REINCARNATED WITH THE BOOK OF SUPREME LAWS

FIRST FLAME, FIRST WEAKNESS

Warmth left slowly, like sand slipping from my fingers.

I drifted in and out fever burning through my tiny body as if the universe was testing a newborn soul. Sweat clung to my skin, breaths short and shallow. Every time I blinked, the ceiling blurred and swayed.

Being weak… I thought I understood it in my past life.

I didn’t.

This—this was helplessness so pure it strangled pride.

I tried moving my arm. It twitched. Trembled. Fell.

Pathetic. But that’s what I was right now.

A small sound escaped me not from choice, but because my throat hurt too much to hold it in. The fire in my veins pulsed again, hot then cold, like something ancient was stirring.

Footsteps rushed in. Soft hands lifted me.

“I’ve got you, little one,” Rina whispered, voice shaking. “It’s just a fever. Stay with us.”

Her hand pressed a damp cloth on my forehead. Aran stood near the door, shoulders stiff, eyes darting out into the dark night.

“Wolves again,” he muttered, gripping a worn spear. “Their howls are getting closer lately.”

Forest danger. Perfect timing for my fever. Great job, universe.

Rina rocked me gently, humming. The tune wavered as if she was scared. For a stranger they found in the forest.

Warmth surged through my chest again, sharp and bright. Like lightning without heat. More like… light. Pure, blinding, ancient.

My blood.

Not awakened — only breathing, waiting.

My real bloodline, the one not meant for this world, pulsed once:

Wake.

My bones ached. Vision blurred white for a heartbeat. A whisper echoed beyond sound something vast and hidden. Then gone.

Too fast.

Too faint.

I clawed at consciousness like a drowning man gripping a floating branch. Tears — real ones, unplanned — streamed down my cheeks. The humiliation of it bit deep.

“See?” Rina murmured, wiping them. “He’s strong. He wants to live.”

No.

I refuse to die again. That’s different.

I had watched life pass me by once — unnoticed, unremarkable. This time… I didn’t know what fate had planned, but I had decided already:

I will not fade.

Aran paced, glancing at me, then the door, then back at me. “If he’s still this hot by dawn, I’ll run to town for a healer.”

Run. Hours away. Risking wolves. For a baby they didn’t owe anything.

My throat tightened.

He stopped pacing. Looked down.

“Elior… stay. Fight.”

Fight.

The word echoed like steel inside my tiny chest.

Night stretched on, thick and suffocating. My breathing stuttered. Muscles spasmed. Sweat chilled then burned again. Every feeling was magnified — fear, pain, vulnerability.

And then…

Darkness. But not empty.

I floated — weightless, suspended in a void scattered with sparks like distant stars. Lines of light wove through the darkness, connecting, pulsing, forming runes I did not recognize yet somehow knew were laws.

The hum returned. Ancient. Patient. Unrushed, like it had waited centuries for me to open my eyes.

Something immense hovered beyond sight — not a being, but a truth.

A warm glow brushed my consciousness.

Not speech, not thought.

Recognition.

Then—gone.

I gasped back into the world.

Firelight. Shadows dancing. Rina slumped asleep in the chair, clutching me even in dreams. Aran at the door, head nodding, spear across his knees, fighting sleep to guard us.

Protecting me.

Not because I was special.

Not because fate chose me.

Because they chose to care.

And that is heavier than destiny.

The fever eased. Breath steadied. The pain dulled, replaced by a soft ache — and something new.

Resolve.

Sharper than any blade.

This body is weak now. Fragile.

But weakness is not permanent.

I wiggled a finger. Then a hand. Little victory. But mine.

I will crawl. I will stand. I will run. I will rise.

Not because the world expects greatness.

But because I refuse to be powerless ever again.

Tiny chest heaving, I stared at the wooden ceiling — rough, cracked, real.

My second life begins here. With hunger, weakness, fear. And a quiet fire under my ribs, waiting to grow.

I will become someone worthy of this home.

Of the hands that held me.

Of the life I lost, and the one I was handed again.

Not a hero.

Not a chosen child.

Just a soul who won't bow to helplessness twice.

My eyes closed gently.

Small breaths.

Small body.

Big future.

And somewhere in his blood, ancient light slept, smiling.