The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

The walk to the village of Brumaria was made in silence. Only the rustle of wind-bent trees, the distant whistle of birds, the rhythmic thud of the old donkey's hooves on the earth, and the persistent creak of the cart's weathered wheels filled the air.

From time to time, Elian turned his head back, as if a part of himself remained behind. It was a strange, bitter feeling—like saying farewell not only to a place but to a time that would never return.

Arthur, beside him, remained silent for almost the entire journey. The burden of departure seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. But when the village's stone gates appeared on the horizon, he finally broke the silence:

"Your gesture to your sister was very beautiful, Elian," he murmured, his voice deep but gentle. "You know how attached she is to you…"

There was a brief pause, then he continued, "Maybe even more than to any of us." The memory of what had happened days earlier flashed through his mind like lightning. "Especially after that day when we came to the village…"

Elian did not respond immediately. He simply listened, his gaze fixed on the golden ribbon tied around his arm—Emanuelle's gift. He knew his father was right. Their connection had always been strong, but after the trauma… something even deeper had formed.

"I know, Father," he finally said. "I believe that after everything, she feels responsible— for the wounds, for the pain, even though it wasn't her fault at all."

Arthur nodded, head bowed. His son's words struck him deeply. Memories of the births of his three children flooded his mind. Each one had its own mark, its own moment, its own promise. But none hurt as much as Elian's birth.

Regret ate at his chest like rust. He had never forgiven himself for blaming— even if only in thought— that tiny being for nearly costing him Maria. That thought should never have existed. But it did. And it ate him up. And Maria… she forgave him, as always. But that only made the guilt quieter—and sharper.

Arthur remembered Maria's words when he changed his son's name—from Theo to Elian—about light, the miracle, and how foolish he had been.

He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice thick with emotion:

"Thank you, son."

Elian looked at him, surprise restrained.

"Thank you for saving your sister… even though it cost you a piece of your innocence," Arthur's voice wavered. "Thank you for giving your mother back the joy she almost lost. And… I'm sorry."

He paused, long and steady.

"I'm sorry I haven't been the father you deserved—until now."

The wind blew again, stirring Elian's shoulder-length red hair and causing the ribbon on his arm to flutter.

"You have been the best father I could ever ask for," Elian said firmly, voice low but rich with feeling. "Thank you for teaching me how to be a good man, Father. I know I'm still a child… I know I have a lot to learn. But… thank you for being my guide." He looked directly at Arthur.

The words sounded childlike, but within them lay the weight of someone who had lived far beyond his years.

Because it was no lie that his body was that of a child. But the soul inside him… carried thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of mistakes, blood, tortured choices, and irreparable loss. And yet, in that raw simplicity, in that painful honesty, Arthur had become his north star.

In his past life, Elian had a father who taught him honor and dignity—so far as he could. Now, he had another who taught by silence, with calloused hands, and love that didn't demand perfection.

But there was one thing Elian would never give up. Something even Arthur could not shape. He would protect those he loved—even if it meant killing again. If the gods judged him for it… let them.

Arthur, oblivious to the internal battles behind his son's eyes, smiled. A true smile, a bit weary, but full of pride.

"Thank you for your words, Elian," he said, gently touching his son's shoulder.

Then he turned, facing the path ahead, the stone trail leading to the village.

"Let's go. Elise is probably waiting for us. And you know… she doesn't like waiting."

The walk to Elise's cottage would be short and nearly wordless. They walked side by side, their thoughts still anchored in the conversation they'd just shared. The echoes of their father-son exchange seemed to map each step.

Brumaria's streets looked much the same—or perhaps somewhat worse. The smell of smoke and spoiled dough still mingled with the dust stirred by the wind. Thin children, their faces streaked with grime and their eyes sunken, held out hands with fading hope. What hurt most was what came next.

Girls no older than fifteen sat at corners in skirts that were too short and makeup that was poorly applied, their gazes empty. They sold their bodies for a few coins... coins that often barely bought enough food for their younger siblings.

