morning activity.

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Valrion then considered the other possibilities: Sergius’ room or the stable. Opting for the stable first, he found both family horses resting in their stalls, quietly matching the stillness of the side yard. Just as he was about to move on, a faint tinkering sound reached his ears. It was coming from the nearby shed.

Valrion couldn’t help but follow the noise, each step bringing the sound into sharper focus. He had never entered the shed before and hesitated briefly before stepping inside.

The interior was a mix of organized functionality and practical clutter. Wooden shelves lined one wall, neatly stocked with tools—hammers, awls, chisels—along with coils of rope and small clay jars filled with nails and metal pins. On the opposite wall, farming implements like hoes and scythes hung from iron hooks, their edges well-maintained despite clear signs of use.

A sturdy cart was kept in one corner, its wooden frame reinforced with iron bands. The polished wheels gleamed, a testament to meticulous care and readiness for travel. While Valrion knew his family was financially comfortable, the sight of such an expensive possession still impressed him. To his knowledge, his parents had never used it—or, if they had, it wasn’t something he had witnessed.

Near the back of the shed, Sergius crouched over a workbench, intently focused on repairing the sole of a worn shoe. The rhythmic rasp of a file against leather filled the space, occasionally interrupted by the sharp taps of a small hammer as he secured the edges of the sole to the shoe’s base. The concentration on Sergius’ face was unshakable, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

“Sergius,” Valrion called after observing Sergius for a while. His voice broke the quiet, startling the man.

“Huh?” Sergius looked over his shoulder, his face tightening in surprise. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Let’s practice,” Valrion suggested.

Sergius immediately loosened up and let out a chuckle. “Oh, right.”

It seemed Sergius had become so absorbed in his task that he had forgotten about their plan, but Valrion wouldn’t make an issue of it. He watched Sergius set the hammer down and toss the shoe toward the corner where its pair rested. Grabbing a nearby rag, Sergius wiped his hands clean before gesturing toward the shed’s entrance. Taking the cue, Valrion stepped out first, leading the way.

They walked back toward the house through the backyard. Octavia and Fina were busy by the well, washing more clothes and too preoccupied to notice them passing by.

Once inside the kitchen, Sergius retrieved Valrion’s gloves, bow, and arrows from a shelf beside a rack of plates and bowls. The choice of such an accessible spot for storing the weapon likely meant that Valrion’s father wouldn’t have touched anything nearby.

Valrion couldn’t help but reflect on that. He realized he had never seen his father fetching his own food or drink—he was always served. It was a frivolous detail but one that spoke volumes.

“Wait here,” Sergius said before heading to the front of the house. Valrion waited, shifting slightly on his feet, wondering what Sergius was up to. Shortly after, Sergius returned, this time with Valrion’s mother walking behind him.

As soon as she stood in front of Valrion, she stooped slightly and ruffled his hair with a warm smile. “I wouldn’t miss my son’s first archery practice for anything.”

She held her eyes on him for a moment—her expression was a blend of encouragement and affection. Valrion beamed at her, the corners of his lips lifting into a genuine smile. Her presence gave him confidence, and though he didn’t say anything, his eyes should convey how much it meant to him that she would be around.

“All right, follow me,” Sergius said, breaking the moment as he motioned for them to follow. Valrion and his mother trailed behind him as he guided them to the other side yard.

There, a straw-filled target bag leaned against a wooden post firmly planted in the ground. The setup was basic but efficient, and it didn’t take Valrion long to realize it had been put together after his father had left for work.

“Let me help him with the gloves,” Valrion’s mother said, taking the pair from Sergius. She knelt in front of Valrion and gently slid the leather gloves onto his small hands. The fit was snug, providing a layer of warmth to shield him from the biting cold, and it also offered a slight cushion to ease the strain on his fingers from handling the bow.

“Stand here,” Sergius instructed after his mother was done, pointing to a spot beside him about ten feet away from the target.

As soon as Valrion stepped into the place, Sergius handed him the bow and an arrow. Meanwhile, his mother positioned herself off to the side, her eyes watching attentively from where the flowerbeds, now barren from the season, stretched behind her.

Valrion nocked the arrow but allowed it to slip clumsily from his fingers, feigning inexperience as if he had never held a bow before. Octavia’s accusation echoed in his mind: You must be reincarnated. Worry crept through him as he glanced at Sergius. The man’s lips curled into a smirk, and Valrion couldn’t help but suspect that Octavia had shared her theory with him.

“Do you know how to use it?” Sergius asked.

“I don’t,” Valrion lied, his voice steady despite the confusion swirling within him.

“Here. Let me show you.” Sergius held out his hand, and Valrion passed him the bow. Letting all but one arrow fall to the ground, Sergius nocked it easily. He drew the string back and released it, striking just shy of the center—a near-perfect shot.

“So cool,” Valrion cooed. Sergius glanced at him, his grin widening. Valrion couldn’t shake the feeling that Sergius had given him the bow earlier as a test, perhaps to confirm Octavia’s suspicion.

“You’re clever. Now, your turn,” Sergius said, handing the bow back.

Valrion did his best to mimic Sergius’ movements, but his arms trembled—not from pretense, but from genuine inability. The weapon felt strange in his tiny, mortal hands. It was a painful reminder of how far he had fallen from the effortless mastery he once commanded as a god. His first shot was a complete miss, the arrow flying far past the target.

He braced himself for Sergius to laugh, but instead, the man gathered the fallen arrows and handed one back to him. “Good job. Try again,” he encouraged.

Frustration churned beneath Valrion’s outward composure. Once, divine precision had been second nature to him. Now, he struggled with a task that should have been trivial. Following Sergius’ instructions, he adjusted his stance and loosed another arrow. This time, it shot straighter but still failed to hit the target.

“Don’t give up,” Sergius said, passing him another arrow. “We’ll keep going. Lunch isn’t for another four hours.”

Valrion didn’t groan at the idea. Instead, eagerness to rise to the challenge took hold.