As Cain approached the door of the room where his wife and son rested, a sudden shiver ran down his spine. The Mark thirsted for blood, but the bond between his soul and Ariel's shielded him from the darkness's corruption. For a moment, he hesitated-then shook off the feeling and pushed the door open gently.
Inside, Ariel cradled their newborn. She looked up, her face etched with concern. "Cain, what's wrong?" she whispered, mindful of the sleeping baby. "You could've woken him."
Cain exhaled, forcing calm into his voice. "Sorry. Just my imagination." He stepped closer. "Are you both alright?"
Ariel nodded, her tired smile softening. "We're fine. I've regained some strength, and our son is healthy." She rocked the infant gently.
"Good," Cain murmured, though unease still gnawed at him. "I'll fetch us some food. Stay here."
Ariel chuckled, her eyes warm. "Where would I go?"
Cain managed a faint smile before leaving-but the moment the door closed, his expression hardened.
Mael's Perspective
This isn't a dream.
As my newborn awareness sharpened, I studied Cain-my father. The legendary First Murderer, feared by angels and demons alike, now hovered over my crib like an overprotective guard. Whenever Mother tired, it was him who soothed me with surprising tenderness.
At one month old, I awoke to sunlight stabbing my eyes. No curtains in this world? Seriously? I blinked, realizing something odd: my vision was too clear for a newborn. Nephalem perks, I guess.
Before I could ponder further, she appeared.
Mother.
The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen-blonde hair like spun gold, eyes dark as obsidian, dressed in floral robes that shimmered with celestial energy. She lifted me with hands that radiated warmth, humming a lullaby. Then came the awkward part: breastfeeding. (Note to self: Reincarnation is weird.)
Routine & Revelations
The months blurred into a rhythm: Mother's stories of supernatural lore (confirming this was Supernatural, but cranked to eleven), Father's graphic battle tales (cut short by Mother's glare), and my rapid development-walking at six months, speaking at seven.
By my first birthday, I'd already cracked reading. My parents shrugged; for a Nephalem, it was normal.
But the real shocker? Mother's magic. A flick of her wrist sent objects levitating. Nephilim power? Witch blood? Grandmother's legacy, apparently.
Then came the tree.
On my first outing, Mother pointed to a towering white oak near the cabin. "This protects us," she explained, though I doubted a newborn could understand. "No angel or demon can sense us here.
I planted it after your birth-it drains celestial energy, so I waited to ensure you were safe."
Her love hit me like a tidal wave.
This was family. Something I'd never had in my past life. I'd die to protect them.
Training & Trials
Ten years later, I meditated in my obsidian-lined training room, runes pulsing around me.
Controlling my power had been hell-even Mother, a seasoned energy wielder, had gaped at the demonic-celestial storm inside me.
Education was brutal:
• Mother: Magic theory, history, ethics ("Power demands responsibility").
• Father: Swordsmanship, combat ("A strong mind needs a stronger body"-his version involved decimating forests. Mother's punishment: time-out corners).
Their training had a purpose. Mother's past-hunted for her Nephilim blood-made her relentless. Father? He wanted me to terrify Heaven and Hell as he did.
The Gift
On my tenth birthday, Mother teased me with a smirk. "Your father and I worked hard on your gift."
Father played coy until I nearly vibrated out of my skin. Then -space twisted. He drew two sheathed longswords (110 cm blades, razor-edged, hilts gleaming).
"Three years of gathering materials," he said proudly. "We even hopped dimensions."
The ingredient list was insane:
• Sword of Reshiram: Archangel steel, God's Hand, Mother's grace (her pure celestial love solidified).
• Sword of Zekrom: Leviathan's venom, Cain's Mark, Father's infernal devotion.
I gaped. "You melted the First Blade?!"
They beamed. "Happy birthday, son."
That night, as we ate Mother's perfect cake, I realized: every day in this life was a gift.