Arthur's face twisted in anger.

"This village has fallen into such misery…" he muttered between clenched teeth. "Damn Baron Hoffmann."

At the name, his expression soured with disgust and outrage. Elian noticed. He saw his father's jaw tighten, his fists clench. The anger was old, familiar, nurtured.

"He raised the taxes again," Arthur continued, his disdain no longer hidden. "He's crushing us like vermin. People starve… while he fills his banquet hall."

Elian stayed silent—not because he disagreed, but because he didn't know. He had no idea who Hoffmann was, nor who the king was. He didn't know how the power system in this world worked, nor the village's political dynamics. All he knew were fragments: the price of a sack of wheat, the constant hunger in the nearby homes, and now, the injustice etched in his father's eyes.

Still, something stirred within him. A silent outrage. Familiar.

Because no matter which world he was in, poverty, exploitation, and inequality… were always present. He knew that taste all too well.

Elian looked at the uneven stone ground, at the makeshift stalls, at the tired stares that met his own.

If he ever had enough power, he knew what he would do.

But for now… he had no choice but to keep walking.

★★★

They walked in silence for a few more minutes until, at last, they spotted Elise's house.

But they were not alone.

Parked imposingly under the cold morning light stood a varnished wooden carriage pulled by two black horses. Gilded crests adorned its doors—the insignia of the Hoffmann family. Near it, a sturdy man of average height but proud posture dominated the scene with his presence.

His blond hair was meticulously groomed, his sharp brown eyes framed by luxurious attire: a red tunic over a dark-blue linen shirt, adorned with golden and diamond jewelry that shimmered with each gesture. He was the kind of man demanding attention—and fear.

By his side stood a knight, motionless in dark mail armor with a sword sheathed at his waist and a cold, calculated gaze.

Elise appeared at her door, descending the porch steps deliberately. Bored restraint colored her expression, as if she'd already heard enough.

Arthur slowed the cart to a halt a few meters away—out of respect for nobility, or instinct.

"So you're not going to take my son as your apprentice, Elise?" the noble asked, offended, without glancing back.

"No, Baron Hoffmann," Elise replied coldly. "I have already chosen my apprentice. No matter what you offer—my decision stands."

Her words cut the air like blades. The knight at the baron's side frowned and laid his hand on his sword hilt.

"I did not give you permission to do anything, Lucius," the baron said calmly, though venom curled beneath his words. "Lower your hand."

The mention of "Lucius" hit Elian like an arrow.

A shiver raced down his spine. The air around him stiffened.

"Lucius…"

That name.

Like a fuse lit, something inside him twisted. Not just anger—but hatred. An ancient, deep-seated resentment marking his soul.

His mana reacted before he could think. The energy around him condensed into cold, vibrating waves, slicing through the wind and weighing down the air. His eyes started to glow—not with light, but with void.

Arthur felt it first. A chill climbed his neck from beside his son. He turned, alarmed.

The knight, trained for threats, didn't hesitate—unsheathing his sword and stepping forward.

Straight toward Elian.

"No!" Arthur shouted, leaping from the cart to stand between his son and the blade.

But it wasn't necessary.

"Do not dare touch my apprentice!" Elise roared.

With a swift gesture and eyes ablaze, thorny vines sprang from the ground, coiling around the knight's legs and pinning him before he could raise his sword.

"Elian!" Elise yelled, turning to him. "Control your mana. Now!"

But he wasn't listening—or he wasn't present.

"Arthur, do something!"

The father didn't hesitate. He ran to his son and embraced him tightly, ignoring the pulse of mana tingling through him.

"Elian!" he called firmly. "It's me. Look at me, son. You're safe. I'm here."

Elian blinked.

The glow in his eyes faded. The trembling air stilled.

The mana settled—like the sea withdrawing after a storm.

Elise released a heavy sigh and withdrew her fingers. The vines vanished as if blown away.

