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SMW C1 Alexander Godric
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 14:13:20 +0000 UTCA man in his thirties stared at the white ceiling above, tears streaming silently down his hollow cheeks.
Alexander lay in the hospital bed, his body reduced to little more than skin draped over bones. His frame, once strong, had withered to the fragility of dried twigs. The sharp angles of his face told the story of his decline—there was nothing left of the man he used to be.
So this is it. This is how I die? Alexander thought, his eyes heavy with despair.
Only a month had passed since his diagnosis—a terrible illness so rare that he was the sole documented case. The disease remained unnamed, unstudied, unrecognizable to even the most experienced physicians. It was a sickness that drained him of everything, as if something invisible were slowly siphoning away his very essence.
The doctors found his organs functioning normally, his blood work unremarkable, yet his life force ebbed away with each passing day as though aging decades in mere weeks. Baffled, they could only theorize about genetics—a cruel mutation that no test could identify.
"It appears to be a genetic anomaly," they had explained to his family. "Something that triggers rapid cellular degeneration after thirty. We've never seen anything like it."
The irony wasn't lost on Alexander. No one in his family had ever suffered such a fate. The gene had apparently chosen him alone, awakening like some dormant curse on his thirtieth birthday.
Alexander turned his head toward the empty visitor's chair. His parents weren't there—again. He sighed, a sound barely audible above the steady hum of medical equipment. They're probably arguing over who has to take the night shift.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. His siblings had stopped visiting weeks ago, making excuses about work, family, anything to avoid confronting his deteriorating condition. Only his parents remained, splitting their time in twelve-hour shifts like prison guards, each taking their turn watching him fade away.
His mother would arrive each morning, exhaustion etched in the lines around her eyes, staying until evening when his father would reluctantly take over. Neither complained, but Alexander could see the toll it was taking. They were aging before his eyes, worn down by sleepless nights and the weight of helpless love.
He had begged them to hire professional care with his savings, but they refused. "We won't waste your money on strangers," his mother had said firmly, though they all knew the hospital bills were already consuming everything he'd worked for.
"If there's a next life," Alexander whispered to the empty room, "I hope it won't be as lonely as this one."
He turned his face toward the window. The sky tonight seemed particularly beautiful, stars scattered like diamonds across velvet darkness. Perhaps it was his mind playing tricks, making everything appear more vivid as the end approached.
My parents should be resting at home, he thought as his eyelids grew heavy. I hope my death doesn't destroy them...
His breathing slowed, then stopped.
The cardiac monitor erupted in a shrill, continuous tone. Within seconds, footsteps thundered down the hallway as the night shift rushed to respond.
"Code blue, room 237! Patient in cardiac arrest!" The nurse's voice cut through the hospital's quiet night as the emergency team flooded into Alexander's room.
"Starting compressions!" someone called out as hands pressed rhythmically against his chest. The defibrillator charged with a high-pitched whine.
"Clear!"
Alexander's consciousness drifted in the space between worlds, aware but detached as they fought to pull him back. He could hear their urgent voices growing distant, feel the electricity coursing through his body, but it all seemed to be happening to someone else.
After twenty minutes of desperate effort, the doctor finally called it.
"Time of death: 11:47 PM."
The room fell silent except for the soft beeping of machines being switched off. One of the nurses reached for the phone to make the call no parent should ever receive.
---
Meanwhile, in a world far beyond Earth's reach, there exists a world where Alexander might be able to fulfill his last wish.
This world contains several continents, and one of them is Galterra—a landmass roughly the size of Europe, populated by kingdoms and cultures that mirror Europe's medieval age.
Here, the people lived lives shadowed by constant peril: plague and pestilence, crushing taxes, and the squalor of unsanitary conditions that bred disease in every crowded street.
It was a world where the common folk existed solely at the whim of their lords and kings, their lives worth no more than the coin in a noble's purse.
This harsh reality held true even for the once-mighty Kingdom of Earnhardt.
Though still more prosperous than some neighboring realms, it was a pale shadow of its former glory. In better days, people had lived with modest comfort by Alexander's earthly standards. Taxes had been reasonable, and basic needs were met.
But everything changed when the old king died years ago and his son claimed the throne. Heavy taxation and cruel policies now plagued the subjects, and the kingdom steadily crumbled under the new monarch's incompetent rule. Neighboring kingdoms that once cowered before Earnhardt now dared to challenge its weakened borders.
The people could only whisper their grievances in shadowed corners, powerless to act.
Many prayed that someday a worthy king would emerge to restore their realm.
Unknown to them, their desperate wish was about to manifest in ways they could never imagine.
