His skin was still damp with droplets, and the moment it met the room’s icy air, a shiver crawled through him. He couldn’t even remember when Ingrid—who had been bustling in the corner only moments ago—had slipped out.
Exhaustion—physical and mental—crashed over him like a black tide, swallowing him whole. Every nerve was taut, stretched to the brink of snapping.
The pain he’d been suppressing surged through his chest—violent, relentless—while the black chains of the curse tightened around his heart with every second.
At the same time, his Core Mana Circle burned hot, on the verge of overheating. Alarm bells screamed in his skull… then slowly dulled as consciousness began to sink beneath the dark.
Earlier—standing in front of Ingrid and Master Rachel—Rein hadn’t allowed a single crack to show. He hid the near-lethal agony behind calm eyes and a faint corner-smile. He did one thing only: hold himself together long enough to make it back to the Vault.
Because this was the one place that could restore his body.
And the only place he had ever allowed himself to feel safe.
Not long after Master Rachel left, the room’s magical power system began to return. A soft hum rose from the Inscribed Magic Circles embedded in the floor and walls—faint as a mother’s lullaby. The warmth chased away the cold. Life returned to the air. Gentle light bloomed from the ceiling’s mana lamps.
With safety restored, the last wall of Rein’s endurance finally crumbled.
The moment his head touched the pillow, he slipped into sleep—almost instantly—like someone drained down to the final drop of life. His breathing steadied, slow and even.
And the crushing weight of reality collapsed into a single point—
…a world of dreams.
When he opened his eyes again, the heaviness was gone—replaced by an endless void. Dense white fog swallowed every direction. No beginning. No end.
Dr. Rhys Rattana stood in the mist.
He looked down at himself, confusion tightening his throat. A pristine white lab coat. The NAQRL logo on the left chest.
His old self.
“Seriously… what now?” His voice came out hoarse, echoing into nothingness. Rhys raised his hand and turned his palm over, staring. The sensation was too real—too precise—to dismiss as imagination.
“Side effect of mana overuse?” he muttered, trying to force logic onto the impossible.
Then the fog ahead began to warp.
Mist gathered, folding into lines and angles—an ancient structure assembling itself from broken fragments: a gothic building—wrong in places—stitched together like memory patched by a trembling hand.
Rhys hesitated—then stepped forward.
The ground shifted from emptiness into cold stone.
The scene sharpened: an old church. High ceiling. Stained-glass windows cracked and missing pieces. And an eerie familiarity hanging in the air.
A spike of longing—of pain—shot straight through his heart. Rhys reflexively pressed a hand to his chest.
“This is…” he whispered—then froze.
The world around him was like a film set projected in full 360 degrees… except the timeline was shattered. One corner was frozen, paused. Another moved in slow motion. Another accelerated into a blur, fast enough to make him dizzy.
“Lucid dream…” Rhys breathed—doubt edged with a researcher’s thrill—as if he’d stumbled into a rare experimental case.
He moved across the hall and found his body strangely light, as if floating. Friction didn’t apply here.
People passed straight through him without noticing—children everywhere, young and older, running in clusters. Three or four nuns in old white habits tried to keep order.
“An orphanage…” he murmured, recognition clicking into place.
Then a voice cut into his ears—shouting a name.
“Rein! Rein! Where are you?!”
It trembled with panic.
Rhys whipped toward the sound.
And the warped scene snapped into focus.
An elderly nun in a worn white habit ran in, breath ragged, face carved with worry.
“Rein…” Her voice caught as her gaze locked onto the shadowed corner beneath the stairs.
A small, frail boy—no older than seven—sat curled in the darkness. His hair was tangled, his clothes so filthy their original color was gone. The child was trembling, arms locked around a lump of black fur held tight to his chest.
Nearby, an old milk bowl lay overturned. White milk had spilled and smeared across the floor—proof of a small, innocent attempt that had quietly failed.
“What happened, Rein…?” The nun sank to her knees beside him. Her voice was gentle, but it shook with a terrible premonition. Pale gray eyes behind glasses looked at him with quiet devastation.
The boy didn’t answer.
He only lowered his head, hiding a face streaked with dust and blood. A single tear dropped onto the back of his clenched hand—resting on the motionless body of a black kitten.
The tiny body was cold. Fur that should’ve been soft clumped into hard knots of dried blood and grime.
“N… Nighty… Nighty’s dead, Sister…”
His voice cracked—shattered—like he was forcing a sob down his throat.
The boy lifted his face.
His lips were split and torn, bleeding again as he forced the words out. Blue eyes that should’ve been bright were drowned behind a curtain of tears.
