"Agoo gooo." One of the maids was cooing, playing with the baby in the crib.

"Look, he’s not crying anymore!" the maid called out to another one, her voice full of excitement.

Inside the crib, Lucas—now trapped in the body of a baby—was completely disoriented. His mind was clear, but everything around him was wrong. He knew he was dead. He knew he had died in that hospital. This—whatever this was—felt like some kind of reincarnation, the kind of thing you see in those weird movies he used to watch.

Reincarnation, huh? Is it real? Could his sister be reincarnated too? The thought crept in but was quickly shut down. He couldn’t focus on that. Not now. He had bigger problems—like the fact that he was now a baby, stuck in this tiny, helpless body. His hands were so small, so fragile. He was a newborn all over again.

"Look," one of the maids said, pointing.

"Little Master Harkin is so calm, don’t you think?" another maid replied, raising an eyebrow.

His name was Harkin. And judging by the way the maids treated him, it was clear he was from a wealthy family. One maid was a luxury most people couldn’t afford, and here there were multiple. They could be middle class or higher—but still, did they know he wasn’t a real baby? Did he look that out of place?

Damn it. He had to do this right. He had to act like a baby, at least for now.

"Uweeee, uweeee." Lucas cried, but it came out more like a bleating sheep than a baby’s wail.

The maids exchanged confused glances, but then, they smiled.

"Looks like young master doesn’t like being teased," one of the maids said, trying to hide her amusement.

"Maybe?" one of the maids responded, but they quickly returned to their tasks, ignoring him.

Harkin stopped crying. It felt... strange. Letting out a full-on cry like that was odd, and he couldn’t even tell what he sounded like. But one thing was for sure—it was uncomfortable. His focus shifted, though, to the crib around him. It was massive, way too big for a single baby. He tried to move, crawling awkwardly across the soft bedding, but damn, it was hard. His tiny arms and legs didn’t cooperate the way he wanted them to.

This feels like working out, Harkin thought as he struggled to push himself forward, his body moving in ways he wasn’t used to.

He kept crawling, his eyes scanning the room, taking in everything around him. The walls were decorated with paintings—huge, ornate ones of historical figures, gods with wings, all sorts of grandiose images. It was clear now: he was in a rich family, one that adored paintings. Or maybe just liked having them around to look impressive. Either way, it was obvious they had money, and they sure knew how to show it.

Creak. The door opened, and a woman stepped in, her steps calm and deliberate as she made her way to the crib where Harkin lay. Her outfit was immaculate—noble-style clothing with bold blue accents that screamed wealth. Her silver hair, with a faint darker tint, framed her face perfectly, and her beauty was almost overwhelming.

She leaned over, her sharp eyes locking onto Harkin, who was crawling clumsily around the crib like a restless insect. A smile touched her lips. “What an energetic little brother you are,” she said, her voice smooth and warm.

She was his older sister, Laura—the eldest among his siblings. She had an air of quiet authority, nothing flashy, but enough to make her presence almost intimidating. The sword at her waist confirmed it: she was definitely a swordsman. Her sharp eyes lingered on Harkin as he squirmed in his crib, her gaze so intense it made him uncomfortable.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” she said, her tone neutral but curious.

Quiet? Was it weird for a one-year-old baby to not be wailing constantly? Should he cry again just to seem normal? No way. Not again. She was probably just intrigued by his behavior—nothing more.

“You want to meet the others?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Harkin waved his tiny arms in response, signaling a clear “yes.” He was dying to see what his family looked like in this world. His curiosity burned: Who were his parents? What kind of people lived here? And most importantly, what was this place? Because one thing was certain—being stuck as a baby was unbearably dull.

Laura picked him up with surprising ease and carried him out of the room. The hallway outside was grand, lined with ornate vases and a handful of paintings. The space felt alive with elegance, every corner whispering wealth. But before he could take it all in, Laura stopped at another door.

She pushed it open, and a massive living room sprawled before them. It was lavish, the kind of room you’d expect to see in an over-the-top mansion. A huge sofa dominated the center, paired with an equally grand table. A staircase curled up to the next floor, its railing shining like polished gold. Red and gold hues painted the room, making it scream extravagance.

