Disclaimer:
This is a work of fan fiction set in the universe of Overlord, originally created by Kugane Maruyama. All recognizable characters, settings, and concepts from the Overlord series are the property of their respective owners. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only, and the author does not claim any ownership over elements from the original series. No financial gain is being made from this work.
Art Commissions:
I have already received many offers to commission artwork for my stories through reviews and PMs. I welcome comments, ideas, and especially constructive criticism, but I am not interested in converting my writing to a visual format. Thank you.
The first thing he remembered was dying.
It wasn't painful, at least not that he could recall. Just a brief, bright flash of panic, then darkness—a weightless void like sinking into the deepest sleep. Time had no meaning there; it was either a second or an eternity. Then came the awakening, as if surfacing from a dream he couldn't quite remember.
His hearing came first, though it was strange—both sharp and muffled at once. Distant murmurs blended with indistinct hums. The occasional word or syllable pierced through, crisp and clear, but he couldn't make sense of them. His eyes opened next, or so he thought. At first, there was only grey, a blur of shifting shapes without definition. Everything was washed out as if the world had been drained of colour.
What's happening to me? The thought came sluggishly, heavy with the remnants of sleep.
His body felt strange, foreign. He tried to move, but his limbs were clumsy and unresponsive. When he managed to lift one, it entered his vision—chubby, soft, and stubby, with fingers so short they looked absurd. His heart jolted as realization struck: Is this... my arm? It had to be. There was no mistaking the movement, awkward as it was.
I'm a... baby?
Before he could spiral further into confusion, a voice broke through the fog. A woman's voice—gentle, soothing, and filled with warmth. He couldn't understand her words, but they washed over him like a lullaby. The language sounded a lot like Japanese. He couldn't speak it very well, but he definitely knew some of it from all of the subbed anime he used to watch.
His vision cleared just enough for him to make out the figure leaning over him. She was holding him close, cradling him with a tenderness that quieted the chaos in his mind. Her face came into focus—a young woman with delicate, caucasian features. Pale skin framed by soft, chestnut hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing blue, almost too vivid against her otherwise subdued appearance. She smiled down at him, and though he didn't know her, an inexplicable comfort bloomed in his chest.
Is she my mother?
She continued speaking to him, her lips forming words that he still couldn't understand. Yet her tone carried meaning: reassurance, affection, safety. He wanted to respond, to ask her who she was, where he was, what he was—but his body betrayed him. Sleep tugged at him again, heavier this time, dragging him back into its embrace before he could hold on to the moment.
As his eyes fluttered shut, one last thought lingered, faint and fragile: What kind of life have I been born into?
As the months passed, his senses gradually sharpened, allowing him to perceive his surroundings with increasing clarity. The room he occupied was modest, furnished with simple wooden cribs and a few scattered toys. The walls bore faded paint, and the air carried a faint, musty scent. It resembled a nursery, yet the decor and the attire of the women who entered suggested a different era—one reminiscent of medieval times.
The women wore long, coarse dresses with aprons, their hair often covered by simple kerchiefs. Their garments lacked the refinement of nobility, indicating a humble station. They would enter the room periodically, tending to the children with practiced efficiency.
Through persistent listening, he began to grasp fragments of their language. While he could comprehend only about one in three words, the cadence and structure bore a resemblance to Japanese, though distinct in its own right.
Among the other occupants were two infants and several older children, all sharing the confined space. The older ones would occasionally whisper among themselves, or play quiet games in resignation.
Over time, he overheard snippets of conversations between the women.
"Last night... client... generous..."
"Upstairs... noise... keep quiet..."
"Madam... displeased... behaviour..."
Coupled with the muffled sounds of footsteps, creaking floorboards, and occasional subdued moans from beyond the nursery walls, a disquieting realization dawned upon him. The setting, the conversations, the nocturnal disturbances—all pointed to a singular, unsettling conclusion.
He was in a brothel and the woman he had come to recognize as his mother was one of its workers.
The weight of this understanding settled heavily upon him, he was the result of some bought and paid for coupling. He'd been born a bastard in a medieval society. Not a great start to life.
One afternoon, as sunlight filtered through the small, grimy window, casting a warm glow over the room, the door creaked open. His mother entered her expression a mix of apprehension and something else—anticipation, perhaps. Behind her followed a young man, perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, yet possessing an air of relaxed confidence.
