That Time I Got Reincarnated as a King (Old Version)

The palace had finally gone still.

Kael moved quietly through the upper corridors, his footsteps absorbed by thick carpets woven with the Flamebranch crest. The torches burned low. The guards stood silent. The laughter and speeches and ceremonial fanfare had long since faded into silence.

But Kael's thoughts hadn't.

Great Sage:

"External noise suppressed. Internal dissonance active. Emotional overload: 62% stabilized."

That's your way of saying I'm rattled but holding together, isn't it?

Great Sage:

"Accurate."

Kael exhaled slowly and turned toward the archway that led to the balcony garden. The night air met him like a whisper—cool, edged with a mountain breeze that carried the faintest scent of ashwood, lavender, and distant embers.

Glowing mana-blooms pulsed gently in their planters along the outer wall. Their golden petals shimmered in Kael's presence, tilting toward him like flowers toward sunlight. Only Scourge-marked blood could make them bloom.

He wasn't alone.

The Queen sat at the far edge of the crescent-shaped bench beneath the ivy-draped lattice. She wore no crown tonight—just a soft ash-grey shawl draped over her shoulders. Her long hair was loose, and in her lap rested a half-finished embroidery hoop, thread trailing forgotten between her fingers.

"I figured you'd find your way out here," she said, not looking up.

Kael took a seat beside her, cloak settling around him as the wind brushed past.

"Didn't think I'd be able to sleep."

"You didn't when you were little, either. Not after something important." She smiled faintly. "You'd sneak out here and stare at the sky like you were waiting for it to talk back."

"Still am," he muttered.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Far below, Emberhollow's streets still flickered with the tail end of celebration—floating lanterns, echoing music, the occasional cheer. But up here, it felt like a world apart. Too high for noise. Too quiet for comfort.

"You were five when I first let you sit beside the fireplace alone," she said suddenly. "Your brothers would cry when the logs snapped too loud. You didn't even blink."

Kael glanced at her. "Because I was weird?"

"No," she said, chuckling. "Because the fire liked you."

Great Sage:

"Subject: Queen. Emotional cadence stable. Tone: sincere nostalgia."

Kael: Are you analyzing my mother now?

Great Sage:

"Constantly. She's politically significant."

Kael fought back a laugh.

The Queen looked out over the horizon. "Even back then, you felt… older. Not in a sad way. Just… distant. Like something was already whispering to you."

"Maybe it was."

He reached out and let his hand brush against one of the mana-blooms. It flared warm for a moment, casting soft golden light against his knuckles.

"I didn't show them everything," he said.

"I know," she replied.

"You did?"

"I didn't know what you were hiding," she said. "But I could tell it wasn't all of you. You moved like someone holding back. That's what frightened them the most."

She turned to look at him fully.

"You weren't just powerful. You were measured. And that scares people far more than rage ever will."

Great Sage:

"Her analysis is correct. Mana output restrained to 13.8%. Total potential suppressed: 86.2%."

Kael: Yeah. And now they think they've seen my best.

Great Sage:

"That is advantageous."

The Queen reached out and placed a hand gently on his cheek.

"You don't have to prove anything to them. Not anymore. Let them scramble and scheme. You already passed the only test that matters."

Kael blinked. "Which is?"

"You came back."

The warmth in his chest tightened. He looked away, up at the stars. The sky stretched wide above Emberhollow, clear and endless. For once, there were no flaming omens, no falling stars. Just stillness.

A low hum stirred behind him.

Rimuru drifted into view—half-asleep, wobbling slightly in the air, her surface tinted a soft lavender-blue. She floated straight into Kael's lap and flopped like a cat made of jelly.

"Too much talking," she mumbled. "Not enough cuddles."

The Queen raised an eyebrow. "And how long were you listening?"

"Long enough to emotionally blackmail him if needed."

Kael shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm evolved."

She slowly oozed across Kael's legs, then stretched a pseudopod lazily toward the Queen.