The knight remained frozen, pale and out of breath. The baron, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow… and smiled coldly.

"I see you've chosen a… peculiar pupil," he murmured, turning back toward the carriage. "Good luck with him, Elise."

Without another word, he climbed in. The door shut. The carriage rolled away, carrying the baron and his guard—but leaving behind a warning unsaid.

When the sound of wheels vanished down the road, Elise turned slowly to Elian.

"Come inside," she said calmly. "We have much to discuss."

★★★

"Sit down, Arthur. Elian," Elise said firmly, heading into the kitchen to prepare tea.

Elian didn't answer. He walked quietly to a chair and sat. His clenched fists trembled on his knees. His pale face revealed a contained turmoil.

His breathing was outwardly calm…

But inside, there was chaos.

"Lucius. That damn man is still alive…"

The mere mention of that name had sparked it all. The pain, the rage, the blood—they all awakened. With them, the mana inside him roared. It roared like a beast awoken too soon.

"I put my father in danger… with my own hands."

Elise returned with a wooden tray and three steaming ceramic cups. She placed them carefully but her gaze never left Elian—eyes that saw not only but understood.

She settled into a chair opposite them and spoke directly:

"Elian," she began, her voice calm yet firm, "what just happened out there? Why did you lose control?"

Elian held her stare for a moment. His heart pounded like a drum. Then he looked away… and lied.

"I thought he would attack you. When I saw the knight draw his sword, I reacted on instinct. I'm sorry, Master." He stood and bowed deeply, in the manner he'd learned in another life. It came naturally to someone who bore decades of another existence on his shoulders.

"Master, huh?" Elise repeated with a slight smile. She tried to ease the tension, but her eyes remained sharp.

Elian turned to Arthur and made the same sincere, low bow.

Arthur nodded slowly. He said nothing—that was enough.

Elise crossed her legs and clapped softly to draw their attention.

"Your actions were reckless, Elian. Dangerous," she said honestly. "I didn't intend for the Baron to know I chose an apprentice. But now—he does."

Elian pressed his fingers into the fabric of his tunic. Guilt sank into him like poison.

"Did I… ruin everything, Master?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Did I bring trouble upon you? Will the Baron seek revenge?"

Elise sighed and paused, choosing her words.

"Against me? No." She then looked at Arthur, her brow furrowing slightly. "But he may strike where he knows I'm vulnerable… your family."

Elian flinched, as if a cold blade had pierced his stomach. Blood heated in his veins. His eyes dropped to the floor.

"It's always them… always my family."

But before any words of despair escaped, Elise placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was firm, almost like a seal.

"I anticipated this." she said. "From the moment I agreed to train you, I asked my order to assign a protective mage. He's watching your home. From afar, yes, but attentive. No one gets close without him knowing."

She leaned in closer, her gaze locked on his.

"I know you blame yourself easily. But listen: this wasn't an irreversible mistake." She smiled softly. "And besides… even though I'm not noble, the mages of my order have enough influence to make nobles think twice before acting."

Arthur, who had remained silent until now, spoke up.

"We knew this could happen. Elise told me everything." He placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "Elian, you just need to focus on why you're here: to study. To learn. To grow. The rest… we face together. As we always have."

Elian lifted his gaze, eyes moist.

"Yes, Father. I… promise to give it my all."

"It will go well." Elise affirmed, steady as an ancient root.

Arthur stood, smoothing his cloak.

"I imagine you two have plenty to discuss, Elise?"

She nodded, sipping her tea.

He crouched before Elian, speaking in a lower tone, eye to eye.

"Don't let what happened today throw you off course," he said. "Promise me that."

Elian nodded firmly.

"I promise. And… thank you for trusting me."

Arthur hugged him briefly, squeezing tightly. Then he rose and headed for the door.

"See you Friday, Elian," he said before stepping outside.

"See you, Father."

And so, as the door closed slowly, Elian found himself alone—for the first time, truly alone—with his new master and the first day of a future he knew had no turning back.