A Blessed child and realization

***

The world of Elarion is one of vast mysteries and divine legacies, where ancient powers shape not only the lands but the very souls of its people.

Among the stars above and the roots below, gods old and new are worshiped—some whispered about in twilight prayers, others honored through grand festivals and sacred temples.

Seven gods stand above all—deities whose dominion over the elements and principles of existence command awe across the continent.

Each of these divine figures is venerated in one of the Seven Great Empires, their blessings shaping the culture, politics, and fate of the lands they watch over. Also known as the Seven Primordial Gods as a whole.

Each of these gods is said to have descended upon the world in the Age of Dawn, their arrival heralded by celestial signs and myths etched in the stones of ancient ruins.

They chose champions, raised empires in their names, and established the balance of divine magic that governs Elarion.

But there are others—lesser gods and spirits that receive local or ancestral devotion. Some are mortal souls who ascended, chosen by a god they served in life.

Others are heroic spirits, lingering echoes of ancient champions who once answered the desperate calls of mortals in times of need. These subordinate deities act as messengers, guides, or guardians—appearing in visions or manifesting through relics and signs.

Among the lands devoted to Elyssira lies the Kingdom of Velmora, nestled at the edge of her empire.

Though not an empire itself, Velmora stands as a devout tributary kingdom, known for its peaceful hills, lush meadows, and mystical forests. Its countryside is dotted with shrines, and the villagers live in harmony with nature, their lives steeped in rituals passed down through generations.

In the northeastern border town of Branmere, the world seems to hum with old magic.

The town is cradled between gently rolling hills and dense woodland. To the east lies a magical forest, thick with moss-covered trees, crystalline springs, and bioluminescent fungi that glow under the moonlight.

It is said that the forest teems with [Rank-1]

and [Rank-2] magical beasts and herbs that shimmer faintly with residual mana. Only the bravest herbalists and adventurers dare enter its deeper parts.

On the western edge of Branmere, nestled atop a low hill overlooking the village, stands a modest orphanage built from river stones and timber.

Vines climb its walls, and the scent of wildflowers drifts through its open windows. The building is old but lovingly maintained—its halls echo with laughter, lullabies, and the creak of well-worn floorboards.

From its hilltop perch, the orphanage watches over the village like a quiet guardian.

***

On a quiet yet pleasant morning, where birds' chirping could be heard.

In an office room, an old man could be seen working at his desk. Working on some papers. His hair had grayed, and he had a long beard in a similar color. His once bright eyes had also dimmed. But they were filled with wisdom and experience he had gained over the years.

Long past his youthful days of adventure and thrill, now he was but the head of an orphanage in a remote village in the Kingdom of Velmora named Branmere.

Right now, he was working on accepting a new member into the orphanage. And writing a report to the main church for more budget allocation.

The child had already been brought to the orphanage right after dawn. The child should have already been given to a suitable caretaker. So there was no need to worry. He wrote his report with peace of mind. It was then—

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

A knock on the door. His superhuman senses caught many people talking in hushed voices.

He foresaw trouble coming.

"Come in."

As he was contemplating this fact, he told them to enter. There they were—almost. No, all the caretakers were present, even some faculty members.

"What's the problem?"

He asked them with his aged voice.

"There is none,Father. But we are here to ask for fair rights in who is going to take care of this child."

They seemed to have argued over who was going to take care of him.

At the mention of the child, he finally glanced at the infant with golden hair, peacefully sleeping in the caretaker's embrace without a care in the world.

They didn't have to tell him that this child was special. Just by looking, he could tell he was a Blessed One of the Goddess Elyssira.

Even though he was a child and had not started any type of cultivation, his presence itself was soothing even to him, who was a peak [Rank-1] warrior.

It was a wonder how the ones that had no cultivation of any type might benefit from his presence alone.

'No wonder they're fighting to take care of him.'

He thought to himself.

He thought for a few moments on what to do with the situation.

Nobody disturbed him in those moments. Finally—

"Everyone will take turns in taking care of this child."

He said.

Everybody agreed, and he told them to leave except for one man who was responsible for bringing children to the orphanage if their sender was unable to.

Like in Alaric's case. He, just like Joran, was also a [Rank-1] but in the early stage. His name was Thalen Valehart .

After everybody left, he turned to Joran and reported his journey. He shared his Oath to his birth parents in the name of the Goddess. And also the experience when he first held the baby.

