In all honesty I wish, just for shock value, that I could tell you how I died, or what it was like to be birthed again. Sadly however I can do neither of those things. My best guess is that my death was quick and that my birth was exceedingly uncomfortable.

My memories from the time I was born until around the age of five, when I gained actual awareness, come in short spurts, some important, others trivial.

Around the time I turned two my new mother gave birth to my sister, Erza. It wouldn't be until I was five that I realized the possible implications of her birth, or even what her existence would mean for my life.

I loved Erza. We were always close, mostly because we lived in the middle of no where and thus had no one else to be with but each other. I being more mature, for obvious reasons, then any other child my age helped my parents out as often as I could, distracting Erza, for those few vital minutes they needed to rest. We played all sorts of games, and when she grew old enough to recognize me, the looks of raw adoration she gave to made it impossible for me not to grow attached.

I was her older brother, her role model. In her eyes I was the most amazing person in the world, I could do no wrong. She followed me everywhere, anything I did, she also wanted to do.

I tried to be a good example, to be fun and caring, to be the kind of older brother I had always wanted to be, but had never been.

Erza took after mother, in-fact she was the spitting image of the woman. She had mother's striking red hair, and near all her facial features, excluding the brown eyes, which she got from father. I on the other hand got little more then my 'masculinity,' from the man of our family. Instead I was a clone of our mother minus, certain obvious body parts, I was even lucky enough to be born with her orange eyes, a unique color to be sure and one which to this day I have never seen on anyone else. And as we got older, it would become obvious that we had inherited mother's face and body type.

I could never decide if father just had really weak male genes or if mom's were just so dominate they cancelled his out.

My mother, Lydia, was a kind woman, if a bit quirky, a fact I realized after the two hour dress up session she held to make me Erza's "Big Sister," needless to say I realized father was just as odd when he joined mother in the half in hour of gushing over me, post dress-up. Despite his strangeness my father was a good man. His name was Tordek, and he was a blacksmith, the self proclaimed, "Best in Fiore!"

This was my second hint, for those of you keeping score at home.

Continuing on, I, being the eldest child of the family, was expected to learn at least the basics of our family craft, and began to learn blacksmithing at five, something I took to with a fervor I had only ever had for video games before my death. I was a fast learner, wanting to know everything that could be taught, and this being my second life, my retention was nothing short of astounding, at least for a normal five year old. My parents called it genius, and father outright cried tears of joy at both my apparent talent, and desire to learn the family craft. It made me happy, happy that they were so proud of me, that they would call me a genius. Then again the lessons for a five year old were not exactly hard, being more memorization then anything else.

At first the lessons were fairly simple, what types of ores mix. What makes a proper tool. Being proud of your work, making things for the right reasons. However there was one lesson which was not so simple, one which would change everything I thought I knew of my family.

Magic lessons.

Sure I had heard my parents talk about magic before, and when I went into town with mom I sometimes heard it in passing. At the time I had assumed the part of the world I lived in was just superstitious. A naive thought to be honest, I mean it should have been obvious something weird was going on where I lived, my mother had bright red hair for crying out loud, heck I had red hair. I suppose I just wasn't willing to accept something so crazy, but when I walked into the smithy that day, ready for the normal lessons and dad showed me magic, I was unable to deny its existence.

It was at this time that I realized where I was. Magic was real here, my family even practiced a branch of it. Not the, "theres something in your ear, oh look it's a penny!" kind, honest to god magic.

The revelation of where I was hit me soon after as the pieces clicked into place.

Erza, my younger sister, who had red hair.

The country in which my family lived, referred to by father as Fiore.

And now, magic.

I was in an anime, a fictional world.

I was in Fairy Tail.

And my sister, she was a main character… With that thought yet another devastating revelation hit me. My three year old baby sister, would be kidnapped, used as a slave. And I, I had no idea when. I hadn't known her long, but I had been an older brother in my previous life as well, and those instincts stuck with me. It was then that I made a decision, one which would shape the very course of my life. And to be honest, looking back it was extremely rash and naive. I decided to protect her.

I was terrified by this choice, despite having been the one to make it. I knew it would be dangerous, extremely so, especially if I wanted to make any form of a difference. I realized that by helping her, I was making my self a target, she would have many enemies, being related to her would make them my enemies as well, especially if I wanted to protect her. And while I knew she would live through all the trails thrown at her and become strong even without my help, I had no idea what my fate might be.

I had second thoughts, of course, who wouldn't? I remember vividly how I would sit on our staircase, staring at the front door for hours each day after my revelation, contemplating running from my responsibility as an older brother.

It was during one of these periods of solemn thought, warring between self preservation and my morals that Erza toddled up to me. She sat down on my lap, as she had many times before, smiling up at me with a sleepy grin on her face, and drool trailing from her lips. I remember thinking about what was to come for her, about the tragic hand she had been dealt. She was a child, I was not, despite the fact that I had just had my fifth birthday. I had already lived once, even if it wasn't for long, I had already gotten what was due to me and was, as far as I knew, just riding out a miracle.

It was hard, so very hard to make my choice. It was the kind of decision that wrenched at your gut, the kind that makes you want to panic, one which goes against all instincts.

But I made it anyway, because I knew that I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try.

I had wiped the drool from her mouth with the hem of my sleeve, and then smiled back at her, as I stroked her red tresses, easing her into sleep. When I was sure she was blissfully unaware I had buried my face into her hair and cried. Cried because I was scared, cried because I was weak, but most of all I cried because I knew my life was now forfeit.

She was my responsibility.