Time passed.
How much, I could not tell. Minutes. Hours. Maybe more. It all bled together like watercolor seeping across a canvas, impossible to separate one moment from the next.
The golden light that once filtered through the tall windows began to fade, swallowed gradually by the soft advance of evening. Shadows spilled across the floor, stretching long across polished marble, curling into corners like living things. Dusk had arrived, but the warmth lingered. It wrapped the room in a quiet stillness, like even the air was unwilling to let go of the day.
I was cradled in her arms.
The woman who had called me her snowball, her dumpling. My mother. Her heartbeat drummed gently beside my head, steady and slow. She swayed lightly as she stood, humming a nameless tune under her breath. Her fingers brushed across my back with delicate care.
Then a voice came from the door.
"My lady…"
A woman entered. She wore a tailored uniform of dark grey and stood with practiced grace. Her eyes were lowered as she offered a slight bow.
"They have arrived."
My mother paused. Her eyes sparkled with something close to joy, and a soft breath escaped her lips.
"I see."
She looked down at me with a brightness that did not dim.
"My little dumpling, it is time. Your father has arrived. Let us go meet him."
She stepped out of the nursery with a slow elegance, wrapping a velvet shawl over her shoulders. I remained nestled in her arms, my small form carefully tucked into the fold of her gown.
The halls of the mansion stretched wide and high, lit by crystal chandeliers that dangled like constellations. Portraits lined the walls, each face carved with nobility and distance. Men and women stared down from gilded frames with expressions of cold legacy. Crimson eyes. Black hair. A lineage of power echoed in oil and canvas.
Then the doors opened.
And the world changed.
Outside, the estate unfolded like a palace carved from myth. The garden was vast and meticulously shaped, its hedges trimmed into swirling patterns and its paths paved with glistening white stone. Rare trees with silver leaves fluttered in the wind, and blooming flowers of deep violet and indigo swayed gently in the breeze.
The sky above was clear and open. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting everything in tones of fire and lilac. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly, its melody blending with the rustle of wind in the grass.
Knights moved through the courtyard. Their armor gleamed in the fading light, and their movements held discipline and readiness. Some trained with wooden spears, their forms sharp and controlled. Others patrolled in silence, watchful and calm. A few rested by the outer archway, their swords resting against the stone.
It was a world untouched by fear.
My mother stepped onto the marble steps that overlooked the main road leading to the estate. She paused for a moment, holding me tighter.
"Are you excited, little one?" she whispered.
"You will be named today."
I blinked slowly.
That again.
She said it like it was a festival.
Her eyes were shining with enthusiasm, far too much for something so trivial.
What was the big deal? It was just a name.
A name.
And yet… as the thought echoed, something in my chest stirred. The name given to me in my last life had meant nothing. It was a title. A tool identifier. A label given to a servant by his master.
This one, however, would be different.
Then it happened.
A deep horn sounded across the estate. A low, vibrating tone that echoed across the garden and into the bones.
From the distant road, a large carriage approached.
It was massive. Hewn from dark wood polished to a mirror-like sheen. Its frame was lined with accents of blackened gold, and its wheels bore silver spokes etched with runes I could not yet read. At the center of the door, carved into the wood and painted in deep onyx, was a sigil.
A black dragon wrapped around a sword.
The insignia radiated nobility. Power. Legacy.
Behind it followed a procession of smaller carriages. Soldiers on horseback flanked the sides, their armor painted in muted black and dull steel. Weapons hung from their hips and backs, and the banners they carried fluttered with the same sigil.
The main carriage came to a halt at the foot of the courtyard.
The air shifted.
The horses stomped and snorted as if sensing the change. The knights bowed their heads as one.
The door opened.
And from within stepped a man.
He did not walk. He strode. Each step carried the weight of command. He was tall—no, towering. A figure carved from war itself. His frame was broad, covered in thick, dark armor trimmed with scarlet. His chestplate bore the dragon sigil, and a great black sword was strapped to his back, the hilt wrapped in crimson leather.
His face came into view.
The same abyssal black hair. The same crimson eyes.
His jaw was sharp, his brow marked by years of discipline. A scar traced faintly along his left cheek, fading into a short beard that only added to his hardened appearance.
But it was not his body that made the world hold its breath.
It was his presence.
It rolled off him in waves. Heavy. Immense. The kind of weight that bent lesser men to their knees without a word. He was not merely a man. He was a symbol. Strength in its purest, most absolute form.
My mother stepped forward.
She smiled.
Then, without hesitation, she leaned up and kissed him.
The kiss lasted only a moment, but it was not shallow. It held history. Love. Familiarity. When they parted, her smile widened.
"Welcome back, honey."
He returned the smile with a low laugh, the sound rich like thunder resting in his chest.
"It is good to be home."
She turned, still holding me, and placed me carefully into his arms.
His hands were massive. Rough. Hardened by war, yet steady as stone. He cradled me as if I were forged from glass, but there was no awkwardness in his grip.
He looked at me.
Then he laughed, louder this time.
"Ha! Look at you. My son. My heir."
His eyes glowed with pride as he lifted me slightly.
"I have waited too long to meet you. But I am here now. Daddy will take care of you."
I blinked.
Too much affection. Again.
This family… this world… was far too smothering.
It felt almost unnatural.
Still, there was something oddly comforting in his grip. A warmth I had never known in my past life. Perhaps it was genuine.
My mother stepped closer.
"You should name him," she said softly. "I wanted it to come from you."
He looked thoughtful for a long moment. His gaze drifted back to me, searching my face as if weighing the future.
Then he spoke.
"Caelum."
His voice was sure. Unshaking.
"He will be Caelum Morningstar."
The name echoed across the courtyard like a bell.
Knights straightened.
Maidservants bowed their heads.
My mother smiled.
And in the arms of a warrior carved from shadow and steel, I met my fate again.
But this time… not as a ghost.
Not as a tool.
Suddenly, something stirred in my heart.
I felt… recognised.