The Beginning After The End

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Chapter 1: The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I never believed in the whole “light at the end of the tunnel” bullsh*t where people, after experiencing near-death experiences, wake up in cold sweat exclaiming, “I saw the light!”

But here I am currently at this so-called “tunnel” facing towards this bright light, when the last thing I remember, I was sleeping in my room (while others call it the royal chamber).

Did someone assassinate me?

I don’t remember wronging anyone. But then again, being a public figure of power can give others all sorts of reasons to want me dead.


Since it doesn’t seem like I’m going to wake up anytime soon and I’m slowly gravitating towards this bright light, I might as well go along with it.

Seeming to take an eternity to go towards this light, I half expected some choir of children singing an angelic tune, beckoning me towards heaven.

Instead, my vision of everything around turned into a blur of a bright red while sounds assaulted my ears. When I try to say anything, the only sound that comes out seems to be a cry.

I hear muffled voices becoming clearer and I make out a, “Congratulations Madam, congratulations Sir, he’s a healthy boy.”


I guess normally, I should be thinking along the lines of “Sh*t, was I just born? Am I a baby now?”

But strangely, the only thought that seemed to pop up in my mind was “So the bright light at the end of the tunnel is the light coming through into the female vag…”

Haha… lets not think about it anymore.

Assessing my situation like the kingly king I am, I noticed, first of all, that wherever I was born into, I understand the language. That’s good.

Next, after slowly and painfully opening my eyes, my retinas were bombarded with different colors and figures. It took a bit of time for my infant eyes to even start working. The doctor, or so it seems, in front of me had a not so appealing face with long greying hair on both head and chin. I swear his glasses were thick enough to be bulletproof. The strange thing was, he wasn’t wearing a doctor’s gown nor were we even in a hospital room. I seemed to have been born in some satanic summoning ritual room because this room was lit only by a couple of candles and we were on the floor.

I look around and see the female who pushed me out of her tunnel. Calling her mother should be fair. Taking a few more seconds to see what she looks like, I’ll have to admit she’s a beauty, but that might be my half blurry eyes. Rather than a glamorous beauty, I would better describe her as lovely, in a very kind and gentle sense with distinct auburn hair and brown eyes. I can’t help but notice her long eyelashes and perky nose that makes me want to just cling to her. She just permeates this mother-like feel. Is this how babies are attracted to their mothers?

I peel my face away and turn right to barely make out the person who I assume is my father by the idiotic grin and teary eyes when seeing me. Immediately he says “Hi little Art, I’m your daddy, can you say dada?” I glance around to see both my mother and the house doctor (for all the certification he seems to have), roll their eyes and my mother manages to scoff, “Honey, he was just born.”

I take a closer look at my father and I can see why my lovely mother was attracted to him. Besides the few loose screws he seemed to have by expecting a newborn to articulate a two-syllable word (Where I’m just going to give him the benefit of the doubt and think he said that out of the joy of becoming a father), He was a very charismatic-looking man. With a square jaw line cleanly shaven. His hair, having a very ashy brown color, seemed to be kept short, while his eyebrows were strong and fierce, extending in a sword-like fashion meeting to a V shape. Yet, his eyes had a gentle quality, whether it was from the way his eyes drooped a little at the end or from the deep blue, almost sapphire, color his irises radiated.

By the time I finished checking ou… I mean observing my parents; the wannabe doctor excused himself saying, “Please continue resting for a couple of days Mrs. Leywin, and let me know if anything happens to Arthur, Mr. Leywin.”

The following couple of weeks after my journey out of the tunnel were a new kind of torture for me. I had little to no motor control over my limbs except waving them around and even that got tiring quickly. I realized that babies don’t really get to control their fingers all that much. I don’t know how to break it to you guys but when you place your fingers on a babies palm, they don’t grab it because they like you, they grab it because, like getting hit in the funny bone, it’s a reflex. Forget motor control, I can’t even excrete my wastes at my discretion. It just… comes out. Haa…

A positive was that I was breastfed by my mother.

