"Myr'thal'uun."
A whisper older than kingdoms.
A spell almost no one alive could pronounce, let alone cast.
A reincarnation spell, rare, forbidden, and nearly impossible to master.
Cold bit into his skin the moment his soul anchored itself.
"Cold… so cold…" he murmured.
His eyes opened.
Grey. Sharp. Ancient.
Eyes that had seen civilizations rise and fall stared up at a sky drowning in falling snow.
He lay on frost covered moss, a newborn body barely able to move, tiny limbs stiff from the freezing air.
No cradle.
No parents.
Only the endless winter forest, silent, merciless, uncaring.
Yet his expression remained calm.
Unbothered.
As if this rebirth were nothing more than a scheduled appointment.
His memories were intact.
His knowledge untouched.
His magic alive and humming beneath his skin.
He had reincarnated exactly as he intended.
Snowflakes drifted onto his newborn body, melting slowly against the faint warmth of lingering magic.
In the frozen quiet, he thought about how he wanted this new life to unfold.
He closed his eyes again, searching for a spell to help him survive the cold.
A small, shaky breath fogged in the air.
Then, with lips barely formed and a tongue that should not have been able to shape the sound, he whispered:
"Ulvra'thuun…"
A spell meant to restore control to a failing body, used when limbs go numb, when muscles collapse, when movement becomes impossible.
The magic vibrated through his tiny bones.
Warmth spread through his limbs, threading through nerves that had never been used before.
Muscles tightened.
Fingers curled.
Toes flexed.
Control returned.
His grey eyes blinked slowly, unbothered by the cold, unshaken by the situation.
He lifted his hand, just slightly, enough to confirm the spell had taken hold.
The winter forest remained silent, unaware that a newborn had just cast a spell no adult mage could comprehend.
He lay there, calm and patient, thinking.
He had time.
He had knowledge.
He had purpose.
And now, with Ulvra'thuun flowing through his tiny body, he had control.
He rolled onto his stomach, pushed himself upright, and stood on unsteady but determined feet.
He brushed snow, dirt, and leaves from his skin.
He looked around for shelter.
A cave.
A village.
A kingdom.
Anything.
Nothing.
Only endless trees.
So he walked.
Minutes and hours blurred together as he trudged through the freezing forest, searching for warmth.
Eventually, he found a cave.
But not just any cave.
Inside lay a dragon.
A black dragon, the third deadliest beast in existence.
A creature capable of summoning rifts across dimensions, swallowing spells as nourishment, and transforming into a humanoid form.
Eiden stood there, unbothered.
"Now… how will I get rid of you?" he muttered, barely audible.
The dragon's bright green eyes snapped open.
Its head lifted.
"My, a little snack. You look very tasty, elf," it rumbled.
Eiden did not flinch.
Did not panic.
Did not even look impressed.
First, he wakes up in a frozen forest.
Now he has to deal with a dragon.
Annoying.
"Like all black dragons, you can transform into a humanoid body," Eiden said calmly. "So you must have some humanity in you… do you not?"
The dragon's eyes widened.
A baby… walking? Speaking? With the voice of a grown man? Something is wrong.
Then it sensed it.
This mana… overwhelming… suffocating… who is this child?
Cracks spread across the dragon's scales as its body began to shift, bones rearranging, magic pulsing.
It was transforming.
Moments later, the transformation finished.
The dragon now stood in his nude humanoid form.
Tall, muscular, bare skinned, his obsidian scales replaced by smooth flesh. Short, straight black hair brushed the sides of his neck. His bright green eyes glowed faintly in the dim cave light.
Without a word, he turned and walked deeper into the cave, disappearing into the darkness.
A moment passed.
Then a warm glow flickered to life.
The dragon emerged again, now dressed in an immaculate all white dress suit and polished white shoes, holding a lantern that cast golden light across the cavern walls.
He stopped in front of the newborn elf.
"Elf," he said, voice steady. "May I ask your name?"
Eiden stayed silent for a moment.
I could kill him with a single spell if I wanted… but he does not seem hostile. Fine. I will tell him.
"My name is Eiden," he said calmly. "And you are?"
"Bengie," the dragon replied.
They stared at each other for several long seconds, the air thick with unspoken questions, until Bengie finally broke the silence.
"Come inside. I will offer you clothes. I likely only have a cloak that will fit you, but it is better than nothing. Follow me."
He turned and walked deeper into the cave, lantern in hand.
Eiden caught up easily, walking beside him, staring up at him with those ancient grey eyes, eyes far too knowing for a newborn.
"You are wondering why a baby like me can walk and speak," Eiden said.
"Yes," Bengie admitted. "Exactly. But also something else. I find it strange that"
"That you can see the mana radiating off my body?" Eiden finished for him.
Bengie glanced down at him.
"Correct," he said quietly.
They continued until Bengie stopped at what appeared to be a dead end, a smooth stone wall.
"I bet you think this is the end of the cave," Bengie said, testing him.
"No," Eiden replied instantly. "Behind this wall is a large room. A bedroom. A kitchen. A dining table. A massive bed in the corner. Paintings along the walls. And several other things."