"I like her. She's smarter than you."

"She's my mother."

"Exactly."

They both laughed, and the Queen gently patted Rimuru with a single finger.

"You're part of this family now, too," she said.

"I was always the favorite."

Great Sage:

"Technically, Nyaro's approval ratings are higher."

Kael sighed. I can't win with any of you.

They sat like that for a long while.

The Queen eventually leaned her head against Kael's shoulder. Rimuru made a soft purring noise in his lap. The flowers continued to glow gently around them.

And in that moment, there was no Scourge, no crown, no continent of politics waiting beyond the palace gates.

Just a mother and her son, beneath a sky that—for once—felt big enough to hold them both.

The sky deepened as the moon shifted lower, and the mana-blooms surrounding the bench softened from gold to pale orange. Emberhollow's cityscape below began to blur, its lights fading as more lanterns winked out one by one.

The Queen's voice, quiet until now, broke the hush with a tone Kael hadn't heard in years.

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Storytelling tone. The one she used when he was still small enough to sit in her lap and pretend the world didn't exist beyond the palace gates.

"Have I ever told you the tale of the fire-marked king?" she asked.

Kael blinked. "No."

She smiled gently, but there was something behind her eyes—something old. Not just memory. Almost reverence.

"It's not in the royal archives," she said. "It's older than Emberhollow. Passed down through lullabies and prayers. My grandmother used to tell it when lightning split the sky or the fields burned too bright."

Rimuru perked up from Kael's lap, her glow shifting to a curious blue.

"I like fire-stories," she said.

Kael chuckled. "Of course you do."

The Queen settled back slightly, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze distant.

"They say that long before Ira became seven kingdoms… before Scourges were named and feared… there was a boy born in a village so small it didn't even have a name. On the day he was born, the sun vanished behind a sky of ash. The trees refused to sway. And when he opened his eyes, the flames in the hearth knelt."

Kael felt a chill ripple up his spine.

"The villagers called him cursed. Marked. Unclean. His hair was red as molten iron, and his breath left trails of smoke in the cold. Animals followed him, but crops withered where he walked. Eventually, the elders banished him—not because he was wicked, but because he was too much."

Great Sage:

"No verified record matches this tale. Probability of metaphorical significance: 92%."

He didn't respond. He just listened.

"The boy wandered into the ashlands. Alone. Barefoot. No name. No weapons. Just the fire that followed him. They say he nearly burned to death in a dust storm—but the wind brought him to shelter: a cave at the end of the world."

The Queen paused, eyes flicking toward the glowing mana-blooms. One opened wider as she spoke, casting light on the gentle lines around her mouth and eyes.

"Inside the cave, he heard whispers. Not voices. Fire itself. Telling him not what he was, but what he could be."

Kael leaned forward slightly.

"Did he listen?"

"He did. But he didn't become a monster. He didn't seek revenge. He used the flame to harden stone. To forge tools. To make warmth. When he returned from the cave, he carried no crown, no sword—just a flame that followed his will."

"And the villagers?"

"They feared him still. But others came. The wounded. The forgotten. The wanderers. He gave them shelter. Not with magic. With warmth."

Rimuru shifted on Kael's lap, whispering, "That's a weird king."

"That's the point," the Queen said. "The first king of flame never took his kingdom. He shaped it."

Kael was quiet for a long moment.

Then he asked, "Did that king have a name?"

The Queen turned to him and smiled.

"No. But they say his final words were carved in obsidian, beneath the oldest stone of Pyraxis: Only those who carry fire without burning others deserve to lead."

Great Sage:

"Note: matching phrase found in scorched ruins near Mount Syl. Carving incomplete. Potential historical basis."

Kael swallowed.

He didn't believe in bedtime stories anymore.

But something in that one felt… personal.

Not a prophecy. Not a warning.

A reminder.

Rimuru bumped his chest gently. "So… you're that king's reincarnation?"

