---
Rumble...Crackle...BOOOOOOM!
A low growl of thunder rolled across the sky.
Raindrops pattered against the ground—steady and relentless.
Flash—CREACK!
A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky.
Distant thunder grumbled like an angry god awakening.
The sharp hiss of rain intensified into a roaring downpour.
A taxi could be seen zooming through the rain.
Inside the cab, a man sat calmly in the back seat, his expression unreadable as he gazed out the rain-streaked window.
BOOOOOM!
Thunder cracked through the sky like the heavens themselves had split open.
The drizzle turned into a violent downpour in seconds, hammering against the taxi's windshield. The wipers struggled to keep up, swishing back and forth with increasing futility.
"Damn storm came outta nowhere."
The driver muttered, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel.
In the back seat, the man remained still, his gaze lost in the shimmering distortions of the rain-blurred city.
Streetlights and neon signs melted into the glass, casting colors that looked like oil slicks—unnatural, warped.
He blinked slowly. His mind wandered.
'We just talked about novels… about silly stories and characters…'
His breath fogged the glass. A strange pressure filled his chest. Not fear. Not anxiety. Something… ancient. Instinctual.
Something was coming.
Then—
POP!
A sharp, sudden sound.
The cab lurched violently. The driver screamed.
"SHIT!"
The front tire had blown. The car veered sharply, tires shrieking against the soaked asphalt. Water splashed like waves as the cab skidded sideways. The world tilted.
CRASH!
Steel met concrete. The car slammed into a utility pole with bone-jarring force. The sound of twisting metal and shattering glass filled the night.
A distant bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.
Time seemed to slow.
The shattered glass fragments caught the lightning's light, creating an eerie yet beautiful scene as they floated across his vision.
The glass lodged into his flesh. Blood gushed like a fountain.
The impact was so severe, the car crumpled to nearly half its original size.
The driver had turned into pulp—blood splattered everywhere.
The man in the back seat was somehow still conscious. Blood ran down the side of his face, warm and sticky. His ears rang. His vision blurred. But he felt everything—too much.
He managed to drag the upper half of his body out of the car, but the rest wouldn't follow. His legs were stuck—shattered beyond recognition.
He lay there, half-hanging, rain spattering across his face. Blood poured from his wounds, dyeing the rainwater crimson.
He was pinned in place. A prisoner of twisted steel.
It was painful. Excruciatingly so.
A kind of pain he'd never felt—and never wanted to feel again.
His entire body ached.
His vision wavered.
His breathing grew fainter with each passing moment.
But the pain in his head—that was something no human should ever have to endure.
It felt like his skull was being torn apart, like something was being forcefully ripped from within.
Despite it all, his thoughts remained calm. His eyes, shockingly clear, were filled with quiet recognition.
'So this is it…'
The thought came, unbidden. Calm. Detached.
'All that work. All those quiet nights in the office. All that small talk. That ramen place we kept going to. Gone.'
His breath hitched. His vision dimmed.
'I didn't even reply to her last message properly.'
He coughed. Blood touched his tongue. Tasted like metal and ash.
'I wanted to take a vacation this year…'
It wasn't fear that filled him now. It was resignation.
'This world… it never felt like it was mine anyway.'
His eyes drifted to the side.
BOOOOOOM!
A lightning bolt crashed down with a deafening roar.
Raindrops fell into the bloodied water, illuminating it in a fleeting, haunting glow.
'If I get another chance… anywhere… anywhere else… I'll live for myself next time.'
His vision darkened. The cold metal beneath his cheek felt warm now.
Something better… something new…
And then, everything vanished.
No pain. No sound. No light.
Just stillness.
Just peace.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
At first, there was nothing.
No light.
No sound.
No pain.
Just an endless, weightless stillness. Not quite sleep. Not quite awareness.
He floated.
It felt like being suspended in warm water, where no part of your body touches the ground and nothing pulls you down. No fear. No urgency. Just… release.
His thoughts drifted in loose fragments.
'Was that it? Is it over?'
There was no answer.
Only silence. So complete it felt like it had shape—pressing gently against him from all sides.
Then, from somewhere deep within, something stirred. A faint pulse. A quiet rhythm.
Ba-dump.
Like a heartbeat.
Ba-dump.
The rhythm grew louder. Stronger. Not a sound, but a feeling.
And with each beat, a strange clarity bloomed in his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted something.
Not to be saved. Not to go back.
But to continue.
Somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He exhaled—but there was no breath.
He blinked—but had no eyes.
And yet, with that simple desire… the stillness began to break.
The nothingness cracked like old ice.
Faint light trickled in, Golden-White and Divine. It came not from the sun or any lamp—but from within. Or perhaps beyond.
His body—whatever he had now—began to fall. Slowly at first. Then faster.
Weight returned. Gravity returned. Sound returned in pulses—like a heartbeat matching his own.
Then, once again, everything went dark.
***
A breathtaking view of the stars stretched across the night sky.
