The Arcanist Reborn

The rain poured heavily, streaking the car windows as Theo Lin drove down the dimly lit highway. The clock on his dashboard blinked 10:37 PM, but he barely noticed. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind a swirling mess of deadlines and regrets.

Theo was 25, a software developer drowning in the monotony of city life. The days blended together—waking up to an alarm, rushing through traffic, working long hours for a company that saw him as just another cog in the machine.

He used to dream once—of adventure, of doing something extraordinary. As a teenager, he spent hours lost in fantasy novels and video games, imagining himself as a hero in another world. But adulthood had beaten those dreams out of him, replacing them with bills, responsibilities, and the crushing weight of mediocrity.

"Maybe next year," he muttered to himself, glancing at the brochure on the passenger seat. It was for a hiking trip he had been planning for months, a chance to escape the city. But, as always, work had gotten in the way. His boss had called earlier that evening, demanding another project be finished by Monday.

"Just one more week," Theo whispered, though he knew it was a lie. There was always one more project, one more excuse to put his life on hold.

The rain intensified, and Theo squinted at the road ahead. He barely saw the truck until it was too late.

The headlights appeared out of nowhere, blinding him as the massive vehicle skidded into his lane. Theo slammed on the brakes, his heart hammering in his chest. Time seemed to slow as the world blurred into chaos—screeching tires, shattering glass, the sickening crunch of metal twisting and folding.

For a brief moment, there was pain—sharp and all-consuming. Then, nothing.

Theo didn't know how long the nothingness lasted. It was like floating in a vast, empty void, where time had no meaning. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel.

Is this death?

But then, faintly, he began to hear something. A voice—soft and distant, calling out through the darkness.

"Push, my lady! The child—he's almost here!"

The void trembled, cracks forming in the nothingness. Light seeped through, blinding and warm.

"Live… for yourself."

The voice was fading now, replaced by the muffled sounds of crying and whispers. Theo felt a strange sensation, as though he were being pulled from one world into another. And then, suddenly, he could feel again.

The first thing he noticed was warmth. A soft, comforting warmth pressed against his tiny body. He was being held—cradled by trembling arms.

The second thing was the sound of rain. It was familiar, soothing, as if the storm outside mirrored the storm within him.

He opened his eyes, and the world came into focus.

The woman holding him smiled weakly, her golden hair framing her pale, sweat-drenched face. Her gaze was tired but filled with love, her voice soft as she whispered, "You'll be Eryon… a beacon in this crumbling family."

Eryon. The name felt strange, foreign, and yet… right.

Theo—or whoever he was now—stared up at her, confusion swirling in his mind. He was no longer an adult, no longer sitting in his car in the middle of a rainstorm. He was an infant, barely able to move or make a sound, and yet his mind remained clear.

This isn't a dream, he realized. I… I died. And now I'm… reborn?

The weight of the realization pressed down on him, but he couldn't dwell on it. His mother—his new mother—was speaking again, her voice growing weaker.

"Eryon," she whispered. "Live… for yourself."

Her hand slipped from his tiny body, falling limp against the bed. The warmth began to fade.

The midwife froze, her heart sinking. "Lady Alaina?" she called, shaking the woman lightly. But there was no response.

The room fell silent, save for the rain outside and the crackling of a dying fire in the hearth. The servants by the door bowed their heads, their faces heavy with grief.

The midwife finally looked down at the baby in her arms. His silver eyes stared back at her, unblinking.

"Take him to Lord Hadrian," the midwife murmured to a servant, her voice trembling. "He must know his son is born."

As the baby was carried away, his small fingers reached for the air, as if trying to hold on to something—or someone—just out of reach.

Elsewhere...

Deep within the newborn's mind, memories stirred. He didn't know why, but flashes of his old life kept appearing—his cramped apartment, the glow of his computer screen, the rain-soaked highway. They felt distant now, like echoes from another world.

Was that really me? he wondered. Was I Theo Lin?

The name felt strange, like a faded dream. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that those memories were important, that they meant something.

As the storm raged on outside, the child—Eryon—closed his eyes. For now, he would let the memories rest.

In the halls of Kael manor, the thunder rolled on, and somewhere, faintly, a servant began to sing a lullaby for the child. The sound carried through the empty corridors, soft and mournful, as though mourning more than just the woman who had passed.

But in the depths of the storm, a spark had been lit—a life reborn, a destiny yet to unfold.