I died on a random Tuesday.
Nothing fancy. No truck, no heroic sacrifice, no final badass line. I was just sitting there at my desk, scrolling through another web novel chapter, when my chest went tight, the room spun, and everything went black. Thirty-four years old and my heart tapped out like it was bored with the whole thing.
When I woke up again, I wasn't me anymore.
At first there was only pressure. Warm, wet, crushing pressure, and this woman screaming like someone was tearing her apart. I tried to yell, to tell her I was here and this was all wrong, but all that came out was this pathetic little wail. Then cold air hit my skin and I was being lifted, wrapped in rough cloth that smelled like smoke and hay.
A man's voice, tired but happy, said, "It's a boy. Looks strong."
Another cry started right beside me. Loud. Angry. Like the baby was already pissed off at the world.
Twins. We were twins.
That should have been the first clue, but my brain was soup. Everything felt fuzzy and far away. I spent days just existing in this tiny body that didn't listen to me. Feed, sleep, shit, cry. Repeat. My adult mind was there, but it was like trying to run a computer on a potato battery. Thoughts came slow and slipped away fast.
I remember the first time the memories really hit me. I was maybe three months old, lying in a wooden crib while my mother hummed some old tune. Suddenly I remembered my old apartment. The pile of dirty dishes. The half-read novel on my phone. The fact that I had died.
Holy shit. I died. And now I'm a baby in some fantasy world.
The realization didn't come with fireworks. It just sat there, heavy and cold in my gut. This place had no cars, no electricity, no plastic. Just wood, stone, straw roofs, and the smell of animals everywhere. People talked about "Aether" like it was normal, the way we used to talk about Wi-Fi. Magic was real here. Kingdoms, empires, demons, the whole package.
I decided right then I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
If this was one of those stories I used to read, there was probably some destined hero out there. Some farm kid who would get all the power, all the girls, and all the plot armor. Good for him. I'd be the random villager in the background. The guy who sells bread or fixes fences and dies peacefully at sixty with no one writing songs about him. That sounded fucking perfect.
The other baby kept crying louder than me. Always fussing, always kicking. Even as a newborn he seemed… restless. Like he was already fighting the crib.
At first I thought it was just coincidence. Twins are like that sometimes. But the feeling kept nagging at me. The way he quieted down when our dad told stories about the capital. The way his little fists clenched like he was making plans.
Then, one night when we were about eight months old, he did something that froze me solid.
We were lying side by side on a blanket while our parents ate dinner. Everyone thought we were asleep. The other baby rolled over, looked straight at me with these sharp little eyes, and whispered in the worst baby-talk I'd ever heard:
"…remember?"
It was garbled. Half grunt, half word. But I knew what he meant.
My stomach dropped. I stared back at him and gave the tiniest nod I could manage.
He made this satisfied little sound, like he'd just won something, then went back to sucking on his fist.
Fuck. It was him. My brother from the old world. Aldric. Or whatever name they'd give him here. Same stubborn bastard, new body.
We didn't get a real conversation for a long time after that. Babies can't exactly sneak off for a private chat. But we started communicating in small ways. A look here, a poke there. Enough to confirm we were both carrying the old memories, even if they were still coming back in pieces.
By the time we could walk properly, around age two, the memories had settled into something clearer. We knew we had died. We knew this was Aeldenmoor. We knew there was an empire called Valdris, magic called Aether, and some big war that had ended forty years ago but everyone acted like it might start again any day.
We still didn't know the exact story we had landed in. Just the general shape. Some underdog kid from a nearby village was going to blow up and become the big hero. Collect girls, gain insane power, save the world or whatever. Classic stuff.
I wanted no part of it.
My brother, though… he lit up every time he heard about the capital or knights or great battles. I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was already thinking about how to get ahead.
Our parents named us during a small ceremony when we were a few weeks old. Dad stood there looking proud as hell. Mom held us both, still tired from the birth. The village elder pointed at me first.
"This quiet one… call him Eren. Steady lad."
Then he looked at my brother. "And this fierce one… Aldric. He'll have fire in him."
Aldric grinned like he'd just been handed a trophy, even though he was still mostly gums and drool at the time.
I just lay there thinking, Great. Of course he gets the cool ambitious name. I get the "reliable background guy" name.
Life in Caldmere moved slow. Days blended together: helping with small chores once we were big enough, running around the fields, listening to the adults talk about crops and taxes and the latest news from the capital. I kept my head down. I didn't try to speak too early or show off anything weird. When Aldric started stringing real sentences together way before most kids, I stuck to short, simple stuff and let people think I was the slower twin.
It worked. Our parents just saw it as personality. "Eren's like his uncle, quiet and thoughtful. Aldric's got spirit."
One summer evening when we were four years old, after we were supposed to be asleep, Aldric crawled over to my spot on the floor mat and shook my shoulder.
"Eren," he whispered, voice low and excited. "You remember everything now, right? The old world. The novels. That whole stupid harem story with the weak kid who ends up with all the power?"
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was grinning like a kid who just found out Christmas came early.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I remember."
His eyes lit up. "Then you know what this means. We know the plot. We know the flags. We can actually do this right. I'm not sitting around being some nobody. I'm going to take it. The power, the respect, the girls, everything. And you're going to help me."
I stared at the ceiling for a long second.
"No," I told him. "I'm not. I died once already doing normal shit. I'm not dying again chasing some power fantasy. You want to play hero? Fine. Go ahead. But leave me the fuck out of it. I'm staying background. Invisible. Safe."
Aldric's face twisted, half angry, half disappointed. "You're really just going to waste this? We got a second chance and you want to flip burgers in fantasy land?"
"Better than getting killed by demons or betrayed by some harem member because I stuck my nose in the plot," I muttered. "Do what you want, Aldric. Just don't drag me into your shit."
He stayed quiet after that, but I could feel the frustration rolling off him. He rolled back to his own spot, muttering something under his breath about cowards and missed chances.
Outside, the crickets kept chirping and the night wind moved through the wheat fields. Somewhere in another village, the kid who was actually supposed to be the main character was probably learning to walk or chasing chickens, completely unaware that two reincarnated assholes had just landed in his story.
I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that if I just kept my head down, everything would stay simple.
Deep down, I already knew it probably wouldn't.