It was an extraordinary feeling of rejuvenation. All the tiredness disappeared from the moment he laid his eyes upon the child and instantly felt rejuvenated and empowered.

The journey that should have taken many hours, he was able to do in two.

All this time, he didn't get tired. Even when he used his aura to run faster, it regenerated just as fast.

Faster even. It was a mythical feeling that is hard to put into words alone.

After hearing everything, Joran's eyes widened slightly. From his knowledge, he knew that even the imperial Royal Family of the empire didn't possess this kind of ability.

'As expected of a Blessed One born among commoners.'

He thought.

With that, he shared the same mindset of protecting the child's identity and fabricating a false origin.

He then instructed Thalen to make everybody take an oath in the name of the Goddess to protect his identity as long as possible. He knew a sun's radiance could not be hidden by a mere eclipse.

As Thalen left to carry out his order, Joran got up from his seat and walked toward the window. He gazed at the children playing in the playground of the orphanage.

His gaze enigmatic, as if contemplating something. After some time, he smiled and shook his head.

"Is this your will, Goddess?"

He asked while he looked into the horizon, particularly the sun as it was a symbol of the Goddess.

After that, he walked back to his desk to get back to the work he was doing with renewed vigor.

***

After the small incident in the orphanage on the first day of Alaric, it served as a welcoming ceremony. The orphanage life shifted to a new direction with Alaric joining them.

The orphanage became livelier.

As each day passed, the caretakers awaited their turn to take care of Alaric.

Every day there was a silent competition not only among caretakers but also the whole faculty members on who could make Alaric laugh.

His bell-like laughter was melodious and ethereal. Very pleasing to the listener. Not only was it pleasing to the ears, but as if their whole being was being rejuvenated in real time.

Any fatigue or malice—all of that vanished like it never existed. They felt happier and livelier. The children played around Alaric.

In his presence, they never felt tired or unhappy. And because of his appearance, children wanted to be around him all the time.

In this tranquility, days went by as Alaric started to grow up. He roamed around the orphanage on all fours, playing around. He was never alone. Somebody was there all the time. Whether it was the children or the caretakers.

One more thing was growing—that was his abilities.

They were becoming more powerful and mystical with each passing day.

His touch alone could make an extremely ill person instantly rejuvenated. Like they were never sick to begin with.

If he was on the ground for long enough, the ground slowly became a beautiful piece of grassland.

His laughter could make flowers bloom. As if they were happy for whatever the reason Alaric was happy for.

As he grew, the village slowly caught wind of it—that there was a Blessed One in the orphanage. But when they asked the orphanage members if it was true, they denied it.

Life was good for Alaric until he reached two years of age.

One night, he had a strange yet vivid dream. One he didn't tell anyone about. He didn't feel the need to.

Even then, his life didn't change much.

As days passed and Alaric grew, the dreams continued every day. At first, he thought it was a coincidence.

But the same type of dream continued. It didn't affect him in any way. So he ignored it. Or at least tried to. Because of the dreams, his personality changed little by little without him knowing. But in a good way.

He became more mature for his age. His interests shifted to more practical aspects of life. He started to learn how to read and write.

In the orphanage library, he learned about the vast world of Elarion. He dreamed of venturing into the world to explore the unknown one day.

Time passed.

Alaric's fifth birthday was approaching. By this time He realised it is not merely a dream but Memory of him in his past life and her.

On his fifth birthday, he had his last dream about his past life.

Everything seemed in place now. Before, if the memories were like scattered fragments of a puzzle, now they had been pieced together. He remembered everything, from the first day of elementary school to the vow he made to himself before death.

After that, he never had those dreams again.

The next turning point in the quiet rhythm of the orphanage arrived not long after Alaric's fifth birthday.

The lively orphanage was even more lively. They were preparing to accept a new member into the orphanage. He heard it was a boy. He didn't know much except that.

On the same day the boy arrived at the orphanage.

It was a calm morning, the kind that draped the village in a gentle stillness.

A silver mist curled lazily above the grass, and dew still clung to the leaves when the carriage rolled into Branmere.

It bore no crest, no grandeur—just an unremarkable vehicle drawn by a single tired horse, the sort that passed through often and left just as quickly.

But this time, it did not pass.

When the door opened, a boy stepped out.

He couldn't have been older than five or six. His frame was delicate, his clothes clean but plain, worn at the hems. Silken black hair fell softly around his pale face, slightly tousled by the breeze.

But it was his eyes that drew everyone's attention—large, dark, and startlingly expressionless. There was no fear, no curiosity, no joy in them. Only quiet. A silence too deep for a child that age.

