Chapter 02

Lucas Wykes lay still, his senses gradually returning to him. His vision was blurred, and his body felt alien, like a vessel he had never inhabited before. Panic welled up within him as he attempted to move, but only his arms responded, wobbling aimlessly in the air.

He looked down, and to his astonishment, he saw tiny, delicate hands—the hands of a newborn baby. It was a jarring realization that he had been reborn into the body of a child. Fear and confusion washed over him, and he tried to cry out, but all that emerged was an incoherent babble.

As Lucas grappled with his newfound vulnerability, the world around him began to come into focus. He was surrounded by towering figures, colossal in comparison to his diminutive form. They were not giants, but people of immense stature, and he was but a speck in their presence.

Suddenly, a commanding voice pierced through the haze of his disorientation. Lucas strained to see the source of the voice, his vision gradually clearing.

Before him stood a man with long platinum blonde hair, neatly tied in a ponytail. His eyes, a lifeless shade of green, bore into Lucas's soul with an unsettling intensity. A scar marred his forehead near his left eye, giving him an air of mysterious authority.

Lucas's mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. The man's words echoed in his ears: "Lucas Wykes, that will be your name."

The name struck a chord deep within Lucas's memory, sending shivers down his spine. It was the name of the most despised character in the very book series he had been reading—"The Beginning After the End." The name carried with it a legacy of cruelty and betrayal, and Lucas couldn't fathom why it had been bestowed upon him.

Fear turned to dread as the man's next command sent shockwaves through Lucas's fragile consciousness.

Man with Platinum Hair, his voice devoid of emotion: "Dispose of the Elf."

Lucas's heart pounded in his chest as he watched a maid nearby, her features still blurred, obediently carry out the man's chilling command. The realization sank in that he was now a helpless child, thrust into a world where his very identity had been rewritten, and he was powerless to resist.

In the depths of Lucas's infantile consciousness, a storm of emotions raged. Confusion, fear, and anger swirled within him as he grappled with the profound strangeness of his situation. He had been reborn into a world that bore no resemblance to the one he had known, and it filled him with a profound sense of loss and disorientation.

The name "Lucas Wykes" weighed heavily on his infantile mind, a name that carried with it a legacy of malevolence and cruelty. He couldn't reconcile this new identity with the person he had once been, and a sense of dread gnawed at him.

As he helplessly observed the actions of the man with platinum hair and the maid, Lucas felt a growing anger, not just at his own powerlessness, but also at the injustice of the world he had been thrust into. He yearned to speak, to express his turmoil, but all he could manage were inarticulate cries.

The memories of his past life, the comfort of his love for literature, and the stories he had cherished seemed distant and unattainable, like fragments of a dream slipping through his fingers. Lucas knew that he faced a treacherous journey ahead, one where he would need to navigate a world filled with mysteries, secrets, and dangers untold. But deep within him, a spark of determination flickered, a resolve to uncover the truth behind his rebirth and to regain control of his destiny, no matter the cost.

As Lucas Wykes lay there, a helpless child trapped in a body he barely understood, he watched with a heavy heart as the maid dragged the lifeless form of his mother. The woman, who had given birth to him , was now being treated with a callous indifference.

Lucas's tiny body quivered with a mix of sorrow and anger. His eyes, still filled with the innocence of infancy, welled up with tears, and his rosy cheeks flushed with emotion. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty of the situation, but he could feel it in the very core of his being.

A muffled cry escaped Lucas's lips as he lay there, utterly defenseless and unable to stop the unfolding tragedy. He didn't have the words to express the depth of his sadness, but his cries echoed through the room, a poignant testament to the pain and helplessness that coursed through his infantile soul.

The world around him remained a bewildering enigma, filled with towering figures and incomprehensible actions. Lucas's emotions swirled within him, a tempest of grief and rage, but his infantile body was ill-equipped to convey the depths of his turmoil.

In that moment, as his tears flowed and his cries filled the air, Lucas Wykes grappled with the stark reality of his rebirth.

Lucas Wykes's tiny eyes took in his surroundings. He had been so preoccupied with the tragic scene before him that he hadn't fully registered where he was.

It became increasingly clear that he was in a dismal and foreboding place—a dungeon. The walls were rough-hewn stone, cold and unforgiving, casting eerie shadows in the dim light that barely penetrated the gloom. The air was thick with a musty scent, and the distant echoes of dripping water and faint, echoing footsteps added to the eerie atmosphere.

The maid, her face a mask of stern impatience, approached Lucas as he cried in his infantile helplessness. She scooped him up, her grip firm yet not unkind, and cradled him in her arms. Lucas, still teary-eyed, looked up at her, his infantile eyes filled with confusion and sadness.

Maid, her tone harsh: "Stop your incessant crying, you little nuisance. Your mother's gone . Enough of your wailing. You won't earn any favors with those tears."." The Maid facepalmed herself and thought." Who I'm I even talking to a failed product." 

As Lucas's cries gradually subsided, the exhaustion from his emotional turmoil took hold, and he began to drift into a fitful sleep in the maid's arms. His tiny newborn body had been overwhelmed by the stress and sorrow he had experienced.

The maid, her voice now tinged with bitterness, muttered to herself as she cradled Lucas, unaware of the deep inner turmoil that the child was experiencing.

The maid continued, her words carrying a bitter edge as she walked through the dark and oppressive corridors of the dungeon, Lucas nestled in her arms.

Maid, her voice dripping with disdain: "Why would the Baron even need a new heir? We have Bairon. He could have had a child with a human if he wanted, but no, he chose an elf. It's preposterous, I tell you."

Lucas, even in his slumber, was haunted by the harsh words directed at his deceased mother, unable to understand the depths of prejudice and animosity that seemed to surround him.

.

.

.

...