A blue-green flame ignited within the dark—weak, minuscule, smothered by the frigid abyss engulfing it. Embers leapt from its flickering strands and painted vibrant ripples across the black expanse.

An adult Caleb approached it from the shadows, form illuminated by its subtle glow, holding onto the knife stained with his blood. He observed its image and the memories it harbored in silence before flicking it into the flames.

The flame devoured the knife in an instant. Its vigor and effervescence flared in a howling surge of color.

Another version of Caleb surfaced into the flame’s radiance. The teenager carried a family photo between his fingers which he soon flicked into the fire to be consumed.

The flame roared and towered as it performed a jubilant dance.

More Calebs emerged one after the next. They upended their baggage and collection of traumatic mementos into flame without regard. At least there, it’d serve something good.

One after the next, objects were tossed in. The flame rose and climbed and soared, spirals of color vortexing around its length, until it exploded into a gargantuan, prismatic bonfire. Tidal waves of color burst outward in every direction. The darkness was purged to oblivion. The warmth cascaded in, inundating the chill of death. Vigorous, determined ripples skated across the once-stilled lake’s surface and made it rave.

Color soaked into the lifeless babe’s flesh. Motion juddered through his arms and legs. A persistent rhythm trembled in his chest. His pale eyes crept open, succeeded by the shrill, grating yet all-too-relieving cries of a healthy newborn sounding from his mouth.

Perhaps Sorrinn could have stopped himself from producing such a harsh noise, but he was just that joyous to be alive. Everyone needed to know and everyone needed to hear it. His parents especially.

The distraught head lay over his once-life-deprived chest sharply arose. His vision wasn’t worth much, but their bewilderment was palpable. “S-Sorrinn?” a woman—his mother—questioned. Relieved breaths shuddered over her lips as the realization set in. Her warm tears splashed onto his tummy. “Sorrinn!” Not a moment later, he was secured in her loving arms and pressed against her chest. “I’m here,” she cried. “Mama’s here. Don’t worry, alright? I got you. Mama’s here, my love. I won’t ever let you go again—I promise.”

Her heartbeat against his ear was the lullaby which cast him into the cradle of comfort and security. His cries were hushed to silence in its presence. He looked up and saw enough through the myopia to find his mother’s smile casting its light down on him, a force rivaled to that of the sun. An eye-riveting, light-skinned woman with a cascade of dark blonde hair falling over her shoulders hovered over him. Her ethereality was like a dream—the image of grace and beauty. She was a marvel even to his blurred, color-depraved eyes. One which his heart aspired to adore with all of his being upon instinct. He knew that was someone he could call mother and never be betrayed by.

The brown of her eyes met with Sorrinn’s and it was like the world had paused amidst the tangible downpour of her gratitude, ease, and love. The air almost seemed to breeze as she exhaled four lifetimes’ worth of pent-up tension. Hand raising and shielding her quivering lips, she broke into tears at the sight of his opened eyes. Such precious, beautiful, wonder-filled eyes.

Sorrinn didn’t ever want to let her go. He wanted to know that warmth and love and to keep smelling that sweet, fruity fragrance emanating from her forever. It was home. He was glad to be home—at last.

A door opened. Rushing feet came storming in. “What’s happening!?” a man—his father, he guessed—asked. “Is everything alright!?”

His mother turned and showed him to the man. “It’s Sorrinn… He came back to us.” She moved nearer one slow, swaying step at a time, caressing his cheek with the knuckle of her finger. “Come, Orrillimmirr… Come meet your son. He has your eyes and your smile. Isn’t he the most precious, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

His father's gentle, soft hand ran through his head full of hair. “But… how?” he inquired, forsaken by his breath. “He was gone for more than fifteen minutes, Maeve… We were planning how we were to bury him in our heads— H-How to explain to Asammirr that he would never get to meet his little brother… That’s not something a child returns from, my dearest.”

“I don’t know; it’s a miracle—the work of the Paragons. He must have been born beneath an auspicious star.”

Orrillimmirr drew closer and kissed Sorrinn on the head—close enough for his son to catch a gander of the man’s features. Of what little he could spy, he was far from a typical man’s man. He was slender, pale, and young-looking with strikingly handsome yet soft, smooth-skinned features and notably long, pointy ears rising through his hair like antennae. Why, it was quite evident he was an Elf.

Wait… His father was an Elf?

If his father was an Elf and his mother was Human, that made him… something fantastic!