He stood still, clutching a satchel to his chest as if it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

Sister Miria approached him gently, offering words of welcome in her usual soft voice. The boy gave a small nod in return, but said nothing.

Father Joran watched from the steps of the chapel, his brow furrowing faintly.

There was a strange air about this child—not unnatural, not divine like the day Alaric arrived—but muted. Like a song missing its melody.

A soul wrapped in gauze.

"His name is Elior,"

Sister Miria said quietly to the others after leading him inside.

"He's come from the capital. There were... circumstances. Poor thing."

No one pressed for details.

The other children watched with a mixture of interest and caution. Some tried to approach, offering toys or kind words.

Elior thanked them softly, always polite, always distant.

He didn't cry. He didn't cling. He merely existed, like a shadow learning how to breathe.

Alaric, standing beneath the archway, tilted his head as he observed the newcomer.

Their eyes met—gold to black.

And though neither said a word, something unspoken passed between them.

He thought for a moment.

The name sounded familiar.

Not from this world but from another. His previous world . It is strangely similar to the favourite character of his senior.

They have similar features as well.

Then a thought struck him.

A thought that he buried deep within himself because how absurd it is.

But now... now he can't ignore it.

Everything is too similar to be a coincidence. And it Terrified him to the core.

He reincarnated in the ridiculous Reverse Harem World his senior talked about.

Not as an major or supportive character but as an Extra who is not even mentioned in the novel.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

Night fell. The day felt like a blur to him, tangled with too many thoughts and emotions.

He couldn't shake the image of the boy from his mind—those delicate features, those familiar black eyes. It was too much of a coincidence. Too perfect a match. The boy was real. Elior Elaris.

A name that had once existed only within the pages of a novel.

But that's not the pressing matter right now.

If Elior is here means the village will be raided by bandits.

He isn't sure about the exact time , but maybe in a month or in six months. He needed to think of something.

Alaric lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room. The quiet breaths of sleeping children filled the space, but his own mind remained restless.

Many had asked him if he was alright. He had answered with a small "yes."

They thought it was just childish jealousy—attention slipping away from him to the newcomer. They laughed softly, murmuring,

"He's still a child, no matter how mature he acts."

But that wasn't it. It wasn't envy. It was the weight of knowing—of remembering.

And the terrifying realization that the world he'd been born into wasn't just similar to that reverse harem fantasy. It was that world.

He couldn't sleep.

The silence pressed on his chest, so he quietly slipped out from under his blanket, careful not to wake anyone.

He padded barefoot through the hallway, the floorboards cool beneath his feet. He walked without thinking, letting instinct guide him, until he found himself standing before the orphanage's small chapel.

The doors creaked softly as he opened them. Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, painting the floor in pale colors. The hallway was still, filled with a gentle hush, as if the building itself held its breath.

He stepped inside, drawn forward by something unseen.

At the end of the corridor stood the statue of the Goddess Elyssira—face veiled, hands clasped in a silent prayer. Her marble form shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

Alaric approached slowly. His heart beat a little faster with each step.

He knelt before the statue, his hands folding together without thought. His lips moved in a quiet, wordless prayer—not for strength, not for answers, but simply for clarity. For calm. For something to anchor him in this strange, familiar world.

As if answering his silent plea, a faint glimmer sparked from the heart of the statue.

Ba-dump

Then another.

Ba-dump

And another.

Ba-dump

Light blossomed around him, slow and soft like morning dew catching the first rays of dawn. Ethereal particles drifted into the air, like motes of starlight suspended in time.

The light gathered, swirling around Alaric in quiet reverence. It wasn't harsh or blinding—it pulsed gently, alive with a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat. Like his heartbeat.

The air grew warmer, but not oppressively so—comforting, like a mother's embrace.

The glow formed a dome, translucent and divine, enveloping him in a sacred stillness. The colors shimmered—gold, pearl, soft rose—like the inside of a dream that didn't fade upon waking.

Alaric didn't move. Didn't speak. He simply felt.

Something within him stirred—deep, ancient, powerful.

A resonance.

It wasn't a memory. It wasn't his old life. It was something else. Something older. Divine. Like a slumbering truth in his blood had finally begun to awaken.

The light pulsed again, and in that moment, Alaric's heartbeat aligned with it perfectly—as if the Goddess herself was reaching out and saying:

I see you.

I remember you.

You're not alone.

—To Be Continued