Sole Survivor of a Generation

Her consciousness drifted in limbo, a realm where the very essence of time and space held no meaning. Here, reality flickered in and out of focus, a dreamscape where past and future entwined, whispering secrets that eluded her grasp. It was an alien yet achingly familiar sanctuary, one she had brushed against countless times before each of her resurrections. This ethereal expanse cradled her in a delicate balance between life and death. However, this time, it was not death that brought her here. She was merely displaced—adrift in a world between worlds, waiting for the right moment to arrive.

The shift came without warning—a tremor in the fabric of her existence. The space around her began to thrum with energy, its oppressive hold trembling before finally relinquishing its grasp. Streaks of vivid colour erupted into existence, swirling chaotically. Valeryon’s thoughts struggled to navigate this tumultuous transformation, slipping away like fragments of a fading dream. The transition was not gentle; it was a raw awakening—a visceral jolt that fused her consciousness with the essence of this new world, igniting the flickering embers of an infant’s awareness.

Trapped within a sleek, glass-like incubator, she was suspended in thick, viscous synthetic amniotic fluid, her fragile body cocooned in its suffocating embrace. The fluid clung to her, a weight pressing down as her tiny lungs convulsed, desperately seeking their first breath. Panic surged, a primal fear clawing at her burgeoning awareness, igniting echoes of her countless deaths—memories of agony crashing over her like a relentless tide. The desire to cry out surged within her, an instinctive urge to announce her vulnerability in this harsh new world.

A thin, desperate wail escaped her lips, piercing the silence of the chamber. As her cry hung in the air, a figure materialised, seemingly woven from the very fabric of her imagination. The woman who appeared was clad in flowing robes adorned with shimmering threads that caught the light like the wings of a thousand butterflies. Her hair fell in waves of silver, cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. Warm hands enveloped her, cradling Valeryon’s fragile form as though she were the most precious treasure in existence.

There was an undeniable familiarity in the way the woman held her—an echo of a dream long forgotten, perhaps a wish Valeryon had never dared to articulate. The woman’s voice resonated within her, not as sound but as a soothing vibration that permeated her very essence. It was a lullaby, a melody that spoke of safety and belonging—concepts foreign to Valeryon in her previous existence. The gentle cadence of the woman’s voice calmed the tempest within, her panicked cries subsiding into soft whimpers.

A bottle of warm milk, glowing faintly from the light of large archaic runes neatly and artistically engraved on its side, was pressed to her lips. Valeryon suckled at it eagerly, driven by the reflexes instilled in her infant body. The warmth spread through her tiny form, filling her with a profound sense of contentment. As she fed, Valeryon’s gaze locked onto the woman’s—a pair of pale grey eyes framed by delicate silver lashes, stormy and deep, reflecting a maelstrom of feelings that danced just beyond her understanding.

The woman’s grip was secure, one hand supporting Valeryon’s head while the other cradled her against the warmth of her chest. The slick moisture clinging to her newborn skin gradually yielded to the comforting heat radiating from the woman’s body. A soft, involuntary coo escaped Valeryon’s lips, a feeble attempt at communication thwarted by the limitations of her new form. Frustration bubbled within her as she tried again, her tiny mouth pressing together in concentration, but the words she longed to speak remained locked within the confines of her infant mind.

“Such a serious frown,” the woman murmured, her voice a soothing balm against Valeryon’s upset. “My dear princess, what troubles you so? You have not soiled yourself, and I have already fed you… Ah, perhaps you suffer from the cold? Of course, I knew I forgot something. Allow me to remedy that, Your Highness.”

Princess. Now that was a title she was bitterly familiar with. Was it too much for her to hope that it was merely an affectionate endearment? Was it too much to hope that this life would be one free of such burdens?

With the limited attention span of a newborn, Valeryon’s focus waned, her worries fading into the background as something more captivating caught her eye. She watched in awe as the woman conjured a stack of small, pastel-coloured blankets from thin air. The magic was effortless, no visible residue or flare of power—just the sudden appearance of the blankets, as though they had always existed in the space beside them, waiting to be called upon. The blankets floated gracefully in the air, responding purely to the woman’s will. She selected a few and carefully swaddled Valeryon’s shivering body, tucking the soft fabric around her with a clumsy tenderness that spoke of inexperience.

“Is that better, princess?” The rhythmic heartbeat beneath Valeryon’s ear and the soft fabric cocooning her lulled her into a state of drowsy contentment. Valeryon responded with a soft coo, her earlier frustration melting away in the warmth and comfort of her care. The cloth did not remain on her for long, however.

The woman carried her to a nearby basin filled with warm, scented water. The basin itself was a marvel, carved from a single piece of translucent crystal that glowed faintly in the dim light. As the woman lowered Valeryon into the water, she felt the soothing warmth seep into her skin, washing away the remnants of the artificial amniotic fluid that clung to her freshly birthed body. The water rippled with every movement, shifting shimmering reflections across the walls of the chamber, which were adorned with murals depicting serene landscapes and mythical creatures that seemed to come alive under the flickering light.

The scent of the water was calming, a blend of floral and herbal notes that lingered in the air, wrapping around Valeryon and infusing her tensed muscles with relaxation. Valeryon’s heavy eyelids drooped as exhaustion began to overtake her, but she fought against it, unwilling to let go of this brief time with the woman who treated her with such unconditional affection.

