I didn't really understand what had happened to me for what seemed like weeks, something very similar to the situation surrounding my death.
Everything I had loved, everything I had fought, yearned for, and worked to achieve was over, and I didn't know if I could ever get it back.
After all, being in a strange place, after facing my fears and accepting the fact that I was about to die... it was traumatic for me, in different ways.
I had died in a plane crash. My body now lay at the bottom of the Atlantic, covered in wounds and probably with a face of terror still etched on it.
Succumbing to my wounds, I died and shortly afterward was reincarnated.
That was a fact, but that didn't make it any easier to process.
That image, the moment of my new birth, would stay with me for a long time, still vivid in my thoughts.
It was an important occasion, after all, but not something that completely changed my identity.
However, I didn't understand why it had happened to me from the start, not even with those enormous people crying when they saw me.
At first, I thought it must be some kind of dream, though I had no proof or opinion on the matter.
But eventually, the gravity of what had happened to me hit me with a strange intensity. After all, I could only continue denying reality for so long. And the constant visions of giant people around me, the strange images of enormous walls and floors...
Confirming it was easy, just by seeing my strange, chubby little arms and fingers, my plump body, and my heavy, enormous head.
They picked me up and carried me everywhere, under the supervision of that stern-looking man and a smiling woman. They placed me in that wooden box I can barely call a cradle and showed me several strange faces that would stay with me for the rest of my life. At the time, I had no idea how to feel about my reincarnation. After all, it didn't erase the fact that my old life was completely gone.
My mother, my father, Sara...
Even if I could somehow reconnect with my former family, they probably wouldn't believe any claims I made about being the reincarnation of their son or boyfriend; they'd consider me crazy.
For starters, I had no reason to live again. I had nothing I was truly passionate about. There was nothing here for me, and I no longer had any goals to accomplish.
And what I regretted most about my death was not having spent more time with the people I should have. Just thinking about how Sara would react to my death makes my heart clench in my chest.
She was always attached to me, and now that I'm gone...
That regret would never be resolved, not even with a second life I never asked for.
So, during those first weeks, during those first months of my new life, I found myself in a state of lethargy. The worried faces of those I assumed were my new parents filled my vision several times, speaking a strange language I could only describe as vaguely Eastern. They brought many people to see me, people I assumed were doctors, people whose hands glowed green, and I immediately felt revitalized.
Magic? Maybe. Not that I cared.
But after almost six months, something special pulled me out of that depression.
After months of living in that state, I witnessed something that, although it sounded a little corny, eventually became my reason for living.
Back then, I came to believe I was in some kind of hopeless rural place, far from the world.
After all, there wasn't a ray of light to be seen in the small community, which seemed to be perpetually covered in snow.
Traditional oriental-style buildings were the norm here, and people carried swords of all kinds strapped to their waists.
I didn't pay much attention to it in its present state, but one day, as I was being carried by the woman I eventually realized was my mother, I saw something that would change my life completely.
It was a man.
He had many deeply etched scars on his face and a rather unpleasant expression.
It was as if he displayed arrogance and aggression as he walked through the snow.
Just by looking at him, you could tell he was selfish, brash, and boastful.
And while all those things were true, in time I would come to realize that none of it was undeserved.
He carried a silver sword with a slightly curved tip and a decorated gold handle strapped to his waist.
His hair and eyes were a dull blue, similar to my mother's. At the time, I still didn't fully understand the language they spoke, but I could recognize some key words, like my name, which seemed to be Jino, and my parents' names, Timothi and Calina.
However, I hadn't bothered to speak; I didn't see the point in such things if this life was going to be a waste.
But that lethargic vision of mine, and the thoughts of abandonment and sadness that seemed to fill my mind... everything related to that vanished from my world as soon as that man drew his sword from his waistband.
He stood before my father in the dojo, and my mother carried me as I watched them both. I wasn't interested in him in the slightest, similar to almost everything in this new life.
But when that man, the man I would eventually recognize as Gall Farion, the Sword God, faced my father for the first time, the entire world seemed absorbed by his gaze. His sword was released from its scabbard in a ring that emanated throughout the building, and in the next instant...
I saw something I could barely understand.
It was beautiful.
