The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

Five years passed like leaves carried by the wind.

Elian had grown — at least in body. His mind, however, had been born old.

He still remembered the bittersweet taste of breast milk, the shame of diapers, the watery soup split between four cracked wooden bowls.

He remembered the first time he saw Maria light a candle with a mere gesture. Elise's firm yet gentle voice saying: "This boy… he might have potential."

Now, at five years old, he found himself lying in silence on a straw mat, staring at the wooden ceiling of the house. And even after everything, one question still burned within him:

— Why me… and not her? — he murmured, recalling Luciana.

★★★

Even after living "happy" years with his new family, Elian still couldn't fully accept the life he had been given.

It was cruel to carry the memories of a past existence — one soaked in blood, rage, and destruction — and now be here, receiving love. A second chance. As if fate sought to redeem him for something he himself couldn't forgive.

Though his family lived in what anyone would call utter misery, Maria and Arthur did the impossible to keep their children fed and warm. The clay and wooden house creaked in winter, and the cold slipped through the cracks like invisible needles.

They bought "coats" second- or third-hand — worn, torn, poorly patched fabrics. And when they couldn't afford even that, Maria would sew. She always sewed.

As the youngest, Elian spent most of his time with his mother. He would sit quietly in a corner of the small room, watching with silent, attentive eyes as she fought against time and cold, stitching together clothes that had already lived more than one life.

Over the years, he began to understand just how deep their poverty ran. But what broke his heart most was learning that, to ensure his birth, Maria and Arthur had spent nearly all the family's savings.

— Why? — he asked himself in silence, eyes brimming. — Why would they sacrifice everything for someone like me?

The question ate away at him. And more than guilt, something darker tightened his chest:

— Did I kill the real Elian? — By reincarnating… did I steal the life of someone who had the right to exist here?

The doubt was suffocating.

If it were true, then he wasn't just a monster — he was a thief of destinies. A murderer even in rebirth.

— If they knew… if they discovered who I really was… they'd hate me — he thought, curled under his straw blanket. — They'd cast me out. And they'd be right to.

These thoughts came in waves, unpredictable and devastating. Sometimes, at night, he cried in silence, not making a sound. The tears slipped down as if they didn't belong to a child's body, but to an old, worn… broken soul.

Emmanuelle, his closest sibling, noticed. She always noticed.

— Little Brother… what's wrong? Are you sad again?

Elian would always reply with a weak smile and a small nod.

— It's nothing…

But it was. It was everything.

And even though he tried not to worry his parents and siblings, his melancholy left marks. There was something in Elian's eyes that made him different. Something deeper. Something everyone seemed to feel, even if they couldn't understand it.

He wanted to be strong. He wanted to deserve the life he had been given. But for now, all he could do was… keep breathing. And try not to drown in the dark sea his soul carried.

Not everything was sadness at home.

As the years passed, Elian began learning magic from his mother, Maria. His father, Arthur, hadn't been born with the "gift" of sensing mana — he couldn't use spells or manipulate the elements — but he never complained about it. He worked hard every day, supporting the family with the strength of his hands and back.

Over time, Elian came to see his mother more clearly, and the impression he had at birth only grew stronger.

— Just as I thought... Mom is beautiful. Arthur was lucky to marry her.

Such thoughts came to him now and then. There was no malice in them, only sincere admiration and affection. With her straight, well-kept red hair — even in scarcity — her deep navy blue eyes that sparkled even in the darkest nights, and a resilient body shaped by daily effort, Maria was, in Elian's eyes, as beautiful as she was strong. A woman he respected — not just as a mother, but as a human being.

— Elian, Anthony, Emmanuelle… pay attention.

With a simple motion of her hands, Maria summoned a gust of wind that pushed a wooden chair gently across the floor. It was a modest gesture, but to three-year-old Elian, it was like witnessing a miracle.

His eyes lit up.

It was real. Magic was real.

Even though his soul still suffocated with guilt, hope rekindled each time he witnessed the impossible made possible.

— I'm no teacher, — Maria said, looking at her three children — but I can teach the basics. Simple things that help in daily life. Lighting the fireplace, moving objects, cleaning the house. That's enough to start.

Anthony, now nine, was there that day. But he rarely attended. He spent nearly all his time alongside Arthur in the fields, helping however he could. His interest in magic was… nonexistent.

— Mom, I don't want to learn this, — he said, honestly. — I'd rather help Dad in the fields.

As he spoke, he looked at Elian and Emmanuelle as if apologizing for stepping away from that part of their lives.

Maria looked at him with a touch of sadness in her eyes.

— Are you sure, my son?

She wouldn't force him. She knew having a magical gift didn't guarantee talent, and talent wasn't everything. Anthony had realized that early on — and chosen a different path.

— Yes, Mom. Let Elian and Emmanuelle handle that.

— Alright. If that's what you want… go ahead and help your father. — She smiled softly. — I'm glad you're honest with me. I love you, son.

— I love you too, — Anthony replied before walking away.

Maria then turned to her two younger children.

— Let's train outside. Even basic spells might break something in here.

Outside, the sun had begun to set. The sky was painted in shades of gold and orange. In the distance, Elian saw Anthony with a small hoe on his back, joining Arthur, who was crouched down with dirt-stained hands, tending to the crops.

A stab of guilt pierced Elian's chest.

— I should be helping them… not being a parasite like I am now — he muttered.

But not quietly enough.

Maria, always attentive, heard him.

— Don't say that, Elian. — The sadness in her face was plain. — You're only three. It's too soon for that.

She looked from the field to her son, as if trying to shield him from the world.

— Anthony only just started, at nine. No one expects you to do the same.