The man was striking, with long blonde hair that cascaded past his shoulders, partially tied back, with a couple of loose locks framing his face. A small braid hung behind his left ear and his face was shaved. His attire was practical yet of fine quality, suggesting both wealth and a readiness for action. He wore leather pants and a harness over a white shirt, with a large red overcoat over that. An athletic build was evident beneath his clothing, hinting at a life of physical endeavour.
His mother approached the crib, her movements careful, almost reverent. She looked down at him, then back at the young man, her eyes searching his face for a reaction.
"This is Vaylin," she said softly, her voice tinged with both pride and uncertainty.
The young man stepped closer, his strange golden eyes studying the infant with an intensity that belied his age. He reached down, gently lifting the child from the crib, cradling him with surprising tenderness.
For a moment, he simply observed, his expression inscrutable. Then, a slow smile curved his lips.
"There's no doubt," he murmured, his voice rich and assured. "He has the Aindra look."
His mother exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding, relief mingling with lingering concern.
"But... what will become of him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The young man shifted his gaze to her, his expression softening.
"Do not worry," he replied gently. "I will ensure he is well cared for. He is my son, and I will provide for him."
She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes, a mixture of sorrow and gratitude.
The young man returned his attention to the child in his arms, his smile widening.
"Welcome to the world, little guy," he said softly.
And that was the first time the child met his father.
The first few days were a blur of motion and sound. Vaylin, still struggling to stay awake for long periods, found himself bundled tightly and placed into a wooden box lined with soft blankets. The box was in turn placed in a covered wagon. The occasional rocking motion told him they were on the move, and the clopping of hooves over cobblestones, followed by the crunch of dirt roads, filled the quiet moments between feedings.
The biggest change in this new stage of his life was how he was fed. He quickly noticed the bleating of goats nearby and, soon after, the odd taste of goat milk soaked into sackcloth. It was vastly different from the warmth and sweetness of the human milk he had become accustomed to. Sucking milk from the rough fabric was awkward and unfamiliar, but hunger left him little choice.
His father, was always the one to feed him. Whenever Vaylin cried, the young man would appear with the same easy smile, calming him with soothing words and a gentle hand. Despite the man's youth and rough mannerisms, he was attentive, answering every cry promptly and handling the infant with surprising care. Vaylin tried to be quiet most of the time, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention, but his father never ignored him when he needed something.
When not tending to Vaylin, Azuth often rode ahead with the company of men travelling alongside them. Vaylin could hear his father's boisterous laughter above the steady rhythm of the wagon wheels and the murmur of voices. The men frequently teased Azuth about his sudden parenthood.
"Got yourself tied down already, Azuth? What's next, retirement?" one voice called, half-laughing.
"Piss off," Azuth shot back with a laugh of his own. "I'm not ready to be a dad. We're taking the little guy to my family. My brother already has kids, so he should be able to look after him better than I can."
The other men chuckled, but Vaylin detected a note of wistfulness in Azuth's voice. He understood why Azuth was planning to leave him with others, but he wondered if the young man was unsure of his decision.
Still, the infant couldn't shake his own concerns. His father spoke confidently about taking him to the family, but Vaylin's own thoughts raced. If this society mirrored Earth's medieval times, noble families might not take kindly to a bastard child entering their ranks, no matter how earnest his father's intentions were. Would they welcome him as one of their own, or would he be treated as a burden, a stain on the family's honour?
As the wagon trundled along the road, Vaylin could only lie back in his makeshift crib, alternating between cautious optimism and deep unease. The world outside might be vast and full of opportunities, but it was also dangerous, and his place in it was anything but certain.
The wagon came to a halt with a creak of wood and the faint jingle of harnesses. Vaylin stirred in his crib, the sudden stillness of the journey a stark contrast to the rhythmic jostling he had grown used to. Moments later, the cover was pulled back, and sunlight poured in, momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the outline of his father leaning over, his familiar grin reassuring despite the chaos of sensations.
"Come on, little guy," Azuth murmured, his voice low and warm. He lifted Vaylin from his makeshift crib, cradling him. The infant's vision was still limited, but he could make out the towering walls of a courtyard, the weathered stone suggesting age and permanence. A few figures loomed nearby, their voices blending into the background as they spoke in low tones.
Azuth turned toward the figures, and the sharp sound of boots on stone echoed as they approached. One man stepped forward, his posture stiff but not unkind. He was older than Azuth, with a sharper jawline and a neatly trimmed beard, though his golden hair marked him as family. His golden eyes flicked between Azuth and the child in his arms, narrowing slightly with suspicion.
