‘Will I be denied this time too?’ The thought resounded in his mind for the twenty-seventh time.
Twenty-six. That was the number of times he had been thrown back into this world, only to be promptly dispatched and returned to the empty void to wallow in his own regret at how powerless he was when it truly mattered.
Memories that the Entity otherwise known as Rhultal did not want to remember, yet could never forget flashed through his mind.
Broken and bleeding parents even before he had yet come of age.
His life growing up in the hands of those who would step on him and use him for their own purposes.
Watching those he love and cherished in agony and mercilessly slaughtered.
His hatred that sought out power.
His lack of control allowing the darkness to slowly overpower him.
His pain at what he had become when that was all over, and the people who allied with the monsters and brought him to his death.
Yet for some reason he did not vanish. His body may have lost all functions and his flesh had rotted with the passage of time, but his spirit yet retained everything he had ever done, and the knowledge of his past remained solely his without dispersing into the ether. Unable to move on, eventually his spirit would merge into a being for the cycle of life. Yet upon birth, for reasons unbeknownst to himself, he would most definitely be culled upon the sweet air of freedom.
One of excruciating pain, followed by certain death.
Over and over such events had already occurred twenty-six times, and this would be twenty-seventh. He had already come to terms that this was his own private suffering for everything he had done. An endless cycle of torment and agony.
Bracing himself for the inevitable fate that follows, the thing that was once known as Rhultal fell silent, relinquishing his will and anticipation at the prospect of finally being whole. His cries stilled, and he silently waited for the icy hands of death to drive him back into eternal darkness.
Yet unlike the usual, there was shouting and yelling. At one point it felt like the hands of death were upon him, and for what felt like eons, he waited with abated breath. But death did not follow. Instead, what he felt were two wavering hands full of warmth, grasping tightly onto him. The entity remained in silence, unwilling to make a sound. After an eternity, the hands holding him began shaking and he felt the atmosphere change. A soft cry could be heard. Suddenly the arms clung onto him as if clinging onto life itself, and a loud wailing noise erupted.
Surprised at the turn of event and the possibility of life, the entity opened his mouth and began crying with all the strength that his tiny body could bring forth.
As if in accordance to his cry, the wailing stopped and a sound of sobbing delight could be heard.
Confused yet elated, he sought to use this chance to once again walk upon Lovis.
Stuck in a body without the ability to do anything and yet to open his eyes, he patiently awaited the day when he would finally see the light. He would cry as a baby would when hungry, but other than that, the majority of his time was spent in silence.
As the days went by, his feeble body grew little by little. As his vision came to be, he was able to cast his eyes upon the world for the first time ever since that day.
From what he could gather, he lived in a small house with a mother and a father. The house had three rooms: a bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room. There was an outhouse in the backyard. The bedroom consisted of a small two-person bed with a chair and a small table. In the corner of the bedroom was a chest containing clothes. In the kitchen, there was a small fire pit for cooking and a shelf for dishes and pots hung by the wall. The living room was simplistic with a plain table and two chairs around it, decorated by a vase with some flowers inside.
Occasionally he would be brought outside. There were many small houses like the one he lived in. From what he can estimate, about fifteen to twenty houses were in the village with a hall for meetings and a slightly larger house which probably belonged to the leader of the village.
His mother would take him with her whenever she went on errands, and his father was never really around.
As the first cycle of seasons passed by, understanding and knowledge of his new surroundings had become clear to him. He had begun deciphering the language shortly after being able to see, and quickly learned by listening to his mother and the villagers.
He easily realized that he was the only child of the family. His father’s name was Troyle Paltos and his mother was Adalina Paltos. Their family was quite humble, and his father was mostly away due to work as a soldier guarding the outskirts of their village. With the meager pay from his father’s job, his mother worked commissions, washing clothes or running minor errands for the villagers to help supplement the low income.
Yet ever since becoming aware, he had seen that there was very little respect toward his family.
His mother would spend her time diligently running her errands, but upon finishing the work, the villagers would scorn her and accuse her of not working properly, all to swindle her our out of a full pay. As Troyle—his father–was rarely at home, his mother had no other choice but to accept the meager giving’s, in fear of what the villagers would do to them both. Periodically he would catch sympathetic eyes, but those were the minority with most in the same situation, so no one dared to bother.
His mother had given him the name Kaidus, with his full name being Kaidus Reilt Paltos. She would often cuddle him and sing him sweet songs, tell him of her childhood, of sadness and happiness, how she met his father, and would always whisper how much she loved him. Sometimes she would just talk to him as if they were having a conversation, other times she would look at him and cry while holding him in her arms, apologizing to him how sorry she was.
He never understood why she would cry seemingly out of nowhere. This woman who gave him another chance at life, at retribution.
Born toward the end of Alivai. After the seasons of Fulta and Rinol had passed, he had already begun to crawl. At the end of Grunei he had started walking, and with the seasons flying by, his first birth cycle eventually arrived.
After making stew out of the small piece of scaly hare that she obtained earlier and a couple of edible plants and roots, his mother ladled a modest portion into a small bowl. Blowing on it to make sure it had cooled enough for him, she ladled herself a bowl and slowly sipped away her soup.
He quietly watched, and noticing that his bowl had pretty much all the hare, he looked up to his mother inquisitively.
Aware of his gaze, she gently smiled at him. “Happy name day.” She said, and as if recalling a deep sadness, slowly teared up and began sobbing as per the usual.
Through the course of the past year, she had always talked to him. While doing errands, bathing him, putting him to sleep, and feeding him. They had never been able to afford anyone to watch after him, so she was always with him. In that year, he had never spoken a single word. He had cried when hungry, but after eating, he would quietly fall asleep or lay about while his eyes darted around at the environment. Even after learning how to crawl and walk, whenever he was hungry, he would just crawl or waddle to her and tug on her skirt, signaling his hunger. He had adapted to his small body, and by the time he started walking, he had already weaned himself of her milk. Yet he never understood her sorrows, and had always wondered about the sadness within her.
After months of deliberation, “Why do you cry?” for the first time, he spoke to his mother.