I’m 18 years old. I’m just an ordinary student, one of hundreds of thousands. My life is monotonous, and sometimes it feels like I’m living the same day over and over. Morning, university, home, sleep. The same routine, except on days when I’m free from classes. My life isn’t exactly filled with parties or anything like that. It’s not that I dislike loud gatherings—I just don’t have time to attend them. On weekdays, I study from 9 AM to 5 PM, work from 6 PM to 9 PM, and the rest of my time goes to assignments and rest. My entertainment consists of video games and hanging out with friends. And that’s exactly what I was planning to do tonight.  

We rarely meet up because we’re all busy, but we enjoy being in such a cheerful group. It feels like all our problems vanish instantly. Honestly, we agreed to bring alcohol. Within reason, of course, but tonight we could take a bit more since tomorrow’s a day off.  

We loved heart-to-heart conversations. Since we rarely met, there was always plenty to talk about. We stayed in touch, but some things just can’t be discussed over the phone.  

After spending time with this great group, I headed home. The shortcut home was mostly dark alleys where even during the day you rarely saw people. To my surprise, I was returning quite late—it was 2 AM. I have my own apartment. Well, not *mine*—I rent it, but I’m not complaining. It freed me from parental control and let me come home whenever I wanted.  

I walked tipsy, enjoying the warm July breeze. Happy music played in my headphones, and the bright summer night added to the atmosphere. I was savoring the moment.  

Either the alcohol played a cruel trick on me, or I made a huge mistake by ignoring the little things.  

Someone grabbed my shoulder. *What the hell? Why is someone bothering me at a time like this?*  

— Huh?  

— Hey buddy, got any cash for a bottle?  

It was an unpleasant-looking man. A typical drunk.  

— No money. Besides, all the stores are closed. Where would you even buy alcohol?  

— Not your business. You look well-dressed and put together. No way you don’t have a bill in your wallet.  

— Can’t you tell? I’m a student, counting every penny. So back off—there’s nothing here for you.  

I noticed his hand. He was nervously reaching into his pocket. It was a folding knife. The sound of it opening pierced my ears.  

— Don’t wanna play nice, huh? Stop lying. Times are tough for everyone. Consider this you helping me and cleansing your karma.  

— How would helping a drunk improve my karma?  

— You’ll do a good deed. Good deeds always boost karma.  

His knife-wielding hand lunged toward me. Maybe I acted recklessly, but I tried to knock the knife away and escape. I work out and am pretty fit. I could’ve punched him and knocked him out. But I’ve always hated fights and violence. Maybe it’s my personality, maybe something else. But I know for sure—it’s just not me.  

That was a massive mistake. He blocked my arm, and his knife plunged toward my liver. A stab. Another. And another. I counted about 16 strikes, all aimed at my stomach. I stood in shock, unable to move. Panic and horror consumed me, but my mind did nothing to save my life.  

*Damn, my vision’s fading. I feel myself falling onto my back.* Must’ve lost too much blood. It’s so cold.  

The drunk kept muttering, but I stopped listening. I recalled every moment of my life—good and bad.  

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

— Ugh, bastard. Made a mess. Now gotta get rid of you… Trash!  

I felt him lift and carry me somewhere. A toss. *Why does it stink so badly? Did he throw me in a dumpster? Asshole.*  

I watched as he covered my body with bags. At that moment, I stopped caring. I just felt unbearable cold and pain. Maybe I’d accepted it. This wasn’t the end I’d imagined. A loving wife, kids running around, a dream job—that was my ideal life.  

I stayed conscious for a few more moments, then emptiness and cold swallowed me.  

***  

*What? Light? Why? Was I found?* But that can’t be—if I’m seeing light, it’s probably daytime. I wouldn’t have survived that long. I should’ve bled out. Voices. A man and a woman. What’s happening? They’re cheerfully discussing something above me. A haze clouds my vision. Are they mocking me?  

— Htswhto ryorftu tosrap!  

*What?* I can’t make out a word. Did blood loss mess with my hearing? No, I should be dead. Maybe this is a drunken hallucination. Impossible—I’ve never drunk enough to see things.  

I tried to speak, but only groans and garbled sounds came out.  

— Aaaaaah!  

— Shoyuk tyosbryu, gchk yftsfyutf!  

*God, what’s happening? Will someone explain? I’ll go insane at this rate.*  

*What?* Something incredibly soft and painfully familiar touched my face. And something firm in the middle.  

*What?! A breast?! They’re trying to feed me milk!!*  

Honestly, I couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t take advantage of a boob shoved in their face? This feels like a crazy dream.  