— That's right, Eli! — added Emmanuelle, squeezing his hand with a grin. — Maybe you'll become an Archmage, a Crown Bearer, or even… an Avatar of Samael!

Elian blinked. He remembered those words — spoken by Elise when he was just a newborn. For some reason, he had forgotten… until now.

Maybe I should ask Elise about that…

— Let's begin, — said Maria, kneeling on the packed dirt. Her hands rested gently in her lap.

The wind was almost still, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

— Close your eyes, — she said.

Emmanuelle obeyed immediately. Elian took a little longer.

— Magic doesn't come from words. Nor from gestures, — Maria said, her voice calm. — It comes from what you imagine. And how much you believe in that imagination.

She paused.

— Every spell is born from a simple image. And any image can become something grand if imagined with your whole heart.

Elian listened, absorbing every word.

— Before any spell, you must feel. Not the wind of the world… but the wind inside.

She touched her chest.

— Everything begins here. And everything starts small.

Silence blanketed the field. The cicadas stilled. Time stood still.

And in that moment, Elian felt it.

Right in the center of his chest. A gentle pressure. A different warmth. It didn't burn. It didn't hurt. But it pulsed… as if something wished to awaken.

Elian opened his eyes, breathless.

— You felt it, — Maria said, unsurprised. — Now… imagine.

He closed his eyes again, more focused.

Maria straightened slightly and continued:

— Visualize the wind spinning. It's around you. You summon it with who you are, with what you feel. See it dance in circles… as if you are the center of a small world.

Elian instinctively raised his hand. He imagined the air moving from him — as if an invisible thread flowed from his fingers.

— Now, — said Maria — say: Flatus Venti.

— Flatus Venti! — they both said in unison.

And then… it happened.

A breeze spun around their hands. It wasn't the wind of nature. It was something… summoned. The dust rose in small but perfect whirlwinds.

— I did it! I made wind, Mom! I really felt it! — Emmanuelle shouted with infectious joy.

Maria smiled. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Elian said nothing. He simply extended his hand and felt the wind between his fingers. A gentle warmth flowed from his chest to his arm, guided by faith and memory.

It was real.

This wasn't the past.

This was the beginning.

★★★

Over the past two years, Elian and Emmanuelle trained magic every single day with Maria. The practice became a small family ritual — it didn't matter if it rained, if the wind howled, or if the cold bit at their skin. Between the poor fields and their clay house, something magical happened, not just in the literal sense… but deep within Elian's heart.

Now, at five years old, his red hair — inherited from his mother — reached down to his shoulders. His golden eyes stared intently at his father, who approached holding something in his hands.

— Elian… — Arthur said, with a small smile on his calloused face — this is your birthday present.

It was a book.

Elian recognized it immediately. He had seen it a few times in Elise's hands during her visits. It was a magic book. A real grimory.

For a moment, he was speechless. Then, he lowered his head.

— Father… I don't deserve this.

The words weren't spoken out of politeness or childish insecurity. They were genuine. Heavy with guilt. He felt it was too much luxury for someone like him.

— You should've spent that money on Mom… on Emmanuelle… or on Anthony, who helps you in the fields every day — he said, glancing at his older brother, who avoided his gaze in silence.

Arthur let out a soft sigh, as if he had already expected Elian to say that. Then he answered, firmly:

— You do deserve it. Emmanuelle also got a present on her birthday — a new doll. Anthony got a small wooden sword to train with. And this book… is yours.

Elian held the book as if it were made of glass.

— But Father… this is too expensive. It's much more than what they received. I know how hard things have been… especially after what happened during my birth. I…

Before he could finish, Arthur looked at him directly. Then he looked at Maria, who shook her head gently, clearly telling him she hadn't said anything.

— Elian, — his father said in a low voice, heavy with memory. — If I hadn't taken on debt back then, your mother would have died. I'd do it all over again.

There was a heavy silence for a few seconds. Arthur's voice faltered — barely noticeable.

— It wasn't your fault. It never will be. Don't carry that.

He then forced a small smile and added:

— And, to be honest… it was Anthony and Emmanuelle who convinced me to buy this book.

Elian blinked several times, unsure what to say. He turned, surprised, toward his siblings. Anthony finally looked him in the eye, giving a tired half-smile.

— Elian… I know I've got no talent for magic. Maybe I'm only good for working the land. — He raised his hand, stopping any protest. — But you and Emmanuelle… you're different. And if one of us is going to change this family's fate, why not you?

That last sentence was spoken simply — but carried a deep, quiet faith.

Arthur and Maria felt their chests tighten — a blend of shame for the poverty they lived in, and pride for the incredible children they had raised.

Emmanuelle, now eight, maybe didn't fully understand the weight of those words… but her smile sparkled.

— Maybe you'll make me a noble lady of the court one day! — she said, laughing with the ease of a child who still dreamed fearlessly.

Maria finally stepped forward, her voice gentle.

— See, son? No one here is sad that you received this gift. In fact… we all believe in you.

She pulled him close, stroking his red hair with affection.

— Elise told me long ago that you might have talent. And in these two years… you've proved her right. — Maria smiled tenderly. — You're already better than I ever was.

Elian clutched the book to his chest. He still didn't feel worthy of any of it. But he was loved. He was seen. He was believed in.

And maybe… that was enough.

He took a deep breath and spoke with a trembling voice:

— Alright… Mom, Dad… Anthony… Emmanuelle… Thank you. Really.

They all embraced him at once — a warm knot of love in the cold of poverty. And as tears welled up in Elian's golden eyes, he made a silent promise:

"I will become someone worthy of this. I will become strong. For you. For our family."

And that night, under a clear and silent sky, not just a mage was born.

A purpose was born.