Yūma's world was nothing but darkness. It wasn't the void he'd known before, but a thick, suffocating silence that wrapped around him. His body, once powerful and filled with ink, now felt distant—small and fragile.
And then... warmth. A sudden, gentle heat wrapped around him. He could feel the embrace of life itself, soft and calming, like a promise that all was not lost.
He was being born.
Slowly, his consciousness returned, and he realized he was no longer in the broken world he had left behind. He was in a new one—a strange, fresh world, filled with the gentle sounds of life. A baby's cry pierced the air, and for the first time, Yūma realized it was his own.
His senses returned, weak but growing stronger by the second. The smell of wood, fresh earth, and something sweet filled his nose. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light around him.
A room. Simple, wooden walls. A soft bed cradled him, and as his vision cleared, he saw the blurred shapes of two figures standing over him—familiar, warm.
"He's awake," a soft voice said. It was a woman's voice, gentle, full of love.
Yūma's tiny hands reached up, instinctively grasping at the air. He was no longer a warrior, no longer a man of power and destruction. He was small. Fragile. A child.
"Welcome to the world, Yūma," the woman whispered, her voice trembling with joy. "Welcome back."
He turned his head toward the voice, and his eyes locked onto the face of a woman who looked at him with such affection. She had soft, dark hair and eyes full of warmth.
Behind her stood a man, slightly older with a tired expression. His hair was messy, his face lined with the marks of a hard life. His clothes were simple but worn, and he carried himself like someone who had seen too much of the world's bitterness. But the moment he looked down at Yūma, something flickered in his eyes—pride, love, and perhaps a hint of regret.
"You're finally home, kid," he said, his voice rough, a slight slur to his words. The scent of alcohol lingered faintly on him.
Yūma's new mind struggled to piece together the fragments of the past. It was as if a veil had been pulled over his memories. His past life, his battles, the ink that had once flowed through his veins—everything was distant, lost in the fog of his rebirth.
"Home?" he whispered, the word unfamiliar, heavy.
The woman smiled softly, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "Yes, you've been given a second chance. A new life."
The man snorted, shaking his head. "A second chance? More like a second shot at being a burden." He stumbled backward and collapsed into a nearby chair, the faint scent of alcohol still strong in the air. His eyes were cloudy, distant—far from the loving father Yūma would've hoped for.
Yūma turned his gaze back to the woman, who looked at the man with a mixture of concern and exhaustion. She sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.
"Your brother... he's not quite the same as before," she said softly. "But we'll get through this together."
Yūma could feel her love—tender, protective, but also filled with a quiet sadness. A strange pain tugged at his heart as he realized that this family, this world, was not perfect. There was something broken here, just beneath the surface.
He could feel the distant echoes of his old self, the memories of the ink, of power—but they were muffled, like a forgotten dream. He was just a child now, with no understanding of what was to come.
And then, Yūma heard footsteps. Someone entered the room—a figure, tall and disheveled. It was a boy, older than him, with wild, unkempt hair and eyes that glinted with a haze of drunkenness. His clothes were torn, and his posture slouched.
"Hey, mom. Dad." His voice was thick, barely audible as he staggered into the room. "The kid awake yet?"
The woman sighed, her face creased with worry. "Your brother's awake, Jiro. You should try to help him, not just sit around."
Jiro, the older brother, blinked at the newborn with a mixture of indifference and something else—perhaps jealousy, perhaps confusion. He swayed slightly, his hands trembling as he reached out toward Yūma.
"Yeah... he's cute, I guess. But... what does it matter? He's just gonna be another burden, like I was."
Yūma could see the darkness in his older brother's eyes, the weight of regrets that had already begun to settle into his soul. A bitter laugh escaped Jiro's lips as he slumped against the wall.
"I used to be the one who mattered around here... before I..." His voice trailed off, a hollow emptiness filling the space.
Yūma didn't understand the weight of Jiro's words, but the sadness in his tone echoed the same feeling of loss that Yūma had sensed earlier. Jiro was lost, trapped in something he couldn't escape.
And Yūma? He was caught in the aftermath of his past life and the uncertainty of his new one. He was reborn into this world, but nothing was clear. Not the purpose, not the family, not even the power that had once been his.
"Don't worry, little one," the woman whispered softly as she cradled him. "You'll find your way. This time, you will."
To Be Continued...