Remanescence of Shadows

Emerging from the depths of unconsciousness felt like clawing my way to the surface of a dark ocean. Slowly, sound replaced the silence—a jumble of voices speaking in a language I couldn't understand. The words flowed over me, strange yet oddly soothing.

My eyelids felt like lead, but I forced them open. At first, everything was a blur, shapes and colors bleeding into each other. Then, as the world came into focus, the first thing I saw was a face.

A young woman gazed down at me, her delicate features framed by long, straight white hair that shimmered like moonlight. Her striking purple eyes were soft, filled with warmth, and her ivory skin gave her an almost ethereal beauty. She smiled at me—a smile so tender that it sent a pang through my chest.

Instinctively, I tried to speak, to ask her where I was, but all that came out was a garbled, pathetic sound.

"Ah! Dah!"

Her smile widened, and she cradled me closer to her chest. Her slender fingers brushed against my cheek with a gentleness that left me stunned. This was... surreal.

Before I could fully process what was happening, my eyes caught movement. A man stood nearby, his presence commanding yet cold. He was of average height, with black hair neatly combed back, sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce through me, and a meticulously trimmed goatee. He looked at me briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning and leaving the room without a word.

What the hell?

I tried to shift, to understand my surroundings, but my limbs felt strange, tiny, uncoordinated. That's when it hit me.

I've been reincarnated... as a baby?!

***

It's been a year since I woke up in this strange new world. In that time, I've learned a lot—or as much as a baby can, anyway. In that first year of life, I managed to pick up a few words of the language spoken here. It's still a real tongue-twister, and the thought of trying to speak it makes my head spin. The structure is different, the sounds alien to the tongue I remember from my old world. But understanding the basics—just the essentials like greetings, simple commands, and names—has been a huge relief. It's like a lifeline, letting me piece together the world around me little by little. 

Honestly, I wasn't even shocked when I realized I'd been reincarnated. I guess, after living a life as bland and uneventful as mine, nothing really fazed me anymore. If anything, I was relieved to have another shot. Surprised? No. But grateful? Absolutely.

 Among the things I discovered, i've found out that the white-haired woman is my mother. Her name is Grilda, and she's as kind as she looks. The man? He's my father, Lucian. Cold, distant, and not exactly the fatherly type. I've yet to see him smile, let alone hold me.

And me? Apparently, I'm called Castiel.

Our home is a sprawling mansion, a gleaming white estate surrounded by lush gardens that seem to stretch on forever. Every day, my mother takes me on walks around the grounds, pointing out flowers I can't name and trees that seem impossibly tall. It's beautiful, but it's also overwhelming. This isn't just a house, it's a statement. Whoever my parents are, they're clearly people of power and wealth.

Inside, the mansion is just as grand. Marble floors, towering ceilings, and walls adorned with paintings of stern-looking ancestors. Two maids manage the household—Mara and Lina. Mara is tall and elegant, with blonde hair always tied in a bun, her sharp blue eyes hidden behind oval glasses. She's strict but efficient, the kind of person who keeps everything running smoothly. Lina, on the other hand, is younger and more playful, petite with a big bust and a blonde drill-shaped pigtail and blue eyes like Mara, she is often sneaking me treats or making faces to make me laugh.

Magic is real here. I learned that the day I saw Mara summon water out of thin air to clean the floors. It was... breathtaking.

I can't wait until I'm old enough to try magic myself.

For now, though, my days are repetitive—eating, sleeping, and crawling around the mansion. It's a strange mix of boredom and discovery. Every corner of this place feels like a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

One day, during one of my solo crawling expeditions, I stumbled upon something unexpected. The door to the library—normally kept firmly shut—was ajar.

I sneak in by crawling, and I gasped.

The room was massive, the walls lined with towering bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and polished wood. Light streamed in through tall windows, casting golden beams across rows of neatly organized books.