In a remote village, in a run-down wooden house lit by flickering candles, the agonizing screams of a woman in labor echoed through the night.
Three people were in the room—two women and a man.
One woman labored to give birth, the other assisted her.
The man—presumably her husband—tried to motivate her with soft words like "You can do it," "Almost there," and "Just a little harder."
...He wasn't very good at motivating people.
But somehow, in this moment, even his awkward encouragement worked. With one final, powerful push—
"Congratulations, it's a boy."
The baby was born.
But unlike most newborns who cried immediately, this one didn't.
He was calm, his large eyes curiously scanning the world.
Then his gaze shifted. He looked sad. Scared.
And then—he cried, just like any other baby.
Gone was the moment of strange awareness, replaced by the expression of a normal child.
Golden hair. Bright amber eyes.
So unlike his parents' brown hair and brown eyes.
The father's first thought wasn't whether the child was his, but something else entirely.
Moments later, his eyes widened with recognition.
"A Blessed child "
He whispered, nearly shouting—but held himself back.
His wife and the midwife shared the same look of awe.
After the midwife left—sworn to secrecy by an oath on the Goddess of Light and Life—they sat together to discuss what to do.
They had planned to leave him at an orphanage. They were too poor to raise another mouth, especially a growing baby.
He thought about handing him over to the church—but worried he'd be abducted or worse before reaching the capital.
A Blessed child born among commoners was rare—and dangerous.
He even considered selling the boy to escape poverty.
But he abandoned the thought. If word ever got out that he sold a child blessed by the Goddess, death would be a mercy.
He never told his wife these thoughts. She was already growing attached. Who wouldn't, seeing such a beautiful child?
They couldn't raise him. But they could name him.
It was the least they could offer.
The next morning, the prearranged orphanage staff came to collect the child. The mother, reluctant, handed him over with trembling hands and tear-streaked cheeks.
A mother parting with her newborn—it was cruel. But sometimes, the world was cruel.
The orphanage staff stared at the child in awe, eyes wide.
Another who recognized him.
The father asked for secrecy. The staff member swore an oath to the Goddess himself, vowing to protect the child's identity.
Before he left, he asked, "What's the boy's name?"
The father glanced toward the house, where his wife stood hidden by shadows, and answered:
"Alaric Aurelian"
***
It felt like both an instant—and an eternity.
He awakened, his consciousness hazy. He couldn't remember who he was, or what he had lost.
He looked around curiously, and found two people looking at him.But his consciousness was too hazy to care.
Even so he felt... empty.
Something was missing. Something precious.
Then, again, from deep within...
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
The pulse returned.
And with it—fragments.
The hum of office lights.
The scent of cheap coffee.
Her voice. Warm, dramatic, teasing.
That absurd novel she loved.
A dream of a life. Half-remembered. Fading.
And it made him feel... sad.
And scared.
And so, he cried—slowly becoming the baby he had become.
***
After Alaric was brought to the orphanage, the caretakers swarmed him. Everyone wanted to hold him. To be near him. It almost turned into a heated argument over who would care for him first.
So they decided to bring him to the head of the orphanage—whom everyone called "Father."
His real name is Joran Hestel.
He looked at Alaric in silence, deep in thought.
No one interrupted.
Finally, he spoke: everyone would take turns. The caretakers nodded in agreement, some wondering why they hadn't thought of it sooner.
"He's... beautiful," one murmured as she took her shift.
And he was.
Even as an infant, Alaric possessed an ethereal air—something otherworldly. By age two, he was the orphanage's darling. Sun-kissed hair that shimmered. Golden eyes that seemed to see too much.
Other children flocked to him, drawn like moths to flame.
But Alaric wasn't always present.
Sometimes, he'd stare into nothing, solemn and still—as if hearing something no one else could.
By the time he turned five, the dreams began.
Not nightmares. Memories.
He'd wake breathless. Eyes distant. Chest heavy.
In those dreams, he saw himself—a man in another life. A city of glass towers. Coffee. Rain.
And her.
His senior.
She always appeared in those memories—laughing, scolding, warm. The only thing that felt real.
He buried the memories. Pushed them away.
Because this world needed his attention now.
The language was different—but he understood.
Magic existed here—he'd seen it. Floating scrolls. Dancing water.
And then, a name.
"Elior Elaris"
A boy recently brought in. Same age. Same name.
And when Alaric saw him—he froze.
Jet-black hair like polished obsidian. Eyes deep and dark. A fragile beauty.
It was him. One of the central male leads from that novel. Her favorite.
And he was here.
In this very orphanage.
Alaric didn't believe in fate.
Not before.
But this? This couldn't be coincidence.
Another memory flickered.
The orphanage… would be attacked. Soon.
Maybe a month. Maybe six.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.
He had no family. No allies.
Just fragmented dreams, and a quiet resolve burning behind golden eyes.
He waited. He watched.
And for the first time in this new life...
He prepared.
—To Be Continued
---