On the sofa sat two more people. His other siblings.

Marellye, his sister, was busy knitting, her movements calm and precise. Beside her sat Lune, his brother, engrossed in an adventure book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Marellye tho, took a peek on who’d openeed the door, seeing Harkin and Laura.

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Marellye ran toward them, practically bouncing with excitement. “There you are!” she exclaimed, pointing at Harkin with a grin so wide it looked like her face might split in half. Her eyes sparkled with pure fascination as she zeroed in on her baby brother. Laura just stood back, smiling faintly at the scene.

“Marellye, don’t stare too hard. You’ll freak him out,” Lune said from the sofa, finally glancing up from his book to acknowledge the commotion.

“Oh, please,” Marellye shot back, loud enough to make Lune flinch. “I’m not nearly as scary as you are. You look like a grumpy old man half the time!”

Lune raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Better than looking like a hyperactive squirrel.”

Marellye gasped, clutching her knitting like she’d been personally insulted. “Take that back, you dusty nerd!”

Harkin just blinked at the exchange, caught somewhere between amusement and secondhand embarrassment. Yep, these two were definitely siblings.

Harkin couldn’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile.

“Oh! He’s smiling! Look!” Laura exclaimed, instantly drawing the attention of the other two.

“Adorable!” Marellye practically squealed, her excitement making Laura gesture for her to calm down while Lune chuckled quietly.

But deep inside, that smile meant so much more for Harkin—or Lucas. In his past life, moments like this were rare. Sure, he and his sister would tease each other and end up playfully fighting, but now the dynamic was flipped. He wasn’t the oldest anymore. He was the youngest, just a one-year-old baby silently watching his siblings in awe, their bond tugging at something deep inside him.

Then, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs caught everyone’s attention. All three siblings turned to look, even Harkin’s small head shifted toward the noise. The weight of those steps was enough to make Lune stand up from his spot on the sofa.

A man in sharp black noble attire appeared, exuding a presence far more commanding than Laura’s. He didn’t carry a sword, but the confidence radiating off him was almost tangible. His smile, though faint, was calculated, and as he approached, his gaze swept over his children before landing on Harkin.

“You’re awake, little one,” the man said, his large gloved hand gently patting Harkin’s head. The touch was firm but surprisingly soft, sending an unfamiliar warmth through him.

“Good morning, Father,” Laura greeted, bowing with respect.

Their father—Pholan—shifted his attention briefly to Laura, offering her a small smile in acknowledgment before looking back down at Harkin. He patted his head once more, a fleeting but deliberate gesture, before glancing at Marellye and Lune with a nod of approval. Without another word, he turned and left, his presence lingering long after he disappeared.

When their father left, Marellye looked disappointed, her sadness clear enough for Lune to notice.

He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "What’s up? You wanna tag along with Dad on his trip?" he teased.

Marellye whipped her head toward him, caught off guard. "How do you know that?" she shot back.

Lune smirked, enjoying the moment. "Because I heard you crying like a drama queen two days ago, shouting ‘Why doesn’t Dad want me to go with him?!’ I swear, I couldn’t sleep for laughing so hard," he replied, chuckling at the memory.

Laura walked over to break up the playful bickering, knowing exactly where it was headed.

Swishhh!

Marellye’s kick shot straight at Lune’s head, but Lune grinned and dodged it effortlessly. "Nice kick," he said, completely unfazed.

It was impressive—a twelve-year-old girl kicking like that? Harkin was stunned. Where the hell did she learn to kick like that? Is this normal for siblings? And the craziest part? Lune, just 18, had dodged it like it was nothing. Meanwhile, Laura, the oldest, stepped in to stop them, causing Marellye to storm off angrily to her room. Lune just plopped back down, smug as ever.

"What a brat," he muttered with a smirk.

Laura shot him a look, already prepared for the lecture. "Take it easy with the teasing, Lune," she said, still holding Harkin. "One day, that kick’s gonna be the last thing you see."

Harkin was stunned as Laura stepped outside, the fresh air hitting his face immediately. It was the first time he had breathed in something so crisp. Sunlight hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment, so he couldn’t see much.

"Beautiful morning," Laura said, her voice light and easy.

