The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

A few weeks had passed since Rodrigo was reincarnated into this new world.

One of the biggest questions still haunting him—besides the reason behind being given a second chance—was why he could understand everything the people around him said. Having been born and raised in Brazil, specifically in São Paulo, he was absolutely certain that the language spoken here wasn't Portuguese.

— It's not English either... — he muttered in thought, furrowing his brow. — Even without having studied other languages, I'd recognize them.

He understood the words, their meanings, the context. But the letters... the letters looked like symbols from an alphabet lost for centuries. A code that refused to reveal itself. He noticed this while observing one of the books Elise carried during her weekly visits to the family.

Traditionally, Maria was supposed to go to Elise's "clinic." However, after the traumatic childbirth and severe blood loss, she could barely stand on her own. That's when the midwife began visiting the house twice a week to ensure both mother and child were recovering.

— You're recovering well, Maria, — said Elise with a gentle smile, seated on a simple wooden chair, gently rocking Elian in her arms. — And this little guy is healthy too. Strong as an oak root.

— Thank you for coming, Elise. — Maria smiled, pale, but with a glint in her eyes. — It comforts me to know that Elian is growing well...

As she said her son's name, her lips formed a wide, almost instinctive smile. A silent yet absolute love shone in her eyes.

Elise returned the smile, then raised her eyebrows, feeling something strange in her arms.

— So well... that I think it's time for a diaper change, — she joked, looking at Elian with a knowing and playful gaze.

Inside, Elian wanted to disappear. To vanish. His embarrassment was so immense that, if he could, he'd have dug a hole and buried himself in shame. But he knew there was no escape. No way out of the reality of the body he now inhabited.

During this time, his body went through all the biological stages of a growing baby. He slept most of the day, even without any effort. Cried uncontrollably, got dirty frequently, and depended on others for everything. It was humiliating. It was cruel. And he hated it.

But nothing was as humiliating as... breastfeeding.

Even though he was only a few months old — in others' eyes — inside, his soul was that of a twenty-seven-year-old man. An adult full of memories, sins, and experiences. He was older than his new mother. And yet, he was being fed from her breast.

— I can't wait to grow up and never need this again... — he thought, suffocated by shame.

It wasn't arousal. It never was. Just the thought disgusted him. What made him uncomfortable was the breakdown of his identity. The taste of the milk—sweet yet slightly salty—filled him with repulsion. Not because of the flavor itself, but because of what it represented. A forced rebirth. A complete regression. A painful dependence.

— It's strange... — was all he could think.

Maybe it was the diet of the era. Maybe some biological factor he didn't understand. Maybe it was just the taste of shame.

— Let me help you, Maria, — said Elise, beginning to remove the cloth used as an improvised diaper. It was fastened with a simple, slightly rusty pin. There was no luxury in that home. Only survival.

"Gods... just kill me already," Elian muttered in thought, eyes half-closed in embarrassment. Though he couldn't speak, his mind was sharp. Almost like a grumpy old man.

Despite physically growing, Elian couldn't feel comfortable in that life. Even having escaped death—or maybe even Hell—he couldn't accept the gift he'd been given. With every glance, every shared moment with that simple and generous family, the guilt sank deeper and deeper.

They shared everything. Even the nothing.

He watched Maria, Arthur, Anthony, and Emanuelle gratefully sharing pieces of hard bread and thin soup. The soup was so thin it looked like dishwater. And yet, they ate with smiles. They ate with dignity, even in scarcity.

— On top of being a murderer... now I'm just another hungry mouth to feed. — The thought gnawed at him from within.

His mouth made no sound, but inside him, the voice of guilt roared.

In his first life, he was poor. Lived in a wooden shack in one of São Paulo's forgotten communities. He endured hunger. Fear. Rage. But even in that misery, sometimes he ate rice, beans, and, if lucky, a fried egg.

Here, there was no rice. No beans. Only a constant struggle against cold, hunger, and time.

And it hurt.

It hurt more than the wounds of his past life. Because in that poor house made of mud and straw, where rain leaked through the cracks and the wood rotted beneath the children's bare feet… there was love.

And he felt he didn't deserve to be there.

But even through all of it—discomfort, shame, guilt, misery—Elian wanted to cry.

It wasn't a cry of sorrow.

It was a cry of relief.

Of silent happiness.

That warm, faint, almost forgotten feeling… of love and affection. Something he had longed for, ever since the brutal death of his mother, his father… and Luciana.

Just thinking of his little sister's name tore an invisible gash across his soul.

— Luciana… — he thought, a dull pain tightening his chest.

"Why was I given another chance… and she wasn't?"

The question gnawed at him in silence. It echoed, cruelly, in his mind every night since he woke up in this new life. He remembered their last meeting in that strange temple between life and death, where the owl forced him to face all his moments: the happy ones, the sad ones… and the bloody ones.

There, he was forced to see — with naked eyes and open soul — the pain he caused. The trail he left behind.

And still… there he was.

Alive. Reborn. In the arms of a family that didn't know who he was, that didn't know his past — but who, even so, loved him.

That warm touch he'd felt in that limbo, when Luciana extended her hand to him one last time, was now replaced by Maria's gentle and protective embrace.