This place was a treasure trove, a sanctuary of knowledge. Who knew what secrets these books held? Magic spells, ancient histories, maps of this strange world?

As I clumsily crawled inside, my eyes darted from shelf to shelf, my excitement growing.

If I could read these, I might finally start to understand this world—

"Oh, there you are, master Castiel."

The voice startled me, and I turned to see Lina standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a playful smirk on her face.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" she said, scooping me up effortlessly.

I squirmed in her arms, frustrated at being dragged away from the library, but Lina only laughed.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here," she teased, her big blue eyes sparkling.

She carried me back to my mother's sitting room, where Grilda was reading.

"Sorry, Mrs. Grilda," Lina said with an apologetic bow. "Castiel found his way into the library again."

Grilda looked up from her book, her expression softening as she reached out to take me.

"Ah, my little explorer," she murmured, stroking my hair. "You're always so curious, aren't you?"

Her smile was warm, but for just a moment, I saw something else in her eyes—worry, maybe even fear.

Before I could dwell on it, she began humming a lullaby, her voice soft and soothing. My eyelids grew heavy, and soon I drifted off, her song echoing in my dreams.

But that flicker of concern in her eyes stayed with me.

What was she afraid of?

***

The sunny afternoon light bathed the grand reception hall in a warm, golden hue, glinting off polished silverware and casting soft shadows across the wooden floor. Despite the room's grandeur—ornate chandeliers, velvet drapes, and an abundance of flowers—the atmosphere felt cold.

It's been two years since I arrived in this world, and today, on my third birthday, I'm the center of attention—or so it seems on the surface. The truth is, this isn't a celebration for me. It's a performance, orchestrated by my father to curry favor with the nobles of the Garthram Empire.

Lina fussed over me in my bedroom, adjusting the fine robes I'd been dressed in. The outfit was more extravagant than anything I'd ever worn before—white button-down shirt, dark wool sweater, brown shorts, and perfectly polished dress shoes. I glanced at myself in the mirror, my sharp purple eyes staring back, framed by straight black hair.

"There! You look so cute~" Lina beamed, clearly proud of her work.

I offered her a small smile. "Thank you, Lina."

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she stood back, clasping her hands together. "Shall we go? The party guests are waiting for the birthday boy~"

The walk to the reception hall felt like marching into battle. The hum of chatter grew louder as we approached, and I could already picture the sea of unfamiliar faces waiting to dissect me with their gazes.

The hall was crowded with finely dressed men and women, all sipping wine from crystal goblets and engaging in polite conversation. My father, Lucian Lachius, stood at the center, commanding attention as he always did. His black hair was neatly combed, his sharp blue eyes surveying the room with the intensity of a chess master analyzing the board.

Beside him, my mother, Grilda, was the picture of elegance, her long white hair cascading over her shoulders like a veil of snow. Her frail figure was draped in a deep purple gown that matched her striking eyes, and though she smiled warmly, there was a quiet weariness in her expression.

As I entered, my father tapped a knife against his glass, the sharp sound silencing the room. All eyes turned toward me.

"Ahem," he began, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today. I'd like to take a moment to introduce my son, Castiel Lachius."

He gestured for me to step forward. My legs felt heavy, but I forced myself to move, each step drawing me closer to the center of the room—and the center of their scrutiny.

"Today, my son turns three years old. A bright future awaits him as the next heir of the Lachius family. Let us all give him a round of applause."

The room erupted into polite clapping, but the sound felt hollow. These people didn't care about me; they cared about what I represented.

Lucian leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the applause. "Don't embarrass me," he murmured. "The Lachius name must remain strong."

A chill ran down my spine. The warmth in his public words was a farce, his smile a mask.

He straightened and patted my back. "Go on, my boy. Play with the other children."

I glanced at Grilda, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but her gaze was distant, her smile fixed in place as if carved from porcelain.

"Enjoy yourself, darling," she said softly.