In the south-central region of the Kingdom of Earnhardt lay the Barony of Eisenfurt, ruled by House Eisenburg. The barony had once flourished from its rich iron and coal deposits, but those prosperous days were long past.
The main mine had collapsed years earlier, devastating the region's economy and leaving countless miners without wages or hope.
Such troubles, however, were momentarily forgotten by Baron Aldric von Eisenburg today, for his household was about to welcome a new member.
Within the birthing chamber, a silver-haired woman writhed upon the bed, her beautiful features twisted in agony. Exhaustion clouded her eyes as her fingers clawed desperately at the sheets.
The midwife positioned herself at the foot of the bed, her voice steady despite the tension. "This is it, Lady Ermelinde! I can see the child's head! One final push!"
"Ahhh!" Ermelinde's scream tore through the chamber as she bit down hard on the cloth between her teeth. Sweat and saliva streaked her face.
The labor stretched on endlessly, each moment an eternity of suffering. Then, suddenly, the midwife's voice rang out with triumph: "He is born! The child lives!"
Relief flooded Ermelinde's features, but the ordeal had drained her completely. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed unconscious against the pillows.
"My lady!" The attending servants rushed forward in alarm, one quickly splashing cool water across her face.
Ermelinde's eyes fluttered open moments later, immediately seeking the small, crying bundle now nestled in the midwife's gentle arms.
"Ah, so this is the little one who made me suffer for months." Ermelinde's voice carried both exhaustion and affection, her words tinged with equal parts reproach and love.
"My lady, here is your son—your firstborn," the midwife said gently. "I'm certain he'll grow to be as strong and wise as his father, Lord Aldric. A true heir worthy of the Eisenberg name."
Ermelinde couldn't help but smile at the kind words. Just then, footsteps echoed in the corridor, and they all turned toward the sound.
Lord Aldric von Eisenberg entered the chamber. At thirty-one years old, he possessed brown hair and amber eyes that held an air of natural authority. Yet weariness was evident in his posture and the lines around his eyes—the weight of recent hardships had taken their toll.
This wasn't his first son. Years ago, when Aldric was barely fifteen, his first wife had given birth to a boy. That child, Sir Edmar von Eisenberg, had grown into a promising young knight.
At thirteen, Edmar had volunteered to defend Dorten Pass against Remiggen border raiders. He died honorably in battle—everything a father could hope for in a son's legacy.
His first wife, however, never recovered from the loss. Grief and illness claimed her within the year.
Now, two years later, Aldric had placed great hope in his second wife's pregnancy. Ermelinde was seven years his junior, and he had desperately wanted this child to be a son—an heir to continue the Eisenberg line. His prayers had been answered.
He approached the bed where Ermelinde cradled the infant. "My son..." he whispered, gently taking the baby into his arms.
"What shall we name him?" Ermelinde asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Aldric smiled. "I want to call him Godric. Godric von Eisenberg."
Ermelinde frowned. "Godric? That sounds presumptuous. Are you naming our son after God himself?"
Aldric shook his head. "No, the name means 'God's ruler.' I want him to govern our lands with divine guidance." Privately, he hoped his son might rule with the authority of a god.
Ermelinde looked skeptical. "It sounds like a name for emperors..."
"Perhaps that's fitting," Aldric chuckled. "I want him to be a mighty ruler."
"Well, I have a name in mind too," Ermelinde said, raising her chin. "I want to call him Alexander."
Aldric rolled his eyes. "Alexander? From those old tales? You still believe in those legends, Ermelinde."
"I want our child to be like the Mighty Alexander!" she replied indignantly. "Heroic, protective of his people—a beacon of hope!"
"Those are just stories—"
"It's better than Godric!"
The midwife quietly excused herself as the couple continued their debate.
After several minutes of negotiation, they reached a compromise. "Fine," Aldric said with weary resignation. "Alexander Godric von Eisenberg. Are you satisfied?"
"Perfectly!" Ermelinde beamed. "I want our child to be as mighty as Alexander!"
While his parents celebrated the chosen name, the baby in question blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on his surroundings.
Where... where am I? I thought I died!
The thought struck him like lightning. A moment ago, he had been dying in a hospital bed. Now he was alive, breathing, but this definitely wasn't a hospital.
Everything appeared blurry. He could make out two large shapes hovering over him.
I can see... two faces...
Their voices boomed in his ears, deep and overwhelming. When he tried to speak, only unintelligible sounds emerged—strange, high-pitched noises that didn't match his intentions.
Wait... these giant faces... my voice... could it be...
Horror dawned on him as he let out what sounded distinctly like an infant's cry.
I've actually reincarnated... as a baby?!
The realization hit him with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and strange wonder.
Comments
CaptainYumYum12
That time I got reincarnated as a babeh
