(MC POV)
I died hunched over a computer. My name? Doesn't matter now. I was 40, tired, and overworked. Life drained from me as silently as the fluorescent lights above. When I woke up… there was no pain. No noise. Just warmth.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move much either. My fingers were tiny. My limbs, weak. And when I cried a high-pitched, instinctual wail a woman leaned over me. Her face was red from crying too, but her smile was wide with joy.
That's when I knew: I'd been reborn.
The village had no name grand enough to be remembered by lords or kings. It was nestled in a lush valley on the eastern edge of the Re-Estize Kingdom, with wide fields of barley and wheat, ringed by modest hills that kept harsh weather at bay. The soil was good, and the sun lingered just long enough each day for a second planting.
The village had maybe 83 people. We weren't rich, but we weren't starving either at least not in peacetime. Every house was made of timber and packed earth, with thatched roofs and vegetable gardens out back. Chickens wandered freely, and most homes had a pig or two tied to a post.
From my crib or more often, a thickly woven basket stuffed with straw and soft cloth, I could see the wooden rafters of our home. They were old, dark with smoke from the hearth fire, but sturdy. Sometimes I'd hear the rain tapping gently above me, and smell stew boiling, or bread baking.
My mother, Mirna, was barely twenty. Her hair was auburn, tied into a tight braid most days, and her hands were always calloused from weaving or kneading dough. She sang when she worked soft, calming melodies in the local tongue. She held me close whenever I cried for food and whispered stories about gods and heroes in the Kingdom.
My father, Tomas, was a big man. Not fat just solid. He had arms like tree trunks and a voice like a bear. A woodcutter and carpenter by trade, he also hunted in the forest when times were lean. Despite his size, he had a gentle way about him when he looked at me. I remember the way he'd raise me high in the air and say, "Ren my lad, you cry alot less than other cry babies in village, your going to be real man when you grow up, my boy."
They loved me, and i feel odd beacuse, you know, i am older than him mently.
Life as a baby wasn't glorious, but it was... comforting. In the mornings, I was wiped clean with warm cloths and fed goat's milk if my mother's breastmilk wasn't enough. She wrapped me tightly in linen during the colder months and made sure my basket was set close to the fire.
My father would sometimes rock me with his huge hand while sharpening axes or carving wood into tools and toys. I had a crude little horse he made for me it had uneven legs, but i find the act of kindness warms my old heart.
The village women would visit often. Some brought treats. Some, just stories. They'd smile and pinch my cheeks and say I had "the eyes of a thoughtful spirit," since I rarely cried unless I was hungry or tired.
I learned quickly to watch, to listen. I couldn't speak, but I understood. This was not Earth. The language was foreign at first, but as months passed, I grasped the rhythm, the syntax. It helped that the soul inside me was not that of a baby.
I saw people talking about pay taxs to the noble who owns this lands, than i hread of Re-Estize Kingdom, and we live at easturn side and king Ramposa III,[the old king i of Re-Estize form overlord] had his first son today, which means three things.
1) been reborn in the world of Overlord.
2) it is 40 years before the village is attacked.
3) and worst of all, the coming of The Great tomb of Nazarick will be in 40 years.
And i crap my pants, out of horror of the world i am in.
Ren: aw crap-baskets