“Oh, princess, are you sleepy?” the woman asked, her voice a soft murmur. “Fret not, dear one; your body will be safe with me. You can rest now.”

Reluctantly, Valeryon gave in, allowing the comforting darkness of sleep to wash over her.

The first few months of her new life were a bewildering tangle of sensations, each one sharper and more immediate than anything Valeryon had ever experienced. Encased within the fragile shell of an infant, her once keen and calculating mind was now confined, her perceptions clouded and fragmented. The world around her was vast and incomprehensible—a cacophony of light, sound, and emotion that her infant mind could scarcely process. Every sensation, every emotion, was raw and unfiltered, overwhelming her in ways she had never known.

Valeryon often found herself crying out in distress, her tiny body trembling with the shock of existence. The air itself seemed too cold, the light too bright, the very act of breathing a struggle. Each day brought new challenges, and every moment was filled with an intensity that left her reeling, vulnerable in a way she had never been before. Yet amidst the chaos, there was a single constant—a presence that offered her a semblance of stability in this terrifying new world.

It wasn’t the tender embrace of a mother that calmed her, but the steady, unwavering care of a guardian. This woman, neither mother nor kin, was a sentinel in the storm, a figure whose touch was firm, whose voice was calm, and whose actions were deliberate. The guardian was assigned to watch over her, a role that seemed to blend duty with a form of affection that was alien to Valeryon. She clung to this woman, desperate for the comfort of the one stable presence in her new reality. The mere thought of her absence filled Valeryon with a primal terror, a fear so deep it reduced her to helpless wailing until the guardian returned.

Though not a mother, the guardian was everything Valeryon could have asked for in a protector. She was meticulous, anticipating Valeryon’s every need with an uncanny precision. To be separated from her, even for a second, was unthinkable. Valeryon’s rational mind rebelled against the dependency, yet the instincts of her infant body clung to it with a desperation she could not deny. The guardian indulged her every need, carrying Valeryon’s often sleeping form swaddled against her chest as she went about her duties within the sprawling castle that was their home.

The castle was a place of wonders, though Valeryon could only grasp fragments of its grandeur. They would pass through grand halls adorned with tapestries that told stories of ancient battles and forgotten legends, their colours vibrant even in the dim light. Towering windows let in shafts of sunlight that illuminated the intricate carvings on the stone walls, each one a testament to the artistry of the castle’s builders. The scent of ancient wood, beeswax, and faint traces of herbs lingered in the air, a mixture that was both comforting and strange to her. But all of this remained on the periphery of her awareness, distant and hazy, for most of her time was spent nestled in her guardian’s arms, the world beyond her embrace a blur of impressions.

Then, abruptly, everything changed.

One day, as Valeryon was drifting into a contented sleep, her guardian’s sudden cry of distress jolted her awake. “Oh no, the baby’s coming.” The words sent a jolt of panic through Valeryon’s tiny body, banishing all traces of sleep.

The baby’s coming? Whose?

What followed was a sequence of events that felt more horrifying than any of the death and torture she had endured in the Trial Grounds. Valeryon, despite her tiny size and helplessness, refused to leave her guardian’s arms as the woman laboured to bring a life into the world. Her face was contorted with pain and effort, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she pushed through the ordeal. Valeryon watched, wide-eyed, as the scene unfolded before her, the rawness of it all too much for her young mind to fully process.

But it wasn’t the graphic details of the birth that disturbed her—she had seen her own body mutilated too many times to be shocked by blood and pain. No, what unsettled her was the slow, creeping realisation that her relationship with this woman would be irreversibly altered after this. The bond they shared, forged in the vulnerability of her new life, would no longer be exclusive. The guardian, once solely hers, would now have another to care for, another to protect.

All thoughts were momentarily pushed aside, however, when the swaddled infant opened his eyes. Those eyes—purple, and far too familiar—stared back at her.

His name… What was his name? It had been months since she had met him, but he had left quite an impression on her, so it came back to her soon.

Laurel Vesalius.

Her guardian, utterly exhausted from the ordeal and having to care for two infants, collapsed onto the bed in a deep sleep, her body limp and drained. As she rested, Valeryon took advantage of her unconscious state. Summoning what little energy her infant body could bear, she extended her tiny hands, which began to glow with the familiar green light of her healing ability, allowing the power to flow from her to the woman. It was a delicate process, scanning her guardian’s body for damage and mending the strain of childbirth while doing peripheral diagnostics to ensure that everything else was in order within her body as well.

Though it wasn’t difficult for Valeryon, the act drained her completely due to this body being unaccustomed to and unable to bear the power within her. She could feel her consciousness slipping away, her vision darkening as she blacked out in her guardian’s arms.

When she awoke, the world had shifted. The purple-eyed baby, whom Valeryon had yet to confirm as Laurel, was a strangely calm child. He spent his days either sleeping or silently observing his surroundings, his demeanour unnervingly composed for an infant. Unlike Valeryon, who cried when separated from their guardian, this child made no such demands. He didn’t even vocalize his needs; he simply waited, silent and still, until their caretaker noticed and cared for him.

So, this was either Laurel, another Trainee who reincarnated with the same eye colour as Laurel—or just a mild-tempered child native to this world.

While Valeryon saw no issue with such behaviour, the stark difference between herself and the other baby concerned their guardian, who began paying more attention to the boy to ensure all his needs were met. Valeryon watched with growing resentment as her guardian’s attentions shifted.