A/N - I messed up the first time around.
So I tore everything apart and built it back up. Every scene, every character, every blade swing, sharpened until they cut true.
This is the Sixteenth son saga as it was meant to be.
Thank you for giving it another chance. I won't waste it.
— — —
Beep... Beep... Beep…
The hospital room was quiet as a tomb. A young boy, seventeen but looking more like a scarecrow, lay hooked up to machines that kept him breathing. Each breath sounded like he was arm-wrestling death itself. His lips were cracked and dry, but they curved into a tiny, victorious smile.
"Yes..." he wheezed like an old bellows. "I did it. Chronicles of an Empire... all ten thousand chapters..."
Tears gathered in his eyes as he stared at the flickering phone screen in his bony hands.
"I stuck with it... right to the bitter end..."
He coughed hard, blood splattered the white sheets like spilled paint. But he didn't care. He was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
"Those Eisenklinge guys... they were born with silver spoons... never had to waste away in a hospital bed like some wilted plant..."
His voice dropped to barely a whisper.
"If there's a next life... I don't want to be sick anymore. I want to be strong. I want... to be like them..."
The final beep stretched out long and flat.
Then… nothing.
---
Screams echoed through stone halls.
Inside a grand chamber with high ceilings and golden decorations, Lady Beatrix was having the fight of her life. Her golden hair stuck to her face like wet silk as she pushed with everything she had left.
"One more push! He's almost here!" shouted the head maid, sounding like a coach at the world's most important sporting event.
And then, it happened.
A sharp, angry cry filled the room. A baby's voice, loud enough to wake the dead.
"A boy!" gasped the midwife, holding up the squirming bundle like a prize. "You've got yourself a son, my lady!"
Beatrix collapsed back onto her silk-covered bed, tears streaming down her cheeks like happy rain.
"Ares..." she whispered, cradling the baby close. "Welcome to the world, little warrior..."
But this baby wasn't crying just because babies cry.
---
Inside the Newborn's Mind
Everything was dark.
Then, whoa.
Warmth. Wetness. Crushing pressure. So much noise!
'What the heck is happening? I can... feel things?'
The last thing he remembered was dying in that hospital bed, thin as a stick and tired as an old dog.
Now?
He was breathing. Freaking out. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much. His body felt weird, stubby and weak, like someone had shrunk him down and made him all wobbly.
'Why can't I move right? My arms and legs feel like jelly!'
Everything around him was huge. The lights were too bright, like staring into the sun. Voices floated above him in gentle sounds, but they might as well have been speaking alien.
He could make out shapes, faces, maybe?
A kind one that made him feel safe.
A powerful one that made the air feel heavy.
'Am I dreaming? Or is this really happening?'
He tried to scream, to ask someone what was going on. Only baby sounds came out, wails and gurgles that made no sense.
'Oh no. This is real, isn't it?'
The truth hit him like a bucket of cold water.
'I'm alive... but I'm a baby. A actual, honest-to-goodness baby.'
Overwhelmed and exhausted, his thoughts faded like melting snow. Sleep pulled him under like a warm blanket.
---
Meanwhile, in the Fortress
In the throne room of the Eisenklinge castle, news traveled fast.
Black marble columns stretched up to the ceiling like stone trees. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife. On the obsidian throne sat Lord Alaric Eisenklinge, a man whose very presence could make grown warriors think twice about their life choices.
Next to him sat Lady Cassia, his political wife. She was beautiful like a rose with very sharp thorns, her blue eyes flicking with the kind of cold calculation that could freeze fire.
A guard knelt before them like he was praying:
"My lord. Lady Beatrix has given birth to a son."
Alaric's face didn't change, at first. Then, for just a moment, something warm flickered in his eyes like a tiny candle flame. It was gone faster than a hiccup.
Cassia's fingers curled into claws.
"The sixteenth child," she said, her voice cold enough to make ice jealous. "Send him to the Young Masters' nursery."
But before her words could echo off the walls, Alaric's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"Cassia. Don't give orders for me."
The room got colder than a winter morning.
"Beatrix's child stays with her until it is time to visit the shrine."
Cassia bowed her head, but underneath her calm mask, she was boiling like an angry kettle.
'A concubine's son... and he dares show favoritism? No way. I won't let this child climb any ladders.'
---
A Little Later
Alaric stood beside the cradle in Beatrix's room.
Beatrix looked up at him, tired but glowing like a happy candle. The baby in her arms had fallen asleep, his tiny chest going up and down like a little bellows.
"He's different," she whispered, like she was sharing a secret. "I can feel it in my bones."
Alaric didn't say anything. He just stared at the baby, this small, warm life born from the only woman who could make his stone heart crack a little.
He placed his hand gently on the baby's head. Power shimmered in the air like heat waves.
"Live well, Ares," he murmured, his voice softer than anyone had ever heard it.