When the sunlight finally cleared, Harkin’s eyes adjusted and he saw the view. It was more beautiful than he could have imagined—an expansive garden filled with vibrant flowers, a massive fountain, and a grand gate. Beyond that, a wide road led into a bustling city. The buildings, the way people were dressed, and the general atmosphere made it clear: this was another world. A fantasy world.

"What do you think, Harkin?" Laura asked, looking down at him and gesturing to the scene.

She walked toward the gate, giving Harkin a closer look at the busy streets. People were setting up stalls, chatting in groups, and kids ran around laughing and playing. It was a lively, vibrant neighborhood. But the more Harkin watched, the more he wondered: what was his family’s role in all of this? Were they high-ranking nobles? Rulers? He couldn’t help but be fascinated by how everyone seemed so content, so immersed in their work, their world.

Creak.

While Laura and Harkin admired the view, the sound of the main door opening caught their attention. A woman stepped out, dressed in elegant noble attire, her dark hair catching the sunlight.

"Time to eat, Laura," she said, her tone calm but authoritative.

Laura turned to her with a nod. "Alright, Mom."

Mom? That’s their mother? Harkin couldn’t help but stare at her. She was as beautiful as Laura, with sharp features and a quiet grace. Her dark hair stood out compared to their father’s silver hair, which explained why his siblings had that mix of black and silver in their highlights.

This was his new life—a new body, new siblings, new parents. It still felt strange, but seeing them like this made it all a little more real.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

6 Years Later

Swish!

Swish!

Swish!

“Huff...”

The sound of a wooden sword slicing through the air echoed across the training room. Harkin, now eleven, was sparring with his sword instructor, Riley. Sweat dripped down his face as he swung the blade again, his small body trembling with exhaustion.

“You’re doing fine, young master,” Riley said, stepping back and watching as Harkin doubled over, gasping for breath. He was drenched, his arms heavy and legs threatening to buckle, but he refused to give in.

He wasn’t used to this grueling pace, but he had to push through. Over the years, Harkin had come to understand more about this strange world he’d been reborn into. It was called Ithenel, and they lived in the Empire of Kharbaraz, one of five kingdoms within it. Their home was in the Kingdom of Hargalond, in the region of Stacot, specifically the city of Hawold, famously known as the City of the Sapphire Flame.

The name had a story, one his mother, Lucia, had shared with him. Long ago, a dragon had ravaged Hawold, but a powerful mage sacrificed herself to defeat it and save the people. She was known as the Sapphire Flame, her nickname born from her fiery magic and striking red hair. And as it turned out, she was an ancestor of the Wilde family—their family.

Harkin had also learned more about his immediate lineage. His father wasn’t just a noble; he was a duke, ruler of the entire region of Stacot. That explained the grand house, the wealth, the maids, and, of course, the relentless expectations. Influence and privilege came with a price, one that was paid in sweat, blood, and discipline.

Over the span of six years, Harkin had learned a lot. Now, at seven years old, he was starting to grow into the warrior his family expected him to be. He trained in both swordsmanship and magic, but it wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. Most of the instructors his father hired had the same feedback: Harkin was... fine. Not bad, but nothing exceptional either. It was like something invisible was holding him back, stopping him from reaching his full potential.

His father, not one to give up easily, decided to shift gears. After much deliberation, he gave up on Harkin’s magic training entirely and doubled down on swordsmanship instead. That’s how Riley came into the picture, his current mentor.

Riley didn’t go easy on him. Six grueling hours a day, every day. It was relentless, but Harkin was a fast learner. He picked up the basics quickly—stances, footwork, and the fundamentals of offense and defense. His progress was steady, but there was still something missing.

Because deep down, Harkin wasn’t meant to be a swordsman.

In his past life, as Lucas, his real dream had been to become a professional painter. Since childhood, art had been his world. He would spend hours drawing anything he could imagine, but when he discovered colors—paints that brought his creations to life—he fell head over heels for painting.

That passion hadn’t gone away, even in this new life. Every day after training, as soon as he was washed up and free from Riley’s watchful eye, he’d retreat to his room. Canvas and brush in hand, he’d lose himself in painting. Landscapes, fleeting moments, and scenes of everyday life—it was his favorite style to paint.