"Well, well," the older man began, his tone half-joking, half-accusatory. "Please tell me you didn't get some noble girl pregnant. I'd hate to have to arrange your wedding before supper."
Azuth froze, his usual confidence momentarily shattered. His shoulders stiffened, and his mouth opened as if to protest, but no sound came out. The older man raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his younger brother's discomfort.
"Relax, Cedric," Azuth finally managed, his voice a little higher than usual. "It's not what you think."
"Isn't it?" Cedric's smirk deepened, but his gaze softened as it fell on the baby. "So, who's this little one?"
Azuth shifted Vaylin in his arms, his confidence slowly returning. "This is Vaylin," he said, a hint of pride sneaking into his tone. "He's… well, he's my son."
The atmosphere shifted immediately. The other figures, including a woman with gentle features and auburn hair pinned neatly beneath a simple headpiece, exchanged glances. Cedric's smirk faded, replaced by an expression that was harder to read—stern yet tinged with a reluctant warmth.
"Your son?" Cedric repeated, his tone more serious now. He rubbed his temples as though bracing himself for an argument. "Azuth, you—"
"I know what you're going to say," Azuth interrupted, holding up his free hand. "And you're probably right. But I couldn't leave him. He's family."
The woman stepped forward, her warm green eyes and soft expression contrasting with Cedric's more severe demeanour. She reached out and gently touched Vaylin's tiny hand, her smile warm and inviting. "He has your eyes," she said softly, looking up at Azuth. "And your father's, too."
Azuth chuckled, the tension breaking slightly. "Yeah, that's what I thought. He's got the Aindra look."
"Well," Cedric sighed, clearly resigned, "I suppose we'll have to figure out where he fits into all this."
Azuth's face lit up with relief, though it was clear he was still anxious. "Thanks, Cedric. Really."
"Don't thank me yet," Cedric replied with a wry smile. "We're not done talking about this. For now, let's get inside before the boy catches a cold."
The group moved quickly into the estate, the wide stone corridors a welcome reprieve from the bright sun outside. Vaylin was handed off to the woman, her touch gentle as she cradled him with practiced ease. He noted her scent—lavender and something faintly herbal—while her voice hummed softly in a language he still struggled to grasp.
The family settled into a spacious room, richly furnished but comfortable, with a fire crackling in the hearth. Vaylin watched as the adults began to speak in hushed tones, their expressions varying from serious to amused. His father sat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the formal atmosphere.
"So," Cedric began, leaning back in his chair, "what exactly are your plans for him?"
Azuth rubbed the back of his neck, clearly searching for the right words. "He needs stability, Cedric. A proper upbringing. I can't give him that on the road."
Cedric folded his arms, his sharp green eyes narrowing. "And you think we can? With the state of things?"
"I'm not asking for much," Azuth countered, his voice steadying. "Just that he has a place here. He's family, Cedric. He belongs here."
The woman holding Vaylin spoke up, her voice soothing but firm. "We'll make it work. He's just a child, Cedric. He deserves a chance."
Cedric sighed again, glancing at the baby. "Fine," he said at last. "But don't think you're off the hook, Azuth. We'll need to discuss this in detail later."
Azuth grinned, clearly relieved. "You're the best, big brother."
"Don't push your luck," Cedric shot back, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Vaylin, nestled in the woman's arms, observed the scene silently.
The soft creak of the nursery door drew Vaylin's attention, his limited sight focusing on the movement in the dimly lit room. The walls were adorned with a handful of faded tapestries depicting pastoral scenes, and the faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. His new crib, crafted from polished wood and lined with soft linens, was leagues ahead of the rough box he'd grown accustomed to. The room felt safe, though still unfamiliar.
Lady Elara, the woman who had cradled him during the tense introduction with his father and uncle, entered with a warm smile. She moved gracefully into the room. In each hand, she held the tiny hand of a child.
"Now be quiet," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody. "You don't want to frighten your new little cousin."
The boy walked confidently, his golden eyes bright with curiosity as they scanned the room. His hair was the same blond as Cedric and Azuth's, falling in loose waves around his youthful face. He was perhaps five years old, tall for his age but not gangly, with an air of quiet self-assurance.
Beside him, a younger girl—barely two or three, if Vaylin had to guess—clung to Lady Elara's hand. Her