Warmth.
That was the first thing he felt.
Not fire.
Not pain.
Not blood.
Warmth.
Alias opened his eyes.
The world was… blurry.
Shapes moved above him—soft, shifting figures, colors blending into one another. Light filtered gently from somewhere overhead, not harsh like flames, but calm and steady.
He tried to move.
His body responded—but weakly.
Slow.
Uncoordinated.
His fingers twitched.
Small.
Too small.
"…Ah—!"
A voice.
Soft. Surprised.
Then another voice, deeper, filled with relief.
"He opened his eyes."
Alias blinked.
The shapes leaned closer.
Gradually, they became clearer.
A woman.
Her face was gentle, eyes filled with warmth and something else—joy.
Beside her stood a man, his expression calmer, but no less emotional.
"…Our son," the woman whispered.
Alias stared at them.
His thoughts moved slowly.
Not because he couldn't think—
But because his body wouldn't keep up.
He remembered.
The fire.
The battle.
The blade.
The end.
Then—
The light.
The goddess.
"…Reborn…" his mind echoed faintly.
The woman carefully lifted him.
Her arms were warm.
Safe.
Alias didn't resist.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
"Look at him," she said softly. "He's so quiet."
The man chuckled lightly.
"Maybe he'll grow up to be calm."
Alias wanted to laugh.
Calm?
No.
Not anymore.
But his body only made a small sound.
A weak cry.
The woman smiled gently.
"It's alright… it's alright…"
She held him closer.
Alias's eyes slowly closed.
Not from pain.
Not from exhaustion.
But from something unfamiliar.
Peace.
Days passed.
Alias learned quickly.
Not by choice—
But by instinct.
He learned to open his eyes longer.
To focus on shapes.
To recognize voices.
The woman's voice.
Soft.
Always near.
The man's voice.
Stronger.
But steady.
He began to understand something.
"They're… my parents."
The thought felt strange.
He had parents before.
He had lost them.
And now—
He had them again.
Weeks turned into months.
Alias grew.
His movements became more controlled.
His hands opened and closed.
He could grip things now—weakly, but enough.
One day, the woman placed her finger in his palm.
Alias instinctively held onto it.
She smiled brightly.
"He's strong."
Alias stared at his hand.
Small.
Fragile.
"…This body…" he thought.
"…It's new."
No scars.
No wounds.
No weight of battle.
Months passed.
Alias began to roll.
At first, by accident.
His body shifting slightly to one side.
Then again.
And again.
Until one day—
He rolled completely.
The woman clapped softly.
"He did it!"
The man laughed.
"Already trying to move around, huh?"
Alias didn't understand their excitement.
To him—
This was just progress.
But to them—
It was everything.
Time continued forward.
Alias began to crawl.
Slow at first.
Dragging himself awkwardly across the floor.
Falling.
Struggling.
Trying again.
Each movement felt unfamiliar.
Heavy.
Unbalanced.
But he didn't stop.
Even in this small body—
His will remained the same.
One day, he reached the doorway.
The outside world stretched beyond it.
Light.
Wind.
Sound.
Alias paused.
Then crawled forward.
The grass felt different beneath his hands.
Soft.
Alive.
He looked up.
A wide sky.
Clear.
Peaceful.
Nothing like the world he left behind.
"…Another world," he thought.
The wind brushed against his face.
Carrying sounds—
Laughter.
Birds.
Life.
For a moment—
He simply stayed there.
Watching.
Months turned into a year.
Alias began to stand.
At first, with support.
Holding onto wooden furniture.
His legs shaking.
Unstable.
Falling.
Again and again.
But always getting back up.
His parents watched with smiles and worry.
"Careful," his mother said.
"You'll hurt yourself."
Alias didn't understand the fear.
Falling wasn't new.
Pain wasn't new.
This—
Was nothing.
One day—
He stood without support.
Just for a moment.
Then—
A step.
Small.
Unsteady.
But real.
His parents froze.
Watching.
Waiting.
Another step.
Then—
He fell.
But this time—
Alias didn't feel frustration.
Only certainty.
"I'll walk."
Days passed.
Steps became more stable.
Movements more natural.
Until one morning—
Alias walked across the room.
Slowly.
But without falling.
His mother covered her mouth in surprise.
His father laughed.
"He did it."
Alias looked at them.
Then at his hands.
Then at his body.
"…This is my second life."
That night—
As he lay in bed—
He stared at the ceiling.
The memories were still there.
Clear.
Sharp.
Unfading.
The fire.
The battle.
The loss.
And the promise.
"…I won't fail."
Days later—
His parents sat beside him.
The woman smiled gently.
"We've been thinking…"
The man nodded.
"It's time."
Alias looked at them.
"…A name."
The woman leaned closer.
"From now on…"
"You will be called…"
She smiled warmly.
"Alias."
The name echoed in his mind.
Alias.
Not Toya.
Not the boy of war.
But something new.
He closed his eyes.
"…Alias."
A new life.
A new world.
But the same blade.
And deep within—
The same resolve remained.
This time—
He would protect everything.
No matter the cost.