Sorrinn’s joy ran rampant. He moaned a sweet, lovable noise in his mother’s arms. He could feel their gazes settled on him and yearned for nothing more than to bask in that warmth for however long of a life he lived as a Half-elf.

His father embraced his mother with him in the middle. “We should ask Opal to have a gander at him—to be safe.”

Maeve pulled away, likely to serve him a side eye. “Orrillimmirr…” She was definitely serving him something by the sass in her tone.

“What? There are all manner of evil entities who perform such wicked deeds as possessing the fallen and masquerading in their yet-decayed flesh out there in the world. I’ll always choose to be certain for the sake of the ones I cherish.” Charming. His father was good.

She smiled, so he smiled. Their lips met and they kissed.

“Fine,” she acquiesced, somewhat-maybe-halfway smitten. “Do what you must for your peace of mind, Ori, but a mother knows best. And this mother knows there is no demon masquerading in her baby’s body.” She pinched and kissed at Sorrinn’s cheeks as she gushed, “Isn’t that right, lovely. Mama knows you’re not a demon. Mama knows. Yes she does.”

She was right, he wasn’t. Would he have become the host to one if the entity had devoured him though? That wasn’t here nor there. What was, was that he was all smiles and grins beneath her affection. He would have laughed if only he physically could.

“Sorrinn must be famished. It’s alright for me to allow him my breast, right, Ori?” She jested. “Oh, lest the demon inhabiting our child’s body strikes me with a curse that leaves my womb infertile evermore and my bosom desolate, bereft, and weeping?”

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Orrillimmirr laughed in good spirits. “There’s not a single morrow which passes where I lament having wed a bard. As always, you leave me in awe of the poetry woven by your silver tongue.”

Good, they were people who could have fun. Caleb’s parents were stiff and miserable imps. That was a good sign.

His father’s feet headed for the door he rushed through. “I’ll leave our son to indulge in your breasts then, my love. Save some of the feast for my return, hm?”

Maeve blew a mirthful snort. “And end up with a third child so soon? Please. If you’re to work me like a mandilleer, I would prefer it to be in the bedchamber rather than in childbirth. Fetch Asammirr from the neighbors while you’re out? He should meet his little brother.”

Sorrinn didn’t need to hear all of that. That was too much sauce for his spaghetti.

At least he knew they really loved each other. No divorces were in his future.

“I’ll see to it. You rest now, my love. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll return with Asammirr in haste.” Then his father was gone.

She carried Sorrinn somewhere else and sat, drained beyond belief. Between childbirth, believing she lost her child, only for said child to whip back to life fifteen minutes after death, she was a trooper. The fact she could still hold to a sense of humor was admirable.

The next thing he knew, he was catching a faceful of breast and her nipple was in his mouth. She softly pinched his nose and rammed it right in like a burger the moment it opened wide to breathe. She was an experienced hunter.

Resist and struggle as he may, instinct overpowered his hesitation. He engorged himself on her milk like he’d never eat again a day in his young life against every fiber of his will. Little shrill moans of delight played from his nostrils like birdsong as the sweet, almondy flavor flooded over his palate, even. How distasteful, he thought. Ironically, it itself was actually pretty tasty stuff. And once he bypassed the taboo of it in his mind, it was a nice bonding experience. There he was, helpless and starved after the trauma of rebirth, birth and death and spiritual resurrection and… Yeah. And there she was, his umbrella in the storm despite being run ragged herself through the throes of childbirth and grief.

He adored that woman. He hoped he’d always be able to adore her.

Clung to her side like a baby sloth on its mother’s back, the sense of tiredness walloped him hard and fast. The milk must’ve been laced because everything faded to a smudgy blur in the dropping of a coin. He passed out while still latched, eyes rolled into his head, milk creeping from the corner of his mouth.

That was how it was for those first few months, oscillating between tired, hungry, and inebriated on liquid gold.

He was somewhat aware of his situation while he also wasn’t. His biological instincts and needs overwhelmed everything else and bulldozed whatever scant sense of awareness he possessed flat if it ever stood in its way. Much of his time was spent wildly teetering in and out of sleep with an intensity that felt like whiplash. He bore no control over it, a slave to its soporific urge. When he wasn’t, it was more akin to a dream in between the next time he spiraled into unconsciousness.