The nun bit down on her lip. Her hand rose to her own chest without thinking, as if the child’s pain had stabbed straight through her heart. She stared at the kitten’s corpse—such a small death, and yet the shockwave it sent through a fragile mind was enormous.
“I… it’s my fault… I couldn’t protect him… I…”
“Oh, Rein…” the old woman whispered, feather-soft. Her wrinkled hand, trembling, reached out to touch his small shoulder.
“It isn’t your fault. Not at all…”
Rein shook his head slowly, tears falling. There was more than grief in his eyes—there was confusion, stunned disbelief at the cruelty of the world.
“But they… they hate me…” He dragged in a breath like someone drowning.
“If they hate me… why did they do it to Nighty? He didn’t do anything wrong…”
The words ended in a sob that finally burst free. His small shoulders convulsed violently while both arms kept clutching the kitten—clutching with all the desperate strength of a child—like he feared someone would tear it away and hurt it again.
The old nun had no words left.
Her eyes trembled. All she could do was wrap her arms around the boy and the lifeless body together—sharing the weight of a loss too heavy for such small bones.
…
Behind them, Dr. Rhys stood utterly still.
He watched with something burning and tangled in his chest—an ache he couldn’t define with any scientific framework. Grief. Rage. Disgust. Disappointment in humankind. All of it fused into a single lump of lead pressing down on his heart.
He turned his face away from the breaking child and looked to a large window.
Soft orange evening light poured in. Outside, the trunk of a towering tree swayed in the wind—while dry yellow leaves drifted down, slow as ash.
“Autumn…” he murmured, his voice barely there, as if afraid to disturb the child’s weeping—afraid to disturb the only witness he had.
Not long after, the scene began to spin.
Rhys found himself standing beneath that same great tree—its orange-yellow leaves raining down like a curtain of memory, falling as though the world itself was preparing to close the chapter.
At the base of the tree, little Rein dug into the soil with his bare hands—earth already stiffening from the cold. His small fingernails were packed with mud, but he didn’t stop.
Carefully, reverently, he lowered the kitten’s lifeless body into the shallow hole, as if afraid it might still feel pain. Then he began to cover it—slowly scooping dirt back in, patting the surface gently, smoothing it with meticulous care. Every motion was deliberate.
A child’s final farewell to the only friend he had ever had.
Rein rose to his feet, painfully slow. His blue eyes stared at the tiny grave without moving.
No more tears fell.
Rhys, watching, understood at once—this wasn’t because the boy was “over it.”
It was because he had chosen to seal his feelings shut before they shattered him completely.
“Nighty… I’m sorry…”
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The whisper was so faint it almost vanished into the autumn wind. The boy stood there a moment longer, then turned and trudged back toward the church, steps heavy with exhaustion.
But the quiet didn’t last.
“Thought you could hide somewhere and cry? So this is where you crawled off to, freak.”
A shrill, vulgar shout tore through the air—ripping fragile grief apart.
Rein froze near the church door. His small shoulders tensed for a heartbeat—but he didn’t turn around.
He knew that voice.
Kime—the orphanage bully—and the pack that hunted Rein like shadows.
Rein inhaled slowly, forcing what little strength he had left into his spine, and kept walking as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
But the world was never that kind to him.
“Are you deaf?! I’m talking to you, asshole!”
Heavy footsteps rushed up behind him. Kime barreled in, furious at being ignored—too big for his age, blocking Rein’s path. Two lackeys flanked him, cutting off escape. One of them hid a short wooden club behind his back, threat clear in his eyes.
When Kime saw Rein still standing there—still not trembling like usual—he snorted.
“What’s this? Last time you were yelping like a dog. So what’re you gonna yelp like today?”
He bent down, snatched up a fist-sized rock, bounced it in his hand twice, then made a fake throwing motion—just to make Rein flinch.
Fff—
Rein didn’t.
He didn’t even blink once.
He stood perfectly still, blue eyes empty and cold enough to make skin crawl.
That indifference poured gasoline on Kime’s anger. With his boys egging him on, the last thread of restraint snapped.
“Don’t act tough!”
Kime roared and hurled the rock with full force—aimed straight at Rein’s forehead.
Whoosh—
Rein only tilted his head slightly to the left.
The smallest movement possible.
The rock skimmed past his ear and slammed into the wooden door behind him with a dull crack.
Thud!
Rein straightened, looked at them with pure contempt, and said only one word:
“Idiots.”
That word detonated the moment.
Kime’s face went red with rage. He screamed and charged, his gang surging with him—
—but before the next insult could even leave his mouth, Rein moved like a fired bullet.
CRACK—!
