Reborn as the Last van Ambrose-Chapter 1: Unfortunate Fate

Dying at nine years old wasn't part of the plan.

Elias "Grim" Kingsley had barely begun to experience life when it was cut tragically short. A cold winter night, an overcrowded orphanage with insufficient heating, and pneumonia that no one noticed until it was too late. No one heard his final, labored breaths in the dark dormitory. No one was there to hold his hand as he slipped away.

No one had ever really been there.

"Fuck this," were actually his last thoughts as darkness claimed him. At nine, he already had a vocabulary that would make adults flinch, picked up from the older kids and the harsher caretakers who thought orphans weren't worth the gentleness of polite society.

They called him "Grim" at the orphanage—not just for his name, but for his perpetual scowl, his biting remarks, and his refusal to play nice with the other children or potential adopters. "Problem child," the staff labeled him. "Damaged goods," whispered the couples who came looking for sweet, compliant additions to their families.

He hadn't always been that way. But after years of being passed over, pushed around, and treated like an inconvenience rather than a child, the armor had grown thick around his young heart.

As his consciousness faded, Elias felt a strange pulling sensation, as if his very essence was being stretched across an infinite distance. Then darkness.

When awareness returned, he found himself floating in a vast, empty void. No light, no sound, no sensation of any kind. Yet somehow, he could perceive his surroundings. Or lack thereof.

"Well, this is unexpected," a voice said from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Elias tried to speak but found he had no mouth, no body at all. Yet somehow, his thoughts projected outward. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You died," the voice replied simply. "Rather tragically for someone so young."

A figure materialized before him. Or perhaps it had always been there, and he was only now able to perceive it. Humanoid in shape but composed of constantly shifting light and shadow.

"Who are you?" Elias asked, his childish curiosity overcoming his fear.

The figure seemed to smile, though it had no discernible face. "I have many names. In your world, some called me Fate. Others, Karma. I prefer the term Balance."

"Am I going somewhere better now?" Elias asked, remembering fragments of overheard conversations at the orphanage about heaven and angels.

"Your life," Balance said, ignoring his question, "was remarkably empty, Elias Kingsley. No parents to love you. No family to cherish you. Not even a single person who truly cared whether you lived or died."

Elias would have lowered his gaze if he had eyes. This was nothing he didn't already know.

"It's a grave imbalance," the being continued. "Every soul deserves to know love, to experience connection, to matter to someone. You were denied all of these."

"I rarely intervene directly," Balance said, its tone softening. "But in cases like yours... exceptions can be made. A life devoid of love and connection creates an imbalance that aill have to be fixed. So I'll just fix the issue now."

"So what happens now?" Elias asked, a child's simple question for an incomprehensible situation.

The being seemed to consider for a moment. "I'm offering you another chance, Elias. A new life in a new world. One where you will have a family, where you will matter, where you will have the opportunity to experience all that was denied to you."

"A family?" The concept was foreign to Elias, something he had observed from a distance but never experienced. "Like... parents who want me?"

"Yes," Balance confirmed. "A mother who will love you from the moment she knows of your existence. A father who will take pride in you. A place where you belong."

Elias would have cried if he had eyes. The longing that bloomed within his formless consciousness was almost painful in its intensity.

"But be warned," Balance continued, "this new world has its own challenges. Its own pains. I can not guarantee you a life without suffering."

"Could it be worse than having no one?" Elias asked quietly.

The void around them shifted, and Elias felt himself being drawn towards something. A light that grew larger, brighter.

"I've selected a world for you," Balance said. "One where you will be born as Grim Van Ambrose, the son of a noble house with a complex legacy. You will know love, but also challenges worthy of the spirit I see in you. What you make of this opportunity will be entirely up to you. I will give you a gift to help you in your life."

"Wait—" Elias began. The only life he knew was one of solitude and neglect. The prospect of something else was as terrifying as it was attractive.

"There's no need for fear," Balance said, seeming to sense his trepidation. "This is not an ending, but a beginning. The pain of your past needs not define your future."

The light grew brighter, warmer, and Elias felt himself being drawn inexorably toward it.

"Farewell, Elias Kingsley," Balance's voice was already fading. "May you find the love and purpose that was denied you in your first life."

The light engulfed him, and Elias felt himself compressing, changing, becoming something new yet strangely familiar. Warmth surrounded him, and a rhythmic beating filled his awareness. A heartbeat—not his own, but one that sheltered him.