Who had time for thinking? Not him. From the moment he passed out on his mother’s chest, he hadn’t managed to string together a singular coherent thought. His brain was soup. He couldn’t remember the days, but he supposed they were passing quite rapidly. He didn’t remember eating, but he supposed he was getting fed since he was still alive and well. Who knew what was going on in regard to his family. He heard voices and saw flashes of smiling faces sometimes, but it all garbled together in the smeared passage of time. It was as if he was on a carousel rotating at breakneck speeds and someone had superglued his hands to the lion he rode on. He screamed and screamed but couldn’t get off.

Then, just like that, the carousel stopped.

It was morning—an unspecified morning of some number of months in the future. Don’t ask him because he really wasn’t sure. The birds were chirping rather loudly and incessantly through the window and the nascent rays of dawn filled the room he found himself in alongside the whetting scent of breakfast. The place was quaint—lodge-esque. Wood panel and stone brick walls with horizontal wooden beams supporting the ceiling. His first thought was that he wished those winged rodents would shut their beaks with all of that squawking like the old, jaded man he was. He awoke from what felt like the best sleep of his life, yawned, and stretched, rubbing the crusties from his little eyes, surprised to discover his limbs were more functional than before. His eyes too. The world was clear and vivid then. Everything was painted in color. Sweet, sweet color.

A white blond-headed toddler with long, pointed ears and back-length hair sat in a rocking chair by his cradle’s side. The child stared down at him wearing a brotherly smile while he held onto a leather-bound children’s fairytale picture book. Quite the adorable, ethereal smile, it was. Something only conjurable by someone with Elven blood, certainly.

Adam, was it? Aaron? Apple? He snapped his proverbial fingers. It was right on the tip of his tongue…

Asammirr! That was his name.

So that was his older brother, Asammirr? It was his first time seeing him as clearly as he did then. Sorrinn had cobbled together his parents’ visages from the miscellany of flashes, but Asammirr never stuck in his memory for some reason. His older brother was remarkably androgynous. Cute. Six years old, maybe? He could pass for either sex depending on the angle he was observed from or which of his features one focused on most. That hair was something extraordinary. The stuff glistened in the light like spider’s silk.

Was he himself the same, he wondered? That would’ve been an interesting twist.

“You’re awake!” an adorable voice greeted him. The boy reached into his cradle and tickled his chin. “Good morning.”

How could he not gush? He would dive in front of the spear for that boy.

Of course, a bunch of baby babble nonsense was the only answer Sorrinn could muster for Absolom. Everything was succinct in his head until the moment he spoke and all that surfaced was a vomit of adorable, intentful sounds. Being cute was his curse. He puffed.

He could flail and kick his limbs around well enough. Had he managed to start crawling? If only he could demand that Half-elf child help hoist him from his soft, fluffy prison to his knees.

He found his thoughts were prone to meandering at the age he was then. Thinking about the deep implications of reincarnation one moment, the next, he saw a streak of pretty light race across the ceiling and he no longer knew what he was contemplating. He knew it was something important, but he just couldn’t quite retrace his steps back to it.

Was Andrew even still in the room? Who knew; not him.

His stomach rumbled and all he could envision were his mother’s breasts.

There was a shiny new pair of bottom and top teeth in his mouth. When had those chompers gotten there? He discovered the urge to bite something, all of a sudden. He stuck his finger into his mouth and chomped on that. Although a streak of light raced across the ceiling, tugging his eyes with it. At least until Alan coughed, and he was back to glancing at his brother.

The aspect of reincarnation that fascinated him most was whether, somewhere out there, Earth was still existing without him. Was he simply on a new planet in a different galaxy of the same universe, or had he transcended dimensions completely and physics as he once knew them were irrelevant?

A yawn gaped his mouth, little fists rubbing at his eyes. He was a little sleepy.

What was he mulling over again? Something about the Pythagorean Theorem maybe—he didn’t know; sounded like important stuff that tended to be mulled over by reincarnated babies. If only he could parse his own memories.

A part of him didn’t want to fess to it, but there was an especially moist dook marinating in his diaper. It’d been sloshing between his cheeks the whole time for only the divine knew how long. At that point, he was too committed to his nonchalance to make a fuss of it. He didn’t want to be one of those kinds of infants.

Who was Arlo again? Abel? Anthony? He just had the name. Where had it gone?

He shrugged. Whatever.

The real question was: were there others like him who’d been reincarnated? If so, how frequent of an occurrence was it?

So many questions; too few answers. He tsked.

He burst into whines until Orrillimmirr changed him. Then he cried some more until Maeve gave him her breast.

It wasn’t a second after sucking in the first stream of milk that everything was inundated beneath a haze. Content with a full belly, Sorrinn was out cold.