Rein drove his forehead straight into Kime’s chin.
Teeth clacked violently.
One of Kime’s front teeth snapped loose and flew. Fresh blood flooded his mouth. The world spun—then went white in broad daylight.
Before the bigger boy could even hit the ground, Rein was on him—straddling his chest.
Rein’s eyes weren’t a child’s anymore.
They were the eyes of a wounded animal gone feral.
“This is for Nighty!”
He screamed—and his fists came down.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
No technique. No style.
Only raw hatred.
Kime could only throw his arms up and flail, pathetic and drowning.
“W-What are you idiots doing?! Help me, damn it!”
Kime shouted through blood-choked words.
The gang snapped out of their shock and piled in.
A boot slammed into Rein’s ribs.
A wooden club crashed into his back.
Fists rained down on the smaller boy—
—but Rein didn’t care.
He didn’t care about the pain ripping through him. He didn’t care about the blood running down his own forehead.
He cared about one thing:
his fists landing.
His hands split open. Skin tore over his knuckles until bone flashed beneath—
and still he didn’t stop.
Thud… thud…
Shouts and chaos blurred into noise. The world around Rein began to smear, losing focus. Beneath him, Kime’s bloody face started to warp—twist—change—
until it became Rein’s own face.
“You orphan… you weak little trash…”
The Rein beneath him grinned and spat the words like poison.
“You can’t protect anyone. You’re worthless. You’re weak.”
“Shut up.”
Rein gritted his teeth and punched that laughing face.
“Shut up! Shut up!!”
But the more he hit, the weaker his blows became—until rage dissolved into something deeper, bottomless.
Grief.
“I… I’m sorry…”
Tears poured down his cheeks. His final punch fell—not in anger—
but in despair.
Adult hands yanked him away. Both boys were ruined, barely recognizable. Rein screamed and sobbed like he was being torn apart.
Around them, the other children stared in horror—no one daring to go near the “freak” who had just exploded.
Dr. Rhys couldn’t bear it.
He turned away from that brutal memory—and when he looked back…
the scene had changed.
The metallic scent of blood was gone, replaced by sharp antiseptic. The forest and church dissolved into a small, shabby infirmary—walls peeling, air damp with age.
He stood beside a patient bed, staring at the small body lying still.
Cheap herbal medicine hung in the air, mixed with mildew. On an old wooden bed, Rein lay wrapped in bandages—so much of him covered you could barely see skin. His face was pale, asleep under the weight of strong painkillers.
An elderly nun’s wrinkled hand stroked the boy’s hair, gentle—full of love, but weighted with exhaustion.
“Sister… how many times is this now?”
A hard voice came from the doorway.
A younger nun leaned against the frame, arms crossed. The look she gave the boy on the bed wasn’t pity.
It was irritation—thin, practiced, and familiar.
“This month alone, he’s come back hurt three times.”
The old nun didn’t answer. Her hand kept moving through Rein’s tangled hair.
She didn’t look up.
“If this keeps going… someone is going to die for real someday.”
The younger nun’s voice sharpened.
“We’re just a poor orphanage, Sister Superior. If word gets out that we can’t control the kids, donations—what little we have—will dry up. And then the other children will suffer because of him.”
She never said the word burden.
But it filled the room—thicker than the smell of medicine.
When the old nun still didn’t respond, the younger one exhaled hard, shook her head in frustration, and stomped out.
Silence settled over the infirmary again.
The elderly nun let out a long breath—heavy, as if she were carrying the entire world on her back. She reached for the bowl of porridge that had already gone cold and set it at the head of the bed.
“Stay strong, Rein…” she whispered, voice trembling. She stroked his hair one last time… then slowly pushed herself up, her body worn and frail, and shuffled out of the room.
The wooden door clicked shut.
Click.
Locking the quiet—
and the loneliness—
inside.
Only Dr. Rhys remained… and the boy on the bed.
Rein’s eyelids fluttered.
His mind was fogged and weighted by the medicine, but he’d been awake since the moment the door opened. He’d heard every word… every worry… and every trace of disgust.
His small shoulders beneath the bandages began to tremble. He bit down on his split, ruined lip until it tasted of blood—trying to hold back the sob.
“Don’t cry… Rein… you can’t cry…”
He repeated it to himself like a final prayer—something to keep his mind from slipping apart.
“If you cry… you’re weak… you’re just a burden…”
But his body betrayed his will.
Warm tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, slid over bruised cheeks, and soaked into the old pillow. He cried without a sound—
the kind of crying that hurt more than screaming.
Dr. Rhys watched, his chest tightening until he couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t wipe the boy’s tears.