Something like a rainbow of all the colors in the world, or perhaps a better description would be a shooting star—no, the only way I could explain that moment, that turning point in my life, was that I had witnessed a miracle.
That man, and my father too, moved faster than I could see. I heard two shock waves, something I vaguely recognized as sonic booms, and sudden gusts of wind that whipped around me and my mother, who gasped at the sudden movement, clinging to me even harder to protect me from the wind.
But even though I couldn't see those two men, I could feel them.
The energy released by the collision radiated outward like ripples in the fabric of reality, shimmering and sparkling in such beautiful images.
In that moment, I realized a few things. I had been reborn, not in my old world, but in a new place, a place more connected to some fictional story than to everyday reality.
But that thought was minor compared to the true understanding that filled my mind.
Once I saw that crash, and once I saw the miracle come to life before me, I knew in my heart that this was the reason I had been reborn.
The reason I was still alive was so I could experience that moment.
After that day, my world was filled with color.
After that day, when I saw the man called "Sword God" perform in person, something like a fascination awakened within me.
Although, to be honest, it would probably be more accurate to call it an obsession.
I had developed a sort of obsession with that image, an obsession I didn't realize until months later.
An obsession with the sight of those superhuman figures moving faster than anything I'd ever seen, contrasting in beautiful flashes of light.
I began to pay attention to the world around me, to think about what I wanted to do, and to genuinely listen to the people in my new life.
It was safe to say that, once this new shift took hold of me, everything about the way I felt shifted and transformed. It was as if the world was filtered through with a different color of light.
As the previously opaque vision of the snowy land became filled with those vibrant emotions, I couldn't stay still.
The arms of my ever-present mother, while once comforting, had never seemed so restrictive after those moments. The urge to go out and explore the various dojos, watch the countless swordsmen train, and go out alone to find a sword... it was overwhelming.
There were a few children and babies, but for the most part, I didn't mind them. I'd been fascinated by the countless swordsmen who lived there, like my father and, of course, Gall Farion.
It seemed my parents were highly respected in this swordsman society, though not with the same reverence they all accorded the Sword God.
From what I could see, social standing depended directly on swordsmanship, and both my father and mother were quite powerful. Yes, although it seemed like my mother was semi-retired after having me, my father continued to practice diligently every day, training with other swordsmen who lived in the community and going out every day to practice in the various gymnasium-like buildings in the area.
My favorite part of each day was the morning, when my father hadn't left yet and was simply practicing swings in the front yard.
I could spend all day sitting on the steps of our house, watching him intently as he practiced those strikes outside, each of which easily exceeds the speed of sound for some apparent reason I can't explain.
He was probably in his early twenties, but his serious, steady expression made him look older. His fierce, tiger-like eyes may have scared me a little when I was new to this world, but after getting to know him better and realizing that he was a straightforward, no-nonsense guy, I began to enjoy my time with him. I wasn't even a year old yet, but those mornings, with him practicing repeatedly for an hour before leaving, were my favorites. But while I felt a connection to him as my caretaker, the reason I enjoyed those moments wasn't because of him, it was simply the fact that he was wielding a sword. The blade in his hand caught my attention, like a moth to a glowing bonfire.
The movements of the man I now know as my father were certainly impressive, far more so than those of anyone else I'd seen in this new world besides the Sword God, but I could have traded my father for any random stranger of his skill level and been as satisfied, as fascinated, as I was every time I saw him move.
There was something special about a seemingly ordinary person moving with such speed, precision, and force that it sent a shockwave through the air.
He was a spark of brilliance, shining with all the colors I loved so much.
The overall change in my demeanor certainly seemed to please my parents, as the flashes of concern on their faces disappeared completely.
My father was pleased and happy that I was watching him. I think he was happy to have the opportunity to boast to me, although I couldn't be sure; he's a very inexpressive person in general. The only expressions of his that I could identify were "solemn approval" and "severe discontent."
But something happened when my father stopped training, he talked something with my mother, They both talked for a couple of minutes, both looking at me out of the corner of their eyes.
In the end my mother sighed, took me in her arms and the three of us left the house for the dojo.
I didn't know why but now I was coming back and the scene that greeted me will be another one I will never forget.
A brunette woman with a tail and cat ears was dueling with a middle-aged man while Gall Farion watched them.
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