The winter wind whispered across the spires of Eldhollow, a historic city nestled between marble mountains and frozen rivers. Snow gently dusted the stained glass of Saint Rosalia's Hospital, where history and miracle were about to converge once more.
In the hallway of the maternity wing, a man sat alone — tall, refined, dressed in a charcoal black suit designed with silver embroidery. His jet-black hair was slightly disheveled, and his sapphire-blue eyes betrayed a storm of anxiety.
His name was Julian Albrecht, heir to one of Eldhollow's oldest noble houses. But behind those eyes, far deeper than blood or title, burned the soul of Shang Ruiming — once a ordinay man from lower Expansion.
Julian stood abruptly as the door creaked open. A nurse stepped out with a warm smile, holding a folded blanket in her arms.
"Congratulations, Mr. Albrecht. It's a boy."
Julian exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
He entered the room slowly. Sunlight filtered through the frosted windows, casting golden hues over the pale sheets. His wife lay resting on the bed — elegant, ethereal, her long snow-white hair spread like a crown over the pillow. Her ice-blue eyes opened softly as he approached.
Her name was Seraphina Albrecht, formerly known as Shang Lihua, once the a ordinary woman and Shang Ruiming's wife. Now a famed musician and scholar in this world.
"He's beautiful. He has inherited my hair," Seraphina whispered, cradling the child in her arms.
Julian sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the newborn — delicate, flawless, breathing lightly. But behind that infant slumber was something ancient… something vast.
"He looks like…" Seraphina's voice trembled. "He looks just like Jin."
Julian nodded, his voice soft. "He is really Jin and there is no doubt. Even the stars held their breath for his return."
They had made a vow long ago — never to burden their son with memories of a past life. He would live freely. Not as a tool. Not as a god. But as himself.
"What will we name him?" Seraphina asked, her gaze lingering on the child's gentle face.
Julian answered, without hesitation.
"Gilbert."
She kissed the child's forehead.
"Gilbert. Gilbert Albrecht... May he shine brighter than we ever did."
Across the world… the Atman stirred.
Far in the oldcathedrals of Ravensloch, a priest in a tattered cassock lit a candle in silence. As the flame flickered to life, he froze.
His head turned slowly, lips parting in a reverent murmur.
"It has begun," he whispered with a reverent smile. "The soul has returned."
In the upper chamber of Westrington Clock Tower, a young archivist stacked books along a forgotten shelf. Suddenly, the hands of the great clock ticked out of rhythm.
He staggered, hand gripping his chest.
"…The resonance… it's real…"
In a manor draped in crimson velvet, high atop the snowy cliffs of Durnholme's family, a nobleman stood in a red suit, gazing silently out the window. Beside him, his wife in silver fur wrapped her fingers around his arm.
He muttered.
"The final piece has entered the game."
On a rooftop in manor of Vallente, overlooking the icy sprawl of the city, a man in a black three-piece suit smoked a cigarette. His wife stood beside him, staring at the same sky. She leaned against the railing, quiet and thoughtful.
The man exhaled smoke into the wind.
"…He's back," he said quietly.
He stared at the sky as if listening.
"…The Atman sings again."
Each of them — priest, scholar, noble, philosopher — whispered in their own way:
"The Atman resonates."
What did it mean?
A ripple across the spiritual continuum.
An ancient soul had returned.
A piece long missing from the great design had finally been placed.
The game has begun. The board is set. The final piece… is God Himself.
And then… from realms unseen… came the voices of the Eldest Ones.
Nihilith:
"From nothingness or from void he returns… not as a shadow, but as the light that follows the end — a flame once extinguished, now divine again."
Yggdrasil:
"The tree stirs. The seed of light blooms once more — not in heaven, but among mortals. In the child, the world finds its axis."
Xir'vanta:
"The threads have found their weaver. The god is reborn. Let the final song begin. Let the weave begin. The god is no longer fallen. He is born anew… as Gilbert."
In Saint Rosalia's quiet room, Gilbert Albrecht opened his ice-blue eyes for the first time. The world outside remained still… but the cosmos shifted in silence.
He did not cry.
He simply looked.
And in that gaze, something primordial returned.
His soul was not that of a child.
It was Jin Luneblood, reborn — stripped of memory, but not of meaning. A god born in flesh, not to rule… but to reshape the world.
And far above, the stars turned.