The warm gaze Luciana gave before vanishing now lived in Emanuelle's sweet, lively eyes, who smiled every time she approached the crib, calling him "little brother."

The shy, longing smile Luciana once gave him was now mirrored on Arthur's face every time he came home, eyes tired, but still willing to hold his son for a moment.

Anthony, the oldest, was more reserved. He often watched silently, distant, as if trying to understand this new sibling who had suddenly appeared. But he never looked at Elian coldly. There was no rejection. Sometimes, when no one was watching, he'd approach the crib—a basket—gently pick Elian up in his arms and, a bit awkwardly, make faces and jokes to coax a laugh.

Elian, however, was not a typical baby. His smile was always forced—not out of malice, but effort. He wanted to reciprocate. He wanted to be accepted. He wanted to give something back, even if it was just a crooked smile.

And there, among those small yet meaningful gestures—Rodrigo, now Elian, felt something he hadn't in many years: belonging.

His body was tired. The day ended in shadows, and the smell of smoke from the cooking fire still lingered in the air. Emanuelle had fallen asleep in a corner of the floor, her head resting on a straw pillow. Arthur and Maria dozed side by side, exhausted. Only Elian, still awake, stared at the crude wooden ceiling above him.

He slowly closed his eyes. And, in the silence broken only by distant crickets and the wind filtering through the cracks, he whispered softly, just for himself:

— I miss you, Luciana… I'll never forget you.

And he fell asleep.

With invisible tears trailing inside. But for the first time in a long time… at peace.

★★★

A month had passed since Elian's birth.

Maria could now walk more steadily, and the pallor of her face was slowly giving way to her former vitality, though still fragile. That morning, Elise finally gave her the permission she had long awaited:

— Maria, you can start doing some household chores again... — said the midwife with a restrained sigh — but no farm work, — she added, frowning when she noticed Maria already preparing a reply.

— But can I use magic? — Maria asked, raising her eyebrows. — I believe I'm well enough now, and I don't want to leave everything to Anthony and Emanuelle…

"Magic? How could I forget that?!" — thought Elian, surprised, nearly choking on his own breath. — "I knew I was forgetting something… I remember hearing Elise mention using spells to stop the bleeding…"

A faint pain spread through his chest at the memory of that day. But the next thought brought a spark of excitement: Could I also use magic?

Even while still burdened with guilt for nearly causing Maria's death — for that's how he saw it — Elian couldn't hold back his excitement. The idea of having powers had fascinated him since he was a child. He still remembered watching cartoons and superhero movies — even if his favorite had been Batman, who had no magical powers. But now… magic seemed within reach.

— You can… but try not to overdo it, — Elise replied, casting a look that blended affection and resignation, as if she already knew Maria would likely ignore her advice. — By the way… are Anthony and Emanuelle already practicing magic?

At that moment, Elian held his breath. His ears sharpened. Every word that followed seemed to carry the weight of a new world.

— Well… — Maria began, hesitant.

"Don't tell me they can't use it?" — thought Elian, his heart racing.

— They are, yes. But… — Maria sighed. — We haven't had much time to teach them anything beyond the basics. Since I was pregnant with Elian and we were busy working the fields, it was hard to teach anything more advanced.

A melancholic glint passed through Maria's eyes — and Elian noticed. It was the kind of silent sadness a mother carries when she feels she's failed her children, even when all she's done is fight to keep the family afloat.

— They only know simple spells, — she continued, trying to smile. — Like lighting the fireplace, pulling a bit of water for cleaning, making the wind blow to sweep the dust... As for earth... well, they haven't managed to learn anything yet.

— That's fine, — Elise responded, shaking her head. — The important thing is they have magical aptitude. You're lucky, Maria. It's not common for a mother to have three children, all with some level of arcane potential, even if basic.

Elise then approached the crib and gently picked Elian up in her arms. Her green eyes locked onto his with a silent intensity.

— You know, Maria… — she began in a low voice — I believe Elian will also be a magic user.

— Really? — Maria asked, staring at the baby now in her arms.

— Yes. I've helped with many births over the last fifty years… and in a few rare cases, I've felt something different in the children. Elian was one of them. — She smiled, but there was no fantasy in her voice. It was a calm, almost reverent statement. — That doesn't mean he'll become an Archmage, a Crown Bearer, or… an Avatar of Samael. But he will certainly be able to use magic.

Upon hearing that, Elian's heart pounded.

"Archmage I get… but what the hell is a Crown Bearer? And an Avatar of Samael…?" — frantic thoughts raced through his mind. It felt like an entirely new mythology opening before him.

— Well, I'll be going now. And remember: no heavy labor, and don't overuse magic, understood?

— Yes… understood, — said Maria in a tone that sounded far too obedient to be honest.

Elise handed Elian back to his mother, cast one final glance at them both, and stepped out the door, with the same calm of someone who carries decades of wisdom.

Silence settled for a few moments in the small mud house. Maria gently rocked Elian, and he watched her, lost in thought.

"So magic is real in this world… This is more than I ever expected."

A small, involuntary smile crossed his lips. His body was still fragile, his mind still carried the scars of an entire life… but a part of him — a part that still believed in hope — allowed itself to dream.

Who will I become in this world?

Elian fell asleep not knowing the answer, but with a heart a little lighter.