CHAPTER 2:
Twelve years.
That is how long it has been since I opened my eyes in this world, crying in the arms of strangers who would eventually become my family. The blankets wrapped around me smelled nothing like the grimy, chemical-soaked hospital sheets from my old life. The air was cleaner too, filled with the scent of herbs and cold stone rather than disinfectant.
Twelve years since the void spat me out.
Twelve years since the second chance I never asked for.
But more importantly, it has been twelve years since something began creeping into my thoughts. A truth about Death. Something vast and terrifying that I still do not fully understand.
When I was young, barely old enough to hold a pen without dropping it, I remembered everything from my past life. Every detail. Every scream. Every fight. Every instinct honed through violence. The memories were sharp enough to cut through the haze of rebirth with perfect clarity, and they clung to me like iron shackles.
I do not know why, but something whispered inside me.
Write it down.
So I did.
In secret, quietly, obsessively.
I wrote everything in a small black notebook with a cracked spine and stiff pages. I hid it behind a loose brick in my childhood room, out of reach from curious eyes.
A wise decision. Because when I turned five, the memories began to fade.
At first, it was the small things.
The faces of men I had killed.
The smell of rusted metal.
The names of people who trained me.
The laughter of someone who once called himself my comrade.
The sound of the man who called himself Death.
Then larger things vanished.
Entire battles.
Entire years.
Entire identities.
By the time I turned six, almost nothing remained.
Nothing except for one single, stubborn word burned into the deepest part of me.
Death.
Not a memory.
Not an image.
Not a face.
Just a word.
A word that feels like it is stitched into my soul, tied to me in a way that defies reason.
"Young Master Rei, are you hearing me?"
A voice pulls me back from the haze of half-erased thoughts. I blink several times and push the fog away. A maid stands at the doorway of my room. She bows politely, her voice calm.
"Breakfast is ready. Lord Aldren is waiting."
I sit up slowly. "Right. I am coming."
I follow her through the long stone hallways of Vaelthorn Manor. The walls tower over me, cool and rigid, filled with old paintings and the silver crest of my family. The place feels less like a home and more like a fortress built to intimidate guests.
But it is my home now.
Apparently.
The Vaelthorn Household
The dining hall is wide and lined with tall windows. Morning light pours inside and reflects off the polished wooden table.
My family is already seated.
Father, Aldren Vaelthorn.
Tall. Rigid. Eyes sharp enough to slice stone. A lord respected across the territory for his strength and feared by bandits everywhere.
Mother, Selene Vaelthorn.
Calm, gentle, warm, but with an aura that could freeze a battlefield into silence when she wished.
And Aria Vaelthorn, my older sister by three years.
A prodigy with the sword.
A beauty who left even knights staring.
And a girl whose smile hid more violence than all the criminals I have hunted.
"Rei," Father says without looking up from his tea. "You are late."
"I was thinking," I reply quietly. "I did not notice the time."
Mother sighs softly. "Next time be careful. Lord Aldren dislikes tardiness."
Aria giggles into her bread. "He never pays attention. Silly little brother."
Her smile is angelic.
Her kick under the table is not.
I cough. "I felt that."
She beams proudly. "I know."
I chew my food while observing them. This is my family now. A father who believes strength is everything. A mother who hides steel beneath her patience. A sister who would kill a man for me, then scold me for stepping in her way.
And me, Rei Vaelthorn.
The youngest son.
Officially average.
Officially untalented.
Officially magicless.
The biggest lie I have ever told.
Father sets down his cup. "Rei. Train with Aria after breakfast."
"Yes, sir."
I swallow hard.
Time to act weak again.
Training Grounds: The Weak Son
The training courtyard stretches beneath a vast blue sky. Dirt hardened by years of combat practice forms the ground. Wooden racks hold blunt weapons and shields. Aria stands across from me with a wooden sword resting casually on her shoulder.
"Ready?" she asks.
"As ready as I will ever be," I answer.
She lifts her sword. "Then come."
I lower my stance and inhale deeply. For one single heartbeat, a dark fantasy flickers through my mind. A clean step forward. A slash that separates her neck from her body. A spray of blood.
A perfect kill.
A perfect strike.
A perfect memory from a life that was never meant to follow me here.
Reality returns violently.
Crack.
Her sword crashes into my side and knocks the air out of me. I collapse into the dirt, clutching my ribs.
"Do not daydream during a fight," she says, tapping my forehead. "You will die."
"Right," I groan as I force myself up.
Everyone believes I am weak, because I allow them to.