Don’t get me wrong, no ulterior motives whatsoever. It’s just that breast milk tastes a lot better than baby formula okay and has more nutritional value okay? Er… please believe me.

The Satanic demon-summoning place seems to be my parent’s room and from what I figure, this place that I’m stuck in is, hopefully, a place in my world that is the past, where electricity isn’t yet invented.

My mother quickly proved my hopes wrong when she one day healed a scratch on my leg when my idiotic father bumped me against a drawer.

No…Not like, band-aid and a kiss heal, but a full blown, shining light with a faint hum from her fucking hands heal.

Where the hell am I.

My mother, named Alice Leywin, and my father, named Reynolds Leywin, at least seem to be good people, hell if not the best. I suspect my mother is an angel because I’ve never met such a kindhearted, warm person. While being carried on her back by a baby cradle-strap of some sort, I went with her to what she called a town. This town of Ashber is more of a glorified outpost, seeing that there are no roads, no buildings. We walked on the main dirt trail where there were tents on both sides with various merchants and salesman/woman selling all sorts of things, from common, everyday needs to things I thought couldn’t help but widen my eyes at, like weapons and armor and rocks… shining rocks!

The strangest thing that I can’t seem to get used to are the people carrying weapons like it was part of their apparel. I witnessed a man of around 170cm carrying a gigantic war axe larger than him! Anyway, mother keeps talking to me, probably to try to get me to learn the language faster, while shopping for the day’s groceries, exchanging pleasantries with various people passing by or working in the booths. Meanwhile, my body is turning against me once again, and I fell asleep… Damn this useless body.

Sitting on the lap of my mother who was caressing me in her bosom, I was intently focused on my dad currently casting a chant for a good minute, which sounded like a prayer to the earth. I leaned in closer and closer, almost falling off my human seat while expecting some magical phenomenon, like an earthquake spitting the ground or a giant stone golem emerging. After what seemed like an eternity (trust me, for an infant who has the attention span of a goldfish, it was.) Three adult, human-sized boulders came out of the ground and slammed against a nearby tree.

What in the name of…that was it?

I flailed my arms up in anger and regret but my idiot father interpreted that into a “WOW” and had a big grin on his face saying, “Your daddy is awesome huh!”

No, my father was a much better warrior. When he put on his two iron gauntlets, even I felt compelled to drop my underwear (or diaper) for him. With agile movements that were surprising for his build, his fists carried the force to break the sound barrier, but were fluid enough to not leave an opening. In my world, he could be classed as an elite, leading a platoon of a hundred soldiers, but to me, he was my idiot father.

For what I learned about this world, it seemed to be a fairly straightforward world of magic and warriors where power and wealth decided your rank in society. In that sense, it wasn’t too different from my world except the lack of technology and the slight difference between magic and Ki here.

In my old world, Wars became an almost obsolete form of settling disputes between countries. Don’t get me wrong, of course there were still battles on a smaller scale and armies were still needed for the safety of the citizens. However, disputes concerning the wellbeing of a country were based on either a duel between the rulers of the their country, limited to making use of Ki and close combat weapons, or a mock battle between platoons, where limited firearms were allowed, for the smaller disputes.

Therefore, Kings weren’t the typical fat man sitting on throne ignorantly commanding others, but had to be the strongest, smartest man to represent his or her country.

Enough about that though.

The currency in this new world seemed pretty straightforward from the exchanges my mother had with the merchants.

Copper being the lowest form of currency, then Silver, then Gold. While I have yet to see anything costing as much as a Gold coin, normal families seem to be able to live fine off of a couple copper coins a day.

100 Copper = 1 Silver

100 Silver = 1 Gold

Everyday involved honing my new body, mastering the motor functions residing deep within me.

Then one day everything changed…

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