REINCARNATED WITH THE BOOK OF SUPREME LAWS

THE QUIET AFTER THE STORM

Morning light slipped through the small window, landing on Elior’s face like warm gold. It should have been a normal morning. Birds chattered. Someone in the village pounded grain. Smoke drifted from early cooking fires.

Nothing unusual.

But Elior lay still, staring at the ceiling, feeling like someone had peeled open the world and shown him the bones inside.

He blinked slowly.

Yesterday had not been a dream.

He knew.

He did not have the luxury of pretending.

He had seen beginnings. Real beginnings. A darkness so deep it felt endless. A spark so bright it felt alive. A book made of light opening like it had been waiting millennia just for him.

His heart beat softly.

In his mind, a voice continued to echo in cold clarity:

> Contrasting bloodline detected

Attempt merging…

Merge failed

Beginning purification

Bloodline altering…

New lineage granted

Law Genesis Bloodline awakened

Even now, he could feel something faint flowing through his veins, not like qi, not like the world’s energy, but… ancient. Primordial. Heavy like truth.

His fingers curled in his blanket.

No one must know yet.

Not until he understood it himself.

He slowly sat up. A dull warmth curled in his chest, like a coal glowing under ashes. His bones felt… awake. Like his body had remembered something it was never told.

Voices murmured outside.

He stood, feet silent on the floor, and walked into the main room. His mother was there, stirring porridge over the clay stove.

“Morning,” he whispered.

Rina turned. Her eyes softened, relief and worry mixed in them. She came forward and touched his forehead, fingers cool.

“No fever,” she murmured. “Good.”

“I just slept,” Elior said lightly.

It was true. He slept.

But the universe did not leave him even in dreams. Stars flickered behind his eyelids when he blinked. Runes burned faintly in his memory. Law. Order. Birth. Patterns.

He quietly took a breath.

Act normal.

Mother nudged a bowl toward him. “Eat. Then help your father gather wood.”

He nodded, lifting the bowl. The porridge smelled simple but comforting. Real. Grounding. The first mouthful burned his tongue.

He hissed.

Rina chuckled. “Slow down. Food will not run.”

He rubbed his tongue in embarrassment. “I know.”

She stared at him a moment longer. Something worried lingered in her gaze. “You were shaking in your sleep,” she said suddenly.

Elior froze mid-spoon. “Oh.”

Not good.

“Nightmare?” she asked.

Should he say yes? Too suspicious. Should he say no? Also suspicious.

He settled for a shrug. “I… do not remember.”

Her hand brushed his hair. “You do not have to be strong every second, Elior. Childhood is not a battlefield.”

He almost laughed. If only she knew.

Childhood was a battlefield. Just one with softer weapons.

He nodded weakly and returned to his bowl.

Outside, his father’s voice rose. “Rina! Where is my good rope? The stubborn cow knows I do not need her stubbornness today!”

Elior hid a smile. Earth remained earth.

He finished eating, wiped his mouth, and stepped outside. His father stood near the shed, rope tangled around his arm like a serpent punishing him for disrespect.

Aran saw him. “You are early. Come, help your old man. This rope is committing rebellion.”

Elior took the rope and untangled it with steady fingers. Aran blinked.

“Your hands moved fast today,” he noted.

Elior froze.

Too sharp. Too focused. Slow down.

He made the knot messy on purpose next time. Aran sighed in relief. “Yes, that looks more like you.”

Elior almost snorted. Acting weak was more tiring than anything the universe had shown him.

They walked beyond the field to gather firewood. The trees whispered quietly. For the first time, Elior felt something in the world… like threads moving between things. Roots speaking to soil. Dew clinging to leaves by a rule older than life.

Law.

He could not touch it fully. Not yet. But he sensed it, like a scent carried on wind.

He knelt near a fallen branch, fingers grazing bark. In that moment, he saw a seed sprout, a tree rise, leaves fall, earth reclaim. The cycle was faint, only a breath’s glimpse, but real.

He flinched, heart quickening.

Not now.

Slow. Learn. Hide.

Aran collected logs. “You are quiet,” he finally said.

“Just thinking.”

“A dangerous habit,” his father teased, ruffling his hair.

Elior gave a small, innocent smile. “Then you must be very dangerous.”

Aran blinked, then burst into laughter. “This boy, eh!”

Warmth spread in Elior’s chest. Despite everything, this moment was safe. He wanted it to last.

But safety was an illusion in worlds like this. He knew that from a past life, and more now after touching creation itself.

Once wood was gathered, they returned to the village. Children were running around excitedly near the square. Lana spotted him immediately.

“There you are! I thought you melted in your blanket!”

“No,” Elior replied calmly. “Blankets do not melt children.”

She blinked. “…You talk weird.”

A voice scoffed. Taron approached, arms crossed. “He fainted yesterday. Weak people always talk strange to hide it.”

Elior tilted his head. “I did not faint. I simply rested… on the ground.”

Lana burst into laughter. Taron frowned. Elior felt satisfied. Victory can be small and still sweet.

“Anyway,” Lana said, bouncing, “the chief said we will practice sensing again later this week. I felt two laws yesterday! Two!”

Taron puffed his chest. “I sensed three.”

Lana gasped. “Three? Dangerous. Your head might explode before you grow taller.”

Taron deflated like a punctured gourd. Elior bit his lip to hold a laugh.

He looked toward the chief’s house unconsciously. The memory of floating, gravity bending, the awe in children’s eyes… and then his vision…

His stomach tightened.

He was different. Not chosen. Just… placed on a path he did not ask for. A path only he could see.

And with that path came eyes. Someone or something would eventually notice.

Already, faint pricks crawled at the back of his neck sometimes. Like a distant presence sniffing the air for change.

A wolf howled from the forest. Far, but not far enough. Some hunters looked uneasy lately. Something watched the village from the trees. And his awakening would not stay silent forever.

He bent to pick a pebble, grounding himself. The world was big. He was small. But smallest seeds birthed forests.

Later that evening, the sun dipped orange behind hills. Dinner was warm. Soup and bread. Simple, comforting, safe.

Rina sat beside him, brushing his hair. Aran sharpened tools, occasionally humming a tune Elior did not recognize.

Home.

Afterward, Elior lay on his mat. Shadows stretched softly across the ceiling. He looked like a child preparing to sleep.

Inside, the Book of Laws glowed faintly.

A page turned in his mind.

Law of Beginning

0.1%

A shiver ran through him. Vastness pressed against him like a sky too heavy for shoulders too small.

Not yet, he thought. I am not ready.

The book dimmed slightly, as if agreeing… or simply waiting.

Outside, an owl hooted. Wind rustled leaves. Beneath it all, he felt the faint pull of laws around him, calling softly, like distant songs.

Elior closed his eyes.

He would grow slowly. He would hide in plain sight. He would learn, breathe, observe, endure.

He was a child. He was a seed. A beginning wrapped inside another beginning.

And somewhere beyond the forest, something stirred, sensing the faint birth of a power older than stars.