I move slowly on purpose.
I miss my swings.
I pretend to gasp for breath.
I let sweat roll down my face even when I am not tired.
If I reveal the truth now, I will be questioned, examined, hunted. I do not want that. I do not want attention.
I especially cannot reveal my magic.
My ability to see it.
To observe its flow, shape, and color as naturally as breathing.
It is a gift that carried over from my past life, something I do not think anyone else possesses.
Aria lowers her sword and gives me a small smile. "That is enough for today. You should rest."
Terrifying when she wants to be.
Kind in her own strange way.
I nod and leave the courtyard with sore ribs and a forced limp to sell my act.
Back in My Room
I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the manor becomes background noise as my thoughts drift again.
"Death. What exactly are you?"
A cycle, a law, a being, a curse, or something else entirely.
I died.
I was reborn.
I remembered everything.
Then forgot everything.
If I had not written it all down, I would have lost every piece of my identity to the void. I would be nothing more than a normal child.
But what about other people?
Does every newborn forget their past life?
Was I an exception?
Did I break some cosmic rule?
Where do souls go before they are reborn?
What happens after death?
What is the purpose of forgetting?
The questions spiral endlessly, and I never find answers. Only fear. Not of pain or monsters or violence. I fear the idea of ceasing to exist. The emptiness that waits beyond life.
The sun fades and moonlight pours through the window like silver water. The manor grows quiet. Everyone sleeps.
Except me.
Night is when I truly wake.
Night: A Different Life
I stand on the rooftop of a building several streets away from the manor. A dark cloak wrapped around my shoulders flutters in the wind. The moon hangs above like a pale watching eye.
Here, in the cold darkness of night, I am not Rei Vaelthorn.
I am the Death Bringer!
I know the name sounds ridiculous, but that is the point. A rumor, a myth, something criminals whisper about in fear. Perfect for misdirection.
I do not hunt for justice.
I do not hunt for heroism.
I hunt for money, resources, practice, and occasionally entertainment.
Tonight, a group of bandits walks through the slums. They laugh loudly and brag about their latest raid, unaware of the eyes watching them from above.
Their pockets jingle with gold.
I smile. "Found tonight's income."
Bandits' POV: The Rumor
"Hey, you heard the rumor?"
"What rumor?"
"That a kid kills every bandit dumb enough to walk through this place. They say it's his territory."
The leader snorts. "What kid? Whoever spread that story is a coward."
A voice cuts in from above.
"Talking about me?"
The Death Bringer Descends
I leap down silently and land behind them. They whirl around.
"That's him."
"Just a boy."
"Get him."
I smile. "Try."
The first bandit lunges at me with a roar. His weapon slices through empty air.
Shing.
His head leaves his shoulders before his voice finishes.
I sigh. "You cannot even dodge."
The leader charges next, veins bulging. His strike is sloppy. Desperate. Predictable. I appear in front of him in less than a second. My blade rests against his throat for a moment.
He freezes, then trembles.
Slice.
He falls.
I look at the remaining bandits. "Next."
My shadow spreads around me like black ink poured onto the ground. It thickens, ripples, then rises. Weapons burst from within it, shaped from raw cursed magic.
Sickles.
Daggers.
Spears.
Chains.
Dozens of blades.
They fly outward in perfect arcs. Every weapon finds a target. Screams rise, then vanish just as quickly.
In less than a minute, the slum street becomes silent.
I stretch my shoulders. "I did not even get to test half of Mortis Veil tonight."
I walk through the bodies and collect their loot. Money. Jewels. Weapons. Ingredients for crafting. I pocket everything.
Then something unusual catches my eye. A large object covered by cloth sits near the alley wall. Cursed magic leaks from it in thick, heavy waves.
I pull the cloth away.
"Oh."
A humanoid creature lies inside. Pale skin. Twisted limbs. Empty black eyes. Neither dead nor alive. A corpse frozen in a state of torment. Cursed beyond recognition.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"I can practice curse control on you later," I mutter.
I place my hand gently on the creature's body. Shadows crawl up my arm. Mortis Veil responds to my touch.
"Store."
The creature sinks into the darkness and disappears into the void.
I grin. "Still the best ability I have.".
"I will deal with you tomorrow."
A yawn escapes me. I stretch and make my way back home over the rooftops. When I reach my window, I slip inside quietly and collapse onto my bed.
The moon continues to shine outside.
The Death Bringer fades.
Rei Vaelthorn returns.
And the world falls silent again.
END OF CHAPTER 2