What's a man to a guard, what's a guard to a king, what's a king to a god, what's a god to the man of perseverance—a man made of steel, who sees no failure, taking every step toward transcendence? His actions turn disasters into miracles. His soul forever burning, forever scorching. He was the light, he was the hope, he was the pinnacle of humanity. He was Kael, Kael of the Pinnacle.
From his birth until his age of one hundred and thirty, he had won, he had lost, but none could harm him—not kings, not ancient ones, not demons, not even the immortals, the very gods themselves. In a world of holy nature, he lived and fought against all odds. He protected his loved ones and completely demolished those who stood against him.
The many scars on his chest, stomach, arms, and legs showed his mortality, but his clean back showed his immortal side. Time took its toll, so he stood up from his meditative state, walking on the icy cold earth where snow fell everywhere. Every pace was of peace, his old mind humbling his steps. There was only a tattered gown covering his lean but muscle-tight body. Every muscle and fiber, so vibrant, it would mirage steel itself. His pace halted, a new view shining in his sky-blue eyes. It was half of the world in totality, as he stood tall at the pinnacle in the literal sense—the highest mountain in the whole wide world of Teera, homeland of titans and giants themselves: Mount Gaiya, where no living being had ever reached, not even the proud giants.
"...it is time," he finally said, his rugged white hair weaving in the wind as it reached all the way to the back of his knees.
Indeed, he had lived longer, much longer than any human had ever lived, and he could feel it in his soul—his fire was fading, forcing his eyes to gradually close, the view of the known world growing dimmer and darker.
And that was it for Kael of the Pinnacle, leaving Mother Teera, which he had protected and kept in balance for years and years.
.
.
.
{Not yet, Child}
Kael heard a whisper, a strange feeling crowding his whole body. A while ago, he had felt as if he were in deep sleep, but now he felt awake, suddenly getting pulled from his dreams. He felt weak as he steadily opened his blue eyes.
'Giants?... How did they get here?' he questioned, as his body was suddenly held by a pale white woman, her white hair akin to pure snow itself. He had seen snow touched by no living being, shining in the sun like pure crystal, like that of the lady before him. But he could not sense any danger; her blue neon eyes were weeping in a surge of happiness, her hands holding him as if he would break effortlessly.
It was then when he finally saw in her eyes a reflection of his own: a child, a baby.
'Is that... is that fucking me?!' he cursed, finally realizing he was not held by giants but by humans instead.
After five days...
It was late afternoon when Kael—no, Arin now—found himself staring at the ceiling of his crib. The light streaming through the window hit him just right, making everything glow as if it had been dipped in honey. He squinted against the brightness, blinking slowly as if he were trying to remember something important. And maybe he was, because for all intents and purposes, this baby body wasn't supposed to hold memories of another life. But here they were, sharp and stubborn, refusing to fade.
He sighed—or at least, he tried to. What came out instead was more of a gurgle, which made him scrunch up his face in frustration. Being a baby sucked. Like, really sucked. Sure, there were perks—food showed up whenever he cried (which felt oddly manipulative), and nobody expected him to do much besides sleep and poop—but damn, did he miss having opposable thumbs. Or legs that could carry him where he wanted to go. Or hands that didn't flail around uselessly every time he tried to grab something.
But one thing he didn't miss? The weight of being responsible for the entire world. That part, yeah, he could live without.
Still, lying here day after day gave him plenty of time to think. About who he used to be. About who he was now. And most importantly, about what he might become again.
By the end of the first week, Arin had pieced together enough fragments of information to start forming a picture. His family wasn't rich in gold or land—they were rich in stories. Stories of battles fought under twin moons, of monsters slain and villages saved. Of heroes whose names people whispered with reverence even decades later.
And apparently, according to the servants gossiping outside his nursery door, the one, the progenitor, the one who started it all, the hero sage, was his grandfather.
"Yeah," said a maid named Clara, her voice low but excited, "he was the kind of man legends are made of. Brave, strong, selfless. Some say he died protecting us all."
Arin listened intently, clutching the edge of his blanket with chubby fingers. A lump formed in his throat—not because he was surprised, exactly, but because hearing it aloud somehow made it real. Made him real.
His grandfather hadn't just been a hero; he'd been HIM. The same soul, reborn into a new body, given a second chance to live, to fight, to protect.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Not painful, exactly, but heavy. Like carrying a backpack full of rocks. Only these weren't ordinary rocks—they were pieces of himself, scattered across lifetimes, waiting to be gathered again.
For days afterward, Arin couldn't stop thinking about it. Every little detail seemed significant now: the way his father's eyes softened when he talked about the past, the faded scars on his uncle's knuckles, the old books stacked neatly in the study. Each clue pointed back to the same truth—he wasn't just anyone. He was descended from greatness. From sacrifice. From love so fierce it transcended death itself, and this all started from him.
One thing he was wildly confused about was how his lineage had attained nobility. Before his reincarnation, he wasn't noble; he wasn't the Hero or a Sage. What had happened after his death? How had his bloodline continued?
'Wait....'
All of a sudden, he remembered that in his younger days, he was not the sage, and not the hero either. He was actually a mess, a marble in the making. It had been a whole century, making his memories still hazy.
In those times, he had indeed popped a lot—and I mean a lot—of maiden balloons. His pitiful hand suddenly started to press against his forehead as more and more memories linked together: from the village, from the towns, with noble ladies. He had even had intercourse with the demon queen at some point.
What could he do? He had had the curse of having too many hormones flowing within him. At some time, at some place, he had planted seeds he hadn't realized or had totally forgotten about.
He started glaring at his own small body once more, gradually realizing he was the result of that.