With that, my parents turned back to their guests, resuming their roles in this elaborate performance. I stood there for a moment, feeling like an afterthought at my own party.

The room felt suffocating, the weight of expectations pressing down on me. I needed to get away.

Slipping through the crowd, I made my way to the garden. The evening breeze greeted me as I stepped outside, carrying the scent of blooming roses. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds offered a welcome reprieve from the noise inside.

I wandered toward the center of the garden, where the manicured hedges and vibrant flowerbeds formed a peaceful haven. There, kneeling beside a bed of roses, was Mara. Her blonde hair was tied neatly in a bun, and her sharp blue eyes softened as she hummed a gentle tune. She moved with the precision of an artist, her hands tending to the flowers with care.

Noticing me, she looked up and smiled. "Young Master Castiel, what are you doing out here all alone?"

I shuffled over to her, sitting down on the grass beside her. "It's my birthday, but… I don't feel happy," I admitted quietly.

Mara paused, setting down her tools brushing off her hands on her apron, and turned to face me. "Birthdays can be strange, can't they? They remind us of how much we've grown, but also of the expectations placed on us."

I frowned, picking at the grass. "My father doesn't really care about me. He just wants to look good in front of everyone."

Her smile faded slightly, and she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Your father… has his own way of showing things, even if it doesn't feel that way. But remember this: you're more than just his son. You're Castiel Lachius, and you'll find your own path."

Her words resonated with me in a way I didn't expect.

Mara reached over, plucking a small, delicate flower from the garden. "Here," she said, handing it to me. "This flower, like you, is still growing. Take care of it, and it will bloom into something beautiful. Just like you will, one day."

I held the flower carefully, staring at its fragile petals. For the first time today, I felt a small flicker of hope.

"Thank you, Mara," I said softly.

She smiled, and we sat there in comfortable silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in vibrant shades of orange and pink, I stayed seated on the soft grass, clutching the delicate flower Mara had handed me. She had returned to her chores, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the faint rustling of the evening breeze.

I looked up at the sky, the warm hues slowly giving way to twilight, and let out a long breath. Moments like this always seemed to pull me back to my past life. It's strange—dying of old age in a world so different from this one, and yet… I don't feel like an experienced person.

Sure, I lived a full lifetime, technically. But what kind of life was it? I never knew what it was like to have real connections. No true friends. No family who cared. I never got to experience the kind of bond people always talk about—the kind that makes you feel alive. Instead, I spent years just going through the motions, waiting for something to change, and when nothing did…

I paused, holding the fragile flower closer to my chest. I had let time slip away back then. And for what? A life I barely even lived? It's embarrassing to admit, but I feel more like a child now than I ever did before.

But Mara's words…

"You're Castiel, and you'll find your own path in time."

She's right. I'm not the person I used to be. That man—the one who wasted a lifetime in quiet despair—is gone. Now, all that matters is who I am here and now. I'm Castiel Lachius. I was given the miracle of reincarnation, not to fix the past, but to create something new.

I tilted my head back, letting my eyes trace the streaks of fading sunlight across the sky. The first stars were starting to appear, tiny pinpricks of light against the growing darkness. They seemed so far away, but somehow comforting.

"This time…" I whispered, as if promising myself, the universe, and whoever or whatever had granted me this second chance, "I'll live. I'll really live."

The cool breeze brushed against my face, carrying away some of the weight I'd been holding onto. This world is vast, full of mysteries, dangers, and opportunities. And this time, I wouldn't let it all slip through my fingers.

I stared down at the small flower in my hand. Fragile, but beautiful. It felt like a symbol of everything I could become—if I nurtured it, cared for it, let it grow.

Standing up, I turned back toward the mansion. Its silhouette loomed in the fading light, but tonight it felt less imposing. The air smelled of blooming flowers and evening dew as I took slow, deliberate steps back toward the reception hall.

The flower remained in my hand, a quiet reminder that my new life had just begun.