Allan walked down the crowded street, his mind far away from the world around him. His thoughts were tangled in the lines of code he’d been staring at for days. There was a bug in the software—an elusive, maddening flaw that refused to be pinned down.

“I’m the senior dev,” he muttered to himself. “It’s my job to fix this. The team’s counting on me.”

The sounds of the city buzzed around him—honking horns, snippets of conversations, the distant hum of engines—but Allan didn’t notice any of it. His feet carried him forward on autopilot while his brain replayed possible fixes for the problem.

Then, without realizing it, he stepped off the curb and into the street.

“Allan, no!” someone shouted.

A group of girls nearby screamed, waving their arms, but their voices barely registered. Allan’s focus was elsewhere, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

The rumble of an approaching lorry grew louder.

“Hey! Watch out!” the driver bellowed, slamming the horn.

It was too late.

The heavy vehicle screeched as the driver tried to swerve, but there wasn’t enough time or space. With a sickening thud, the lorry struck Allan, flinging him onto the asphalt.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathering crowd. People stopped in their tracks, staring at the lifeless body sprawled on the road.

A woman clutched her chest. A man pulled out his phone to call for help. Others stood frozen, the shock of the scene etched into their faces.

Allan lay there, still and silent.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls of the small, cozy room. It was a typical medieval chamber, modest but warm, with wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling and a bed in the center draped with thick blankets.

The cries of a newborn filled the air, accompanied by the sound of women cheering and congratulating.

On the bed lay Faith Bervet, her face damp with sweat but glowing with joy. Two midwives bustled around her, their hands deftly working to ensure both mother and baby were safe.

"It's a boy!" one of the midwives declared with a broad smile, holding the newborn up for Faith to see. Her voice was filled with genuine delight.

Faith exhaled deeply, her chest heaving from the effort, and her lips curved into a tired but contented smile.

"Faith," said the second midwife, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder, "what shall we call him?"

Faith's eyes sparkled as she looked at the tiny bundle. "Marcus and I agreed. If it were a boy, we’d name him Raul. Raul Bervet."

"A fine name," said the first midwife approvingly, wrapping the baby snugly in a soft cloth.

Faith’s gaze softened as she gently cradled her newborn son. “It was my great-grandfather’s name. He was one of the most powerful mages of his time. I hope... I hope Raul will take after him.”

The midwives exchanged warm smiles, one of them nodding. “May he grow to be strong and wise, just like his namesake.”

Faith leaned back against the pillows, her exhaustion mingling with relief. Her eyes shifted to one of the midwives bustling nearby. “Has Marcus returned yet?” she asked, her voice soft but eager.

The midwife smiled as she wrung out a cloth in a bowl of warm water. “He has, my lady. He arrived a short while ago with Alice. But…” She chuckled lightly. “He chose to wait outside, said he didn’t want to crowd the room while you delivered.”

Faith let out a breathy laugh, her lips curling into an amused smile. “Isn’t that just like him? Marcus Bervet, the renowned lady’s man in his younger days, now too afraid to witness a child being born.”

The other midwife joined in the laughter, her hands busy folding fresh linens. “It seems even the bravest adventurers have their limits,” she teased.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The first midwife went to the door, cracking it open. She peered outside, calling out warmly, “Marcus, you can come in now!”

A moment later, Marcus Bervet stepped inside. His tall frame nearly filled the doorway, and his strong eyes softened as his eyes fell on Faith and the tiny bundle in her arms.

His leather boots were dusted from the road, and his tunic, though simple, was clean and neatly tucked.

Faith extended the baby toward him. “Come on, take him.”

Marcus approached with a cautious smile, his hands large and slightly calloused from years of adventuring. As he cradled his newborn son, his expression shifted to one of awe. The tiny baby seemed so fragile, yet he held him as though he were the most precious treasure in the world.

Faith’s voice was warm but playful. “Now listen here, Marcus Bervet. I’ll be watching you closely. I don’t want you corrupting this boy with your... ways.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “ways? That’s what you call charm and wit these days?”

