A man with straight, jet black hair which draped over his shoulder was sitting, head hung low, at the side of his child’s bed. His black beard was carved with precision. His clothes were well-kept, a fitted grey vest and dark pants, with a white shirt underneath that had delicate lace cuffs. He looked exhausted.

His wife, the woman beside him that was staring into oblivion, looked even worse for wear. Her reddish-brown hair was slick and messy in loose curls. Her brown eyes looked exhausted. Alister hadn’t woken up for three days now. The healer came in thrice today, and there was little change. The physician, a grey-haired man with lines carved from age across his face and a wiry beard, walked into the room and gave the mother a firm pat on her shoulder.

“Mister Severin, Miss Severin,” he started, gripping his clipboard, “He still hasn’t woken, hm?” They didn’t need to say anything. The doctor already knew the answer by their faces alone. He sighed, “The other children and Miss Koll were all released today. Luckily there were no major injuries in the explosion… The healers were able to tend to the broken bones of the children nearest to Alister. It could have been worse had the explosion occurred earlier in the class…”

No one had any response to his words. They didn’t bring their child back. Silence hung in the air before the doctor sighed again, “Sorry… Ah… I’ve spoken with my peers. They’re concerned about the state of his core. The amount of mana that was expelled was far too much for a boy his age. We’re worried about how he will be if… er… once he wakes.”

“Given the correlation between past life memories and mana power… we also worry that your son may act differently when he wakes,” he stared at his clipboard as he spoke, as though he couldn’t bear to look at their distraught faces, “I have not heard of a case this severe, so we don’t know how it will affect him, but the closest case I know of was of a young girl that was knocked unconscious by her magic power. The mana connected to her past life gave her memories of her… of her last moments in her last life. Given the amount of mana that exploded, I am sure he will remember how his past life died. That can be very traumatic for a child his age. More than that, other memories are sure to be included, and it can be very overwhelming. He will likely need therapy, once he manages to get past this danger.”

The father nodded numbly. The mother started to cry again, sobbing into her fingers as her chest heaved and she curled forward onto the side of the bed, as though her sorrow didn’t allow her to support her frame any longer.

“I’m sorry. I wish I had better news for you two,” the physician said, cupping her shoulder in support again.

Alister gasped awake before the doctor turned to leave, stunning the three adults into silence. He gripped his throat and wheezed, coughing and sputtering as adrenaline shot through him. Everything hurt. His mana was running rampant in such a tiny body. He… he needed to…

He tried to scramble away into the corner but dizziness spun his vision and he had no choice but to grip the bed. The doctor called for nurses and others with a resounding shout. The three, two his… parents? They tried to come forward to offer him support. Confused, he swiped out with his hand like a scared beast, but the support of only one hand wasn’t enough to keep him sitting up, and he collapsed to the bed again.

Alister tried to cast a magic circle in his palm in defense but even the beginning of the circuit made him gasp in horrible pain.

Every inch of him screamed with pain. His bones ached like fire. His skin felt too hyper-aware and sensitive. His head couldn’t make sense of anything. He gasped for breath. The feeling of his throat being crushed by that demon of a god was fresh in his mind.

“Alister!” his mother cried out, “Alister sweetheart it’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here.”

Alister? That wasn’t his name… or… it was? What happened to him? He was sure he had died. The effort of sorting through his thoughts was too much, and with two little fists balling the sheets of the bed, he leaned over the side and vomited bile.

His father gripped his arm and supported him as he puked up mostly saliva. He didn’t have the strength to fight it. “Alister… just let it out. Focus on breathing. You’re safe,” he assured his child, “You’ve been asleep for three whole days. You’ll be a bit weak. Just take it easy.” Their voices felt warm to him. These people were safe.

The doctor had scrambled his team and they were now all around the bed. One nurse cleaned up the vomit without a word. Another tried to grab his arm, and though their touch was delicate and gentle, it made Alister jerk upright again. He glared at the whole of them with death in his eyes. It was enough to give them pause, though he couldn’t have been too intimidating with his vision spinning.

“Alister. They just want to check on you, please, we’re worried for you,” his mother pleaded.

He shoved himself upright, back against the frame of the bed for support. “Where am I?” he whispered, voice horse. The high pitch and youth of it surprised Alister, and he looked so taken aback for a moment, “What is happening? I don’t want to be touched. Leave me.”

His demand was so confident despite lacking strength. The doctor grimaced and motioned for the nurses to leave. Once the door was shut, he focused back onto the child, “Alister. You’re confused.”

That much was obvious. He glared at the doctor for the statement, “Very, yes.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”