Bengie kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was rattled.
He placed his palm on the stone.
The wall split open like a pair of massive doors, revealing exactly what Eiden had described.
Eiden walked in first, scanning the room with calm interest. His eyes landed on a black and gold couch. He padded over on soft feet and hopped onto it.
"This is a nice couch," he said, examining the stitching and structure.
Bengie stepped inside and approached a wall with a crystal embedded in it. He placed his palm on the crystal, channeling mana. The stone doors behind them sealed shut.
He turned to speak to Eiden, but the couch was empty.
He looked around.
Eiden was floating several feet off the ground near a towering bookshelf, pulling grimoires from the shelves and flipping through their pages with casual ease.
Bengie walked to a dresser near the bed and rummaged through it. He pulled out a black cloak and approached Eiden, then stopped a few meters away.
He wanted to test something.
"Eiden."
Eiden turned his head. "Yes?"
Bengie tossed the cloak.
As expected, the cloak shot through the air like a living creature and wrapped itself around Eiden's small body.
"It is warm," Eiden said simply.
He descended to the floor, holding a grimoire, while seven more floated behind him like loyal attendants. He walked back to the couch and sat down.
Bengie joined him.
"Do you need help learning that spell?" Bengie asked, pointing to the grimoire. "It is called Feezmap. A powerful spell, it summons fifty lightning strikes onto an enemy and"
"I have already learned it," Eiden interrupted. "I just wanted something to read."
Bengie froze.
He had seen this before.
This exact behavior.
This exact ease with magic.
"Are… are you a reincarnated vessel?" Bengie whispered.
"I am," Eiden replied. "I fought a battle and died. I killed my enemy, but I was weakened. I knew from the beginning that death was one of the possible outcomes… but I thought I could avoid it. I was wrong."
Silence filled the room.
"I was exactly sixteen thousand seven hundred thirteen years old when I died," Eiden continued. "I used a reincarnation spell at the brink of death. And now I wake up in a cold forest, covered in snow… and here I am."
Bengie finally understood.
The overwhelming mana.
The impossible spells.
The ancient calm.
"Sixteen thousand seven hundred thirteen years…" Bengie murmured. "So you existed before prehistoric times."
"Yes," Eiden said. "Long before kingdoms. Before magic was used for war. Before races turned on each other."
Bengie nodded slowly. He understood. He too was born in prehistoric times.
"Oh, what year is it?" Eiden asked suddenly.
Bengie glanced at a calendar on the wall.
"Tuesday, August sixth, year zero thirty four."
"So I have been asleep for nineteen years…"
Eiden closed the grimoire and looked at Bengie.
"I need your help. I need shelter."
He turned his head toward a drawer near the bed.
"You are a noble. You own a castle."
Bengie raised an eyebrow. "How did you"
"I saw the key in your locked drawer," Eiden said. "A golden crest. Only nobles or royalty have crests on their keys. And that one specifically unlocks castle gates."
Bengie stared at him.
This was not the first time Eiden had told him what lay behind a closed structure.
"You are technically around sixteen thousand seven hundred thirty two years old now," Bengie said slowly. "Since you never truly died, you were preparing a new body for your soul. But what I am trying to say is… It is obvious you were a talented mage"
"'Talented' is nowhere near what I was," Eiden said calmly. "I was more powerful than Uzak'me, the god."
Bengie's eyes widened.
Uzak'me.
Also known as Uzak'me the Celestial, the God of Dominion, who died nineteen years ago in a battle against Eiden the First Divinity.
A battle where Eiden's body was never found.
Bengie swallowed.
"Are you… perhaps… Eiden the First Divinity?" he asked, voice trembling.
Eiden's expression shifted.
The calm, wide eyed neutrality vanished.
His gaze narrowed, half lit, predatory, a quiet ancient bloodlust flickering beneath the surface.
"Yes."
His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a god's verdict.
"I am Eiden… the First Divinity."
Bengie exhaled shakily, the truth hitting him like a collapsing mountain.
He swallowed.
"Your body was found by the Redcrest Clan. You have heard of them, yes?"
Eiden nodded slowly.
"There are seven great clans. The Redcrest Clan is one of them, a lineage of elven mages who wield red sorcery. Their magic was so feared that even the Council of Mages labeled them a threat… and the Council contains mages nearly as powerful as the ten Celestials. Yes. I know them well."
Bengie continued, voice low.
"They are the ones who have your body. A spy from the Yazmid Clan infiltrated them three years ago and found it, perfectly preserved, sealed in a glass dome, protected by a barrier no one could break. But the Redcrest Clan does not care about anything except power. Did you… know someone there personally?"
Eiden's eyes drifted downward, remembering.
"Eight hundred years ago, I helped their clan leader, along with the Golden Throne, fight the Angel King. We won, but we did not kill him. I was the only one who could face him directly."
His tone darkened.
"I warned him. If he ever threatened peaceful nations again, I would use Shwall on him and watch him choke on his own blood."
Bengie stiffened.
He knew the spell.