Kael smirked. "Maybe. If he also got harassed by a talking slime."

"Legend says he did," Rimuru said solemnly. "Also, he had great fashion sense."

The Queen laughed—really laughed. Not the courtly kind. The kind that sounded like it hadn't come out in years.

Kael looked at her again, really looked. Past the crown. Past the formality.

And realized that tonight wasn't just about his future.

It was about her hope.

The tale of the fire-marked king lingered in the air like the last flickers of a dying torch.

Kael leaned back into the bench's gentle curve, arms resting across the back, gaze cast upward toward the stars. He wasn't counting them. He wasn't wishing. He was just… breathing.

And for once, that was enough.

The Queen watched him for a moment, then looked back to her hands. Her fingers absently twisted the unfinished thread of her embroidery, knotting it around itself.

Kael didn't speak for a long time.

But eventually—

"Did you ever think I would end up like this?"

The question came out low. Not broken, but not casual either. Honest. Vulnerable in the way only silence could invite.

The Queen didn't answer right away. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Then turned to him fully, voice gentler than before.

"I thought you'd leave," she said. "I didn't know where or why. But I always knew this place wouldn't be enough to hold you."

She smiled, sad and proud all at once.

"I didn't think you'd come back stronger. I thought you'd come back hurt. Hardened. Or not at all."

Kael frowned slightly. "And now?"

"Now I see a young man who walks like he knows what fire costs. And that's worth more than all the skills in the world."

He looked down at his hands.

Faint emberlight pulsed just beneath the skin—subtle, contained. Controlled.

"Everyone else sees a symbol," he said. "A weapon. A Scourge."

She nodded slowly. "Because they're afraid. Because they can't imagine a flame that doesn't want to consume."

Great Sage:

"Observational alignment confirmed. Maternal insight: unusually accurate."

Yeah, Kael thought. She's always been ahead of them.

Rimuru—who had been quietly sprawled across Kael's lap like a bored pillow—perked up suddenly.

"Oh wow. Feelings. Is this the part where we cry and hug and I ruin it with a joke?"

Kael raised an eyebrow without looking at her. "Please don't."

"Too late."

She slithered off his lap and launched herself straight into the Queen's arms, plopping into her lap with a smug hum and zero permission.

The Queen blinked down at her.

"Bold," she said.

"I contain multitudes," Rimuru replied. "And also your son's suppressed anxiety, because I've been soaking in it for the last ten minutes."

Kael groaned.

The Queen laughed.

And Rimuru beamed like she'd just saved the world.

"You're ridiculous," Kael said, rubbing his face.

"But I make great emotional cover," Rimuru replied. "No one's looking at your inner trauma when there's a floating slime invading royal personal space."

The Queen looked at Kael with a smirk.

"She's not wrong."

Kael exhaled through his nose, barely fighting the smile.

The breeze passed through again, colder now. Somewhere in the city, a bell chimed softly—one of the royal time markers signaling that dawn would arrive in less than an hour.

The Queen's expression softened once more.

"You're not alone in this, Kael. You never were. Not when you were born, not when you left, and not now."

He nodded.

Didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

Rimuru made a pleased bubbling sound and curled up in the Queen's lap like she'd found a permanent throne.

The sky had begun its slow bleed into gray.

The stars were fading. The lights in the city below dimmed as Emberhollow turned toward sleep, or toward duty. It was the hour between breaths—when the world held still before deciding whether to rest or rise.

Kael stood slowly, rolling his shoulders as Rimuru drifted back to hover at his side.

"I should go," he said. "Before the nobles think I vanished again."

The Queen didn't move right away.

Instead, she rose with quiet grace and stepped in front of him.

"Wait."

Kael raised an eyebrow.

She reached into the folds of her shawl and pulled out something small—not magical, not royal.

A folded scrap of black cloth, faded with time. As she unfolded it, a simple sigil of flame stitched in gold thread shimmered faintly under the morning light.