'....'
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of Arin's mother as she worked her healing magic. Her hands hovered over the baby him like they were cradling something fragile, something precious. And maybe he was, in this moment. But inside, Kael felt anything but fragile. He felt heavy, as if every memory from his past life had been dumped into his tiny newborn brain all at once, and now it sat there, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.
He tried to focus on the warmth radiating from her palms, the faint golden glow that shimmered around them like sunlight breaking through water. It was mesmerizing, really. Healing magic wasn't something he'd ever mastered back then. Hell, mana itself had always been his Achilles' heel. All those years of being "the pinnacle," yet here was this woman—his mother now, apparently—doing something so effortlessly that he could only dream of achieving.
Kael wanted to laugh at the irony, but laughing would've meant crying, and crying wasn't an option right now. Not when he was supposed to be a damn baby.
"Shh," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with one hand while keeping the other steady above him. "You're alright. Just calm down."
Calm down? Easy for her to say. She didn't have decades' worth of regrets swirling around in her head. She didn't remember drunken nights spent chasing fleeting pleasures, or mornings waking up next to strangers whose names he couldn't recall. She didn't know what it felt like to stand atop a mountain, ready to embrace death, only to wake up again as someone else entirely. Someone small. Helpless.
Arin squirmed under her touch—not because he needed to move, but because Kael couldn't sit still. His mind raced, replaying flashes of his old life: battles won, kingdoms saved, women loved (and left behind), mistakes made. So many fucking mistakes. Mistakes that haunted him even now, in this new body, in this new beginning.
His mother must have noticed his unease because she paused mid-spell, her brow furrowing slightly. "What's wrong with you?" she murmured, more to herself than to him. Then, almost hesitantly, she added, "Are you... scared?"
Scared? No. Well, maybe. Okay, fine—yes. But not of whatever trivial thing might scare a normal infant. Kael was scared of forgetting. Of losing himself again. Because that's what happened last time, wasn't it? He got too caught up in the chaos, too consumed by the endless cycle of fighting and surviving and screwing everything in sight, and somewhere along the way, he lost track of who he really was. Who he WANTED to be.
And now here he was, starting over. A clean slate. Except it didn't feel clean. It felt messy. Messier than before, if that was even possible.
"You're such a strange little thing," his mother said softly, shaking her head. There was no judgment in her voice, just curiosity, as if she were trying to figure him out, piece together the puzzle that was her son. If only she knew how complicated the picture really was.
Kael forced himself to stop squirming, to let her finish whatever she was doing. The warmth from her magic spread through him slowly, easing the tension in his chest. For a brief second, he allowed himself to hope. Hope that maybe this time would be different. That maybe, just maybe, he'd been reborn with more than just brute strength. Maybe this body came equipped with the one thing he'd always lacked: mana.
But deep down, he knew better. This wasn't some fairy tale where wishes came true overnight. If he wanted mana, he'd have to earn it. Work for it. Sweat and bleed and claw his way toward it until his fingers bled. Just like everything else.
Still, the thought lingered. What if? What if he could have both—the raw power of his past life AND the finesse of magic? Wouldn't that make him unstoppable? Or would it just make him cocky again? Reckless?
He sighed inwardly—or at least, he thought about sighing. Babies probably didn't sigh. Probably.
When his mother finally pulled her hands away, the golden glow faded, leaving the room dimmer than before. She looked tired, though she tried to hide it with a smile. "There," she said, patting his cheek gently. "All better."
Yeah, sure. All better. Whatever that meant.
For a moment, their eyes met. Hers were kind, patient, full of love for this child she barely knew. His—if anyone could see them—were older, wearier. They carried the weight of lifetimes, of choices made and chances missed. Of promises broken and dreams abandoned.
Then she blinked, and the spell broke. She turned away, humming softly under her breath as she tidied up the blankets around him. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Life went on, oblivious to the storm raging inside Kael's mind.
.
.
Later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Kael lay awake in his crib, staring at the ceiling. The house creaked and groaned around him, settling into silence. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting shadows across the walls—shadows that reminded him of battles fought long ago, of enemies defeated and allies lost.
He thought about reaching out, testing whether any trace of mana existed within him. But what was the point? Even if he found some spark buried deep inside, it wouldn't change anything tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Years from now, definitely. But not now.
Instead, he focused on the sound of his own breathing. In. Out. Slow. Steady. Each inhale filled his lungs with cool air; each exhale pushed out the lingering doubts and fears. One breath at a time, he told himself. That's how you survive. How you rebuild.
Somewhere in the hallway, a floorboard squeaked. Footsteps approached, hesitant at first, then firmer. The door creaked open, and there she was—his mother again, holding a candle. Its flickering light danced across her face, highlighting the worry lines etched into her skin.
"I thought I heard you stirring," she said quietly, stepping closer. "Can't sleep?"
Kael didn't answer. Couldn't answer. But somehow, she seemed to understand anyway. She knelt beside the crib, setting the candle down on the nearby table. Her fingers brushed against his forehead, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles.
"It's okay," she murmured, rocking him gently. "Whatever's bothering you, we'll figure it out together. You're not alone."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. Not because they were profound or poetic, but because they were simple. Honest. True.
In that moment, Kael realized something important: he didn't have to carry the weight of his past alone anymore. This family—these people who barely knew him—they weren't perfect. They stumbled, they doubted, they made mistakes. Just like him. And maybe that was enough. Maybe it had to be.
As sleep finally claimed him, Kael clung to one final thought: That time, his strength was his response, nothing else. This time, he wouldn't run. He'd face it head-on. No matter how messy, how painful, how human it got.
Because that's what made life worth living.