Shwall, a curse that paralyzes the target, keeps them alive no matter the injury, forces them to feel every nerve scream, even if beheaded. A spell only a monster… or a god… would dare use.
Bengie nodded slowly.
"I see. Then they must know you did not truly die."
"Yeah…" Eiden murmured, looking down at his lap. "They know."
Bengie stood and walked to the massive bed. He reached under the mattress, retrieved a key, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a golden crested key.
"You were right. I do have a castle in the Nipolla Kingdom. Well guarded. Hidden. I can offer you shelter and help you reclaim your body. But… I need something from you."
Eiden raised an eyebrow.
"And this enemy is?"
Bengie hesitated.
"Iris. The Bloodmage."
Eiden blinked.
A Great Sage.
A friend.
A monster in her own right.
"You want me to fight someone who was once my ally? You know the Seven Great Sages were all close."
"I know," Bengie said quickly. "I do not need her harmed. I just need her to stop killing the beasts in my forest. I feed my workers a special meat. From a twelve tailed wolf."
Eiden's eyes sharpened.
A twelve tailed wolf, a creature more powerful than a black dragon, capable of warping through portals, transforming into humanoid form, and wielding psychic abilities strong enough to overwhelm Imperial Mages. A beast ranked the second deadliest.
"I see," Eiden said. "Very well."
He hopped off the couch, cloak fluttering behind him.
"You help me get shelter and retrieve my body, and I will deal with Iris."
Relief washed over Bengie's face.
A genuine smile formed.
"Deal. I promise I will help you get your body back. Now come, let us get to my castle. I will have a tailor make you proper clothes."
He placed his palm on the crystal embedded in the wall.
The stone doors split open.
"Oh, and you might want to make your voice sound like a baby's. You are in a newborn body with the voice of a man in his thirties."
Bengie stepped into the cave corridor.
Eiden sprinted on tiny feet to catch up.
"I do not want to," Eiden muttered, "but it is necessary. I cannot have the remaining of the ten Celestials learning I reincarnated."
Bengie smirked.
"Yeah, last thing we need is them trying to kill you while you are fun sized."
Eiden sighed.
"Carry me. It lowers suspicion. And I should not talk anyway, newborns are not supposed to speak."
Bengie hummed in agreement, turned, and lifted Eiden by the waist, holding him securely in his arms.
They stepped out of the cave into the freezing air.
Snow drifted softly.
The world was quiet.
"Hang tight," Bengie warned.
Eiden gripped his clothing as Bengie focused.
Black scales rippled across his back.
Then
His wings tore outward, massive and powerful.
He flapped once, twice, and they shot into the sky.
The rising sun painted the clouds orange and gold.
Eiden peeked out from Bengie's arms, eyes reflecting the dawn.
"How beautiful…" he whispered.
Hours passed.
The sun set.
They descended toward the Nipolla Kingdom.
Bengie folded his wings and approached the gates.
Two guards opened them instantly.
"Welcome back, Sir Bengie. And your child?"
"Yes," Bengie replied smoothly. "And keep this quiet. Only the king needs to know."
One guard sprinted toward the castle.
Eiden observed everything, twenty castles at least, nobles everywhere, mana signatures strong enough to rival ancient clans.
Eventually, they reached a gate outside a castle more ornate than the rest.
Five butlers rushed out.
The head butler bowed.
"Sir Bengie, we were worried"
He froze when he saw Eiden.
"Gerold, not now," Bengie said, brushing past them.
Inside the grand hall, he set Eiden on his feet.
The butlers stared, shocked that a newborn stood perfectly balanced.
"What in the gods name…" one muttered.
Bengie raised his voice.
"All servants, butlers, and slaves, listen up. Come here. Now."
Within moments, thirty black dragons in humanoid form filled the room.
"Every one of you was born over ten thousand years ago," Bengie said. "You all know Eiden the First Divinity."
Heads nodded.
Some eyes glistened.
"This baby," Bengie continued, "is Eiden. Yes, that Eiden. He reincarnated. Treat him with respect. And keep this secret. If anyone asks, he is my adoptive son. Understood?"
A servant woman hesitated.
"How do we know you are not lying?"
Bengie pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I swear on the gods. This is Eiden, the First Divinity."
Silence.
Then acceptance.
Gerold knelt.
"It is an honor, Eiden. We will treat you with respect. And judging by your clothing, we should prepare a suit for you. Sir Bengie, shall I take him to the Grand Bedroom"
"No," Eiden said.
"I prefer the library."
No one was surprised.
Gerold led them down the hall and opened the massive library doors.
Shelves towered to the ceiling.
A massive sofa sat in the center.
Bengie dismissed the staff.
He looked down at Eiden, who was staring at the room with quiet awe.
"Eiden," Bengie said softly. "You are one of the few Great Sages I admire. I will help you find your body. I promise."
Eiden looked up at him.
"Hmph. I do not know what to say. Thank you… for helping me this far."
Bengie smirked.
"I do not plan on helping you with just this."
He placed a hand on Eiden's shoulder.
"I plan on helping you"
A pause.
A breath.
A promise.
"With A New Beginning."