Chapter 02: The Reboot

The last thing Aiden remembered was the flickering light of his office.

No sound. No light. No sensation. Just nothingness.

Then, something. A pull—faint at first, but growing stronger—like gravity wrapping itself around his very soul. It yanked him forward, tearing him from the stillness. A rush of sound and color exploded in his mind, too bright, too loud. He couldn't process it—everything blurred, distorted—and then came the cold.

A bone-deep chill gripped him, sharp and unforgiving. His lungs contracted, desperate and primal, and when they finally expanded, they filled with air that burned like fire. He let out a scream, raw and guttural, a sound not his own. It echoed, high-pitched and fragile, reverberating back into his ears.

It took him a disoriented moment to realize: That's me. I'm crying.

The chaos began to slow, shapes sharpening into faces—giant faces. A woman leaned over him, her eyes brimming with exhaustion and love. Her face was unfamiliar, soft and rounded, framed by damp chestnut curls clinging to her flushed skin. She was radiant, her lips trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek.

Her hands cradled him with a tenderness he couldn't remember ever feeling. "Shh, little one," she murmured, her voice low and musical. "You're safe now. Welcome to the world, my darling."

Safe? Aiden wasn't so sure. The room was strange, the language foreign, the air thick with an energy he couldn't name but felt vibrating in every cell of his tiny body. He could hear muffled voices in the background—others murmuring softly, their words flowing with a rhythmic cadence he couldn't quite follow.

He tried to speak, to demand answers, but all that came out was another weak wail.

I'm a baby, he realized with a jolt.

Panic surged, sharp and immediate. He squirmed in her arms, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, every inch of his new body feeling alien and clumsy. His limbs flailed uselessly, his head lolling to one side. He hated the helplessness, the vulnerability.

And then, he felt it.

The presence.

Nestled in his chest, warm and alive, pulsing in time with his tiny heartbeat. It wasn't physical—not quite—but it was there, unmistakable. It hummed softly, its rhythm soothing yet strange, like a melody he'd forgotten but still recognized.

The Shard of Genesis.

Even as an infant, the knowledge bloomed in his mind. His newborn hand—small, pink, and trembling—brushed against the spot, and the world tilted. A wave of raw information flooded his thoughts, sharp and vivid, too complex to process fully.

Primordial Fragment. Grants powers according to the user's intent.

The words burned into his consciousness, undeniable and profound. He couldn't grasp their full meaning—not yet—but he understood enough. This wasn't just reincarnation. He hadn't simply been reborn; he had been reset.

The realization left him reeling, his thoughts spinning wildly. But his body, fragile and new, couldn't keep up with his mind. Exhaustion pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting. His eyelids drooped, and despite the whirlwind of questions clawing at his consciousness, sleep claimed him.

When he woke, the world was softer, quieter.

He lay swaddled in warm fabric, the gentle sway of movement lulling him into a strange calm. The air carried the faint scent of herbs and wood-smoke, mingled with something sweet and unfamiliar. A low hum vibrated through the space—a soothing, wordless melody.

His mother.

She held him close, her arms a protective cocoon. He peeked up at her through half-lidded eyes, his vision still blurry but clearer than before. Her chestnut curls glowed in the sunlight streaming through a nearby window, her features relaxed in an expression of quiet contentment.

"You're so tiny," she murmured, brushing a finger against his cheek. Her touch was featherlight, her smile soft. "But you're strong. I can feel it."

Strong? He didn't feel strong. Helpless, yes. Fragile, definitely. But her words stirred something deep within him—a flicker of resolve.

His father entered the room then, his footsteps heavy but careful. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence filling the small space. His hands, calloused and rough, belied the tenderness with which he adjusted the blanket around Aiden.

"How is he?" His voice was deep, warm, carrying a quiet strength.

"Perfect," his mother replied, her smile widening. "Our little Aiden."

Aiden. That was his name now.

The days blurred together after that, an endless cycle of sleep, feeding, and observing. He couldn't do much—his tiny body was still weak, his limbs uncooperative—but his mind was sharp. Sharper than it had ever been.

The Shard of Genesis wasn't granting him power, at least not directly. But it amplified his awareness, his ability to process and retain information. He noticed patterns in the way his parents spoke, slowly piecing together the structure of their language. By the time he was a few weeks old, he understood more than half of what they said.

And then, there was magic.

It was everywhere, woven into the very fabric of this world. He saw it in the way his mother lit a candle with a snap of her fingers, in the way his father's tools seemed to mend themselves when left unattended. It wasn't loud or flashy, but it was undeniably present—a subtle hum that resonated in everything.

Aiden burned with curiosity. He wanted to understand it, to unlock its secrets. But he held himself back. His body wasn't ready, and the Shard pulsed faintly whenever he pushed too hard, as if reminding him to be patient.

Instead, he focused on observing, learning. His parents' voices became familiar, their routines predictable. His father, Orin, spent his days working with wood and metal, his hands crafting tools and trinkets that seemed to hum faintly with energy. His mother, Ayleen, tended to the house and the small garden outside, her every movement imbued with quiet grace.

They lived in a modest home at the edge of a vast forest, its trees towering and ancient. At night, when the world grew still, Aiden would stare out the window from his cradle, watching the stars. They were brighter here, closer, their light tinged with colors he couldn't name.

And always, beneath it all, was the hum of the Shard. A constant reminder of his purpose, his potential.

This wasn't just a second chance. It was a blank slate, a world brimming with possibilities. But as much as he longed to dive headfirst into its mysteries, he knew he had to be patient.

For now, he was content to watch, to listen, and to prepare for the moment when he could take his first real steps toward the future.

As Ayleen rocked him to sleep, her soft lullaby filling the room, Aiden felt something stir within him. A spark of determination.

This was a new beginning. And it was only the start.