In the darkness of a womb, the soul, once known as Elias "Grim" Kingsley began again as Grim Van Ambrose, already loved, already wanted, already part of something greater than himself.

And somewhere beyond reality, the God of Balance watched, wondering if perhaps this soul would find what it had been seeking all along. Not just love or family, but a true sense of belonging.

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"Waaaaah!"

The first sound he made in his new life was a cry of confusion and shock. One moment, he had been talking to a god. The next, he was being pulled from warmth into cold, bright chaos.

The transition was violent and traumatic. His consciousness fought to make sense of the overwhelming sensations—the shocking cold after the womb's warmth, the blinding light, and the raw vulnerability of his exposed skin. Every nerve ending screamed in primal protest. Nine years of being tough, of never showing weakness, meant nothing in the face of this biological imperative to cry out.

Hands held him. Large, gentle hands that cleaned him and wrapped him in something soft. His vision was blurry, his hearing muffled, but he could make out faces looking down at him with expressions he rarely saw in his previous life—joy, wonder, and something that looked suspiciously like... love?

"It's a boy! A healthy baby boy!" a woman's voice announced.

He tried to speak, to tell them he wasn't really a baby, that he was Elias "Grim" Kingsley, a nine-year-old orphan given a second chance. But all that came out was another wail. The frustration of being trapped in this helpless body overwhelmed him. He couldn't talk, couldn't move purposefully, and couldn't even control his own bodily functions. The humiliation of it burned through him, even as a deeper part of him recognized this helplessness might be the price of his new beginning.

His infant brain couldn't process the complexity of his thoughts. Everything was overwhelming. The lights, the sounds, the sensations.

As he was placed in a woman's arms – his new mother, he presumed – he felt a strange sensation in his mind. A presence that hadn't been there before.

[Hello. I am your Guidance Assistant. I will help you navigate this new world.]

The voice was in his head, clear despite the chaos of his new senses.

Great, he thought. A god sends me to another world and I hear a fucking voice in my head. Great. What's next? Dragons?

[Dragons do exist in this world, yes. Along with elemental magic and much more that you will discover in time.]

He would have sighed if he had control over his infant body.

So this is my new beginning.

The woman holding him smiled down with tears in her eyes. Her face was pale, too pale, but radiant with joy despite obvious exhaustion. "We'll call him Grim," she said softly. "Grim Van Ambrose."

A tall man beside her – his father, presumably – nodded solemnly. "A strong name. He will need strength."

Despite his limited infant senses, something profound stirred in Grim as his mother held him close. Her heartbeat against his tiny body, her scent, her warmth. They spoke to something deeper than memory or thought. This was a connection on its most fundamental level. Her touch against his skin sent waves of unfamiliar emotions crashing through him. Security, comfort, and belonging. Things he'd only observed from a distance in his previous life, things he never experienced.

This woman was his mother. His... Someone who wanted him, who had carried him within her own body, who looked at him with adoration instead of inconvenience or disappointment.

For the first time in either of his lives, Grim felt what it was to be truly wanted.

"My lord," a voice called urgently from somewhere in the room. "The lady is bleeding too much. We must act quickly!"

His mother's arms tightened around him as commotion erupted in the room. Her lips pressed against his forehead in a gentle kiss.

"My beautiful boy," she whispered, her voice growing weaker. "I'm sorry I won't be there to see you grow. Be strong. Be wise. Be kind."

The baby was lifted from her arms as her eyes fluttered closed. Voices shouted. People rushed around frantically.

And just like that, in his first moments of this new life, Grim Van Ambrose experienced his first loss.

The universe's cruelest joke, to finally give him a mother, only to take her away seconds later.

No! his mind screamed, even as his infant vocal cords could only produce wails. Not again! Not this fucking bullshit again!

[Your mother's life force is fading. In this world, such is the way of things. The strong survive. The weak perish.]

The clinical detachment of the voice in his head only fueled Grim's rage and grief. He had been promised love, family, and belonging, and in less than a minute, that promise was already being broken.

His infant cries filled the room, mixing with the sounds of the healers' desperate attempts to save his mother. But these weren't just the cries of a newborn – they were the desperate protests of a soul that had already known too much loss, the howl of a child who had finally glimpsed love only to watch it slip away yet again.

The god had promised him a new start, but not an easy one.

And in that moment of combined infant confusion and nine-year-old fury, something hardened in Grim's new soul.