The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 1: Rebirth and Rituals

Keith was fully conscious as he was cradled in a woman's arms, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of his situation.

The sensation was unfamiliar, yet the warmth and comfort felt strangely familiar. He didn't know how or why, but one thing was clear-he had been reincarnated.

Though his eyesight was still blurry and unfocused, he could see more now than he ever did without his glasses in his previous life.

Through his hazy vision, he could make out the features of the woman holding him. Her skin was a deep, beautiful shade of dark brown, glowing with health and vitality.

He could see tears in her eyes as she held him securely against her chest. It was his mother, one he never got to have in his past life.

Keith felt an involuntary smile spread across his tiny face when she planted a tender kiss on his forehead and spoke softly in a language he didn't understand. It was strange, unfamiliar, yet somehow comforting.

In his past life, he had been fully Caucasian, with hazel eyes and ginger hair, but now, in this new life, he was fully African with dark skin.

As he tried to process this, he felt a soft cloth wipe his skin before he was wrapped snugly in a blanket. Before he could fully register what was happening, something was gently placed in his mouth.

His infant body instinctively began to suck, and soon, a warm, sweet liquid flooded his mouth. It took him a moment to realize that he was drinking breast milk from his birth mother.

The realization stunned him, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him, causing him to stop. But the woman, sensing his hesitation, drew him closer, encouraging him to continue.

He hesitated, feeling both ashamed and hungry, but quickly reminded himself that to everyone else, he was just a newborn. There was nothing unusual about it.

Pushing aside his embarrassment, he gave in to his hunger and continued to feed, his small body relaxing into the comfort of his mother's embrace.

***

From Nlanweh's perspective,

the world had shifted in ways she could barely comprehend. The birth of her child was meant to be a moment of pure joy, but it had been clouded with so much uncertainty and fear.

Now, as she held her newborn son, those fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a profound sense of love and wonder.

The boy in her arms was a miracle, her miracle. After everything, he had survived against the odds.

Yet, as she gazed down at him, she couldn't help but notice the strange features that set him apart.

His eyes, a deep, piercing blue, were unlike any she had ever seen in her tribe. And his hair, a soft, ashen blonde, was as foreign as the eyes that peered up at her.

But none of that mattered to Nlanweh. He was alive, and he was hers.

She pressed her lips to his small forehead, whispering words of love and protection in her native tongue, words that had been passed down from mother to child for generations.

She knew he didn't understand her, but she believed he could feel the depth of her affection.

As she watched him suckle, there was a strange moment when he hesitated, as though lost in thought.

It was an odd thing for a newborn to do, and for a brief moment, Nlanweh's heart skipped a beat. But then he resumed, feeding with renewed vigor, and she smiled, reassured.