"I gave this to your oldest brother before his first trial," she said. "And to your second, before he left for the Flame Academy. It's not enchanted. It doesn't protect you."

She paused.

"It reminds you."

Kael took the cloth. The thread was warm to the touch—not magically, but with something older.

Memory. Use. Meaning.

"What's it for?"

She stepped back slightly and placed two fingers over her own heart, then drew a short arc outward in the air—a motion like kindling a spark.

Kael blinked.

"I've never seen that gesture before."

"You wouldn't have," she said. "It's not taught in court anymore. It's a mother's flame—an old Emberhollow blessing."

She took his hand gently, placed the cloth in his palm, and closed his fingers around it.

"When your fire burns too bright… when the world feels too heavy… do this." She made the gesture again. "And remember who you are when no one's watching."

Great Sage:

"Gesture: non-functional ritual. Psychological significance: high. Cultural embedding: maternal loyalty imprint."

Kael nodded slowly. Then—awkwardly—tried to mirror her movements. His hand hovered too stiffly at first, and Rimuru giggled beside him.

"You look like you're casting a very dramatic sneeze," she whispered.

"Rimuru," Kael warned.

The Queen covered her smile with her sleeve.

Kael tried again. Slower. More thoughtful this time.

Hand over heart.

Fingers outward—like lighting a fire and letting it go.

Something about it felt… right. Not powerful. Not magical. But real.

The Queen leaned forward and kissed his brow gently, like she had when he was small and fevered and afraid.

"Even if the world fears you," she whispered, "I never will."

Kael closed his eyes.

And for the briefest moment, the weight in his chest lightened.

The corridors were still.

No voices. No steps. No clinking armor. Just the soft, rhythmic flicker of torches in their sconces and the occasional sigh of old stone settling into silence.

Kael walked alone.

His boots made no sound on the carpeted paths, and Rimuru floated beside him in comfortable silence, her glow dimmed to a calm silvery blue. Behind them, the balcony garden faded into shadow—its blooms closing with the coming dawn.

Kael didn't speak. Didn't need to.

He walked slowly, one hand curled around the folded cloth sigil in his cloak pocket, the other brushing the stone wall as he passed. It was cool. Steady. Real.

Great Sage:

"Emotional state: stabilized. Cognitive clarity restored."
"Memory imprint tagged: Maternal Blessing – Category: Identity Anchor."

Kael smiled faintly.

You always sound like a machine until you don't.

Great Sage:

"Correction: I always sound like your machine."

Rimuru made a content noise and gently drifted closer to his shoulder, her voice soft and teasing.

"Look at you. Walking all slow and serious. Want me to hum you a dramatic theme song?"

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Please don't."

"Too late. It's called The Lonely Fire Prince Walks Home in Thoughtful Silence."

And yet she didn't sing. She stayed quiet.

Just close.

They reached a long hallway with windows overlooking the city. Emberhollow was still cloaked in blue light, its towers catching the edge of sunrise like cooled embers waiting to be stoked again.

Kael stopped.

Stared out over his kingdom—his people—and thought not of conquest or fate, but of his mother's hand on his cheek. Of the story of the fire-marked king. Of the ritual no one else remembered but her.

A ritual just for him.

He raised his hand slowly—half on instinct—and made the motion again.

Hand over heart. Arc forward. Spark to sky.

No flame burst forth.

No magic surged.

But it felt right.

Behind him, Rimuru floated a little higher and mirrored the motion with a silly little flourish.

"I give it a seven out of ten," she said.

Kael glanced sideways. "Too stiff?"

"Too princely. You need more rogue charm."

They walked on.

Toward the hall that led back to his quarters. Toward the hours ahead. Toward choices he hadn't yet made—but would.

As he reached for the door to his room, he paused.

The air felt different now.

Not heavier.

Just… warmer.

Like someone had left a fire burning, waiting for him to return.