I was lifted, swaddled, and hugged. *Am I dead and in heaven? Can’t be—I’ve done too many bad things, and I’m an atheist.*  

Without realizing, I fell asleep.  

***  

Days passed—maybe weeks. Time is hard to gauge in this state.  

Turns out, I was reincarnated. Opening my eyes, I was stunned: tiny hands, legs, and body. At first, I didn’t believe it, but eventually accepted it.  

A woman in her mid-20s to 30s fussed at a table. Later, a man the same age entered the house. He returned from hunting, carrying the carcass of an unknown animal.  

They chatted animatedly, likely preparing food.  

*Mom and dad?*  

Scanning the house, I found no signs of technology or modern comforts. *Lucky me. Born in the middle of nowhere, without a single modern convenience.* I was furious. A simple village boy has no chance to rise up or succeed. His only destiny is driving a tractor, gathering hay, or tinkering. That’s how I imagined it.  

My mind still couldn’t grasp that I’d been reborn. I’m not a Buddhist and never dwelled on reincarnation, but apparently, it’s real. For now, all I can do is lie here and observe.  

The language here is a hybrid of Latin and Russian. The sounds and letters are eerily familiar, but I couldn’t understand a word.  

***  

**Four years later.**  

My name is Aiden.  

The first two years were the most boring of my life. Helpless, I could only lie there. Once I learned to walk, I explored the world—or rather, the house. No matter how much I pointed at the door, I wasn’t allowed outside. Not even with my parents. I didn’t understand why. I learned some words and began understanding my parents. The language is unusual but not hard.  

During this time, I noticed a few things. We were poor—meager meals, low-quality items, a run-down house. Peering out the window, I saw our home isolated from the rest. The villagers looked well-kept, wearing decent clothes. Kids played in the grass, women managed households, and men crafted wood. *Why can’t I go out? Maybe because of my age.*  

***  

**Age 5.**  

I’m fluent in the language now and can talk freely with my parents.  

Finally, they let me outside.  

My jaw dropped. In the distance stood a massive kingdom with a grand castle at its center. Stunning, even from afar. *Wait, I don’t remember castles like this. I’d have seen it online. Weird…*  

The village itself was small, maybe 80 people.  

First, I approached the neighbor kids to make friends. But they rejected me instantly. They called me “witch’s son,” “outcast,” “murderer,” and worse. I didn’t get it. *Is my family involved? Is Mom a witch?* That would explain why we live apart. Honestly, I didn’t need friends right now—I craved knowledge. The village was surrounded by forest, with fields for crops nearby. Farming here seemed advanced.  

Suddenly, something strange caught my eye. A man held a ball of fire in his palm. *A magician? Where’s the trick? The burner?*  

He lit one bonfire, then another. Fire simply appeared from his hand and shot toward the wood.  

*Magic? Seriously? Jackpot!* My chance to improve my life. I’d been reborn in a world with magic. Thrilled, I raced home.  

My first question was why they called me a murderer and witch’s son.  

— Listen, son. I used to brew potions for soldiers in the kingdom. It was good pay, and I loved it. Once, I added too many ingredients without realizing…  

Her eyes welled up. The memory pained her.  

— The room burst into flames instantly. The fire was put out by skilled mages, but the damage was severe. Thankfully, no one died. They turned on me, screaming for my imprisonment or death. Your father was the only one who defended me. Thanks to him, I avoided prison—on one condition. I had to move here, cut off from society, and stop all magic. I was shocked your father agreed to come. We married and settled here. It’s been six years, but it still hurts.  

— Aria, dear, what’s wrong?  

Dad returned, hugging her.  

— I remembered that day. Sorry.  

— Forget those fools. They expect perfection. Don’t know people make mistakes.  

— I know, Kael, but it still hurts.  

I watched silently. The story was fascinating yet heartbreaking. The villagers learned of her past, swore to kill her, tormented her. This place clings to old traditions, shunning outsiders—especially those labeled criminals.  

— Mom, Dad, tell me about magic.  

— Aiden, magic is serious. No jokes. But neither of us are mages.  

— Oh.  

I was disappointed.  

— But if you want, I’ll buy you a book on magic. You’ll love it.  

— Yes, Dad! Please!  

— Deal.  

***  

The next day, Dad brought the book. The cover read: *Basics of Magic. Everything About Magic*.  

Reading wasn’t a problem. The alphabet mixed modern Russian and Cyrillic letters.  

The book was filled with illustrations and detailed sections.  

That evening, I lit a candle and started reading.