He couldn’t tell him it was okay.
He was only a spectator—
from the future.
The young man in the lab coat turned away and walked out of the infirmary—slowly, each step heavy as if chains were wrapped around his legs.
He stepped into the corridor, then lifted his gaze toward the sky through a broken window—hoping its vastness might ease the pressure inside his ribs.
And then…
the wheel of time began to spin.
The view beyond the window blurred and shifted too fast to follow—white snowflakes falling, blanketing the ground… cold gnawing branches until they turned brittle…
Then the snow melted.
Warm sunlight returned.
Green shoots pierced the soil, and the first flowers opened.
Rain washed the dust away—
and then summer arrived, sun blazing.
Days kept turning without mercy.
But the loneliness of one boy stayed perfectly still.
Until—
the leaves changed again.
Bright green bled into yellow… then orange… then deep, rust-red. A chill wind returned, carrying the scent of decay—of endings.
Autumn had come back.
And with it—
a life began to wither.
Far from the church, in a small graveyard at the edge of the village wrapped in gloom, the elderly nun’s funeral was held—simple, quiet, and devastated. Chants drifted on the wind, tangled with the sobbing of children and every member of the orphanage who came to mourn.
Everyone was there.
Except one.
Rein.
No one had seen the little boy since the moment the old nun’s last breath faded. Rumors spread—he’d run away. Some whispered he was a curse, the bad luck that brought death to his benefactor.
But Rhys saw the truth.
In this dream, he stood beside the child the entire time.
On a massive tree atop a hill, far from the crowd, Rein climbed as high as an eight-year-old body could manage—up to the highest branch his limbs would allow.
He sat among golden leaves shedding in the wind, hidden in the canopy like a bird that had lost its flock. Those blue eyes looked down at the funeral below.
They weren’t feral like they’d been with Kime.
They were something far worse—
a grief too deep for his age,
and an emptiness that made the air feel thin.
Small hands, scarred and rough, clasped at his chest. His lips moved in a faint murmur, like a final prayer—one he didn’t offer to any god, but sent to the old woman who had been the only light in his life.
When the prayer ended, Rein lifted his face to the sky and drew a deep breath—as if he could keep the memory of her inside his lungs.
Not long after, he climbed down. The ease of it made it clear how long he’d been coming here.
At the base of the tree, he slipped his hand into a hollow he’d used to hide his “secret treasure” and pulled out a worn cloth bundle. Inside were a few spare clothes and necessities—
everything he owned in this world.
He swung the bundle over his small shoulder.
The motion looked too resolute—like an adult inside a child’s frame.
He didn’t leave immediately.
He stopped at a small mound beneath the tree’s shadow—
Nighty’s grave.
With careful hands, he pulled out a stolen milk bottle and poured thick white liquid into a cracked, rotting dish set before the grave until it brimmed.
A last meal—
for the friend he would never forget.
“I’m going now… Nighty.”
The whisper drifted away on the autumn wind.
The messy-haired boy in ragged clothes rose to his feet. He turned and looked back at the old orphanage building one last time.
There was no longing in that gaze.
Only certainty—
That place wasn’t his home anymore.
No goodbye.
No tears.
Rein turned his back, stepped down from the hill, and headed toward the cracked red dirt road.
Below him, brittle yellow leaves piled into a carpet of death, paving the way into a wider world—cruel and vast.
But ahead—
the evening sun poured golden light through the trees, stretching the shadow of a small boy long across the ground.
Dr. Rhys watched that small back walk farther… and farther…
alone—
into the path that would one day forge him into the Rein of today.
The entire scene slowly washed out… fading into the harsh brilliance of the sun—
and the autumn memory closed in silence.
These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.
Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.
Characters
Nighty
A small black kitten—Rein’s only companion during his time in the orphanage. Nighty’s brutal death at the hands of bullies is Rein’s first real emotional wound.
Sister Superior
The elderly nun who cared deeply for Rein and tried to protect him in a harsh orphanage environment. Her kindness represents the only safe emotional space in Rein’s early life. Her eventual death severs Rein’s last tether to childhood and belonging.
Kime
A bully at the orphanage who physically and emotionally tormented Rein.
Location
Classification: Institutional / Childhood Residence
Region: Outer District, Unnamed City in the northern region of the Kingdom of Arcadia
Status: Presumed Defunct
A small orphanage located in the outskirts of the northern region of the Kingdom of Arcadia
– It was funded partially by the Church of Luminara, with additional donations from local nobles and merchant sponsors.
– Despite the religious and charitable backing, the facility was known for its chronic underfunding, limited oversight, and poor living conditions.
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— Re:Naissance