Faith laughed softly, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Call it what you like, but I mean it. Raul’s not going to take after you in that department. At least, not without some discipline from me.”

The room settled into a warm silence as Marcus held his son close, and Faith watched with a fond smile. For all his bravado, Marcus Bervet was a good man—and now, a proud father.

Raul’s childhood was filled with warmth and care. Faith and Marcus doted on him, ensuring their son wanted for nothing. Faith, a skilled mage with a sharp mind, often spent her evenings teaching Raul to read, her hands guiding him over the worn pages of old grimoires.

As soon as he was old enough to understand, she began to tell him stories of her own adventures. Seated by the fireplace, her eyes would light up as she recounted tales of battles fought alongside her father, a legendary warrior in his own right.

“You see, Raul,” she said one evening, her voice filled with pride, “your father was a man of discipline and courage. If you follow his example, you’ll grow to be someone truly great.” She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Just don’t take after his... tendency to chase skirts. That’s one trait we can do without.”

Raul would nod solemnly, absorbing her words. Despite his small stature, his demeanor was remarkably composed. His memories from his past life as Allan gave him the wisdom and restraint of an adult, a fact he kept carefully hidden.

This unusual maturity showed in everything he did. He never cried, even when he scraped his knees, and he rarely got into mischief, which was a stark contrast to the other children in the town.

Marcus, watching his son from across the room one day, furrowed his brow. “It’s not normal,” he muttered to Faith as Raul sat quietly flipping through a book far beyond his years. “He’s too... calm. Never cries, never gets into trouble. It’s almost unnatural.”

Faith smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “He’s just well-behaved, Marcus. You should be proud.It makes me love him even more.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on his son. “I am proud. But it’s like it seems he’s got the soul of a grown man trapped in a boy’s body. Kids are supposed to be rowdy, make mistakes. That’s how they learn.”

Faith chuckled softly, her voice warm. “You’re worrying too much. Raul’s just a good boy, that’s all.” she added with a teasing smile.

Marcus grunted, though a small smile tugged at his lips.

The warm glow of candlelight flickered in the dim room as Faith closed the thick grimoire and placed it gently on the small table beside Raul’s bed. She leaned over, brushing a kiss against his forehead.

“Goodnight, Raul,” she said softly. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Mama,” Raul replied with a small, polite smile.

Faith left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Raul sat still for a moment, listening to the soft retreat of her footsteps. When the house fell silent, he propped himself up against the headboard and glanced at the grimoire.

His small hands reached for it, and he flipped it open to a page about magical fundamentals. He didn’t feel like sleeping, not yet. He had already mastered reading weeks ago but chose to keep it a secret from his parents.

Better this way, he thought to himself, his adult mind rationalizing the deception. If Marcus is already worried about how quiet and calm I am, imagine his reaction if he found out I could read as well as him.

The flickering candlelight illuminated the dense script on the page, and Raul quickly absorbed the contents. He marveled at the intricacies of the magical theories Faith had shared, his mind comparing them to the knowledge he carried from his former life as Allan.

He was an avid reader , but sadly for him he had no manna to actually manifest the spells that he read unlike his mother.

Just as he turned another page, something unexpected happened. A grey screen suddenly appeared in front of him, its faint glow casting a strange light over the room.

Raul froze, his small hands clutching the book.

The screen shimmered slightly, and at the top, bold letters spelled out:

“The Console”

For a moment, Raul stared in silence. His mind, both that of a child and an experienced adult, raced to make sense of what he was seeing. Slowly, he extended a hand toward the screen, hesitating as his fingers hovered over its surface.

“What... is this?” he murmured, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

The screen didn’t respond to his touch, but a faint pulse ran across its surface as though it were alive. Lines of text began to appear beneath the title, their letters forming with smooth precision:

“Welcome, User. System initialized.”

Raul’s heart raced, a strange mixture of fear and curiosity coursing through him. He leaned closer, his young face illuminated by the screen’s glow.

This... isn’t magic, he thought, his brows furrowing. At least, not the kind Faith or the books talk about. This is something else.

Before he could process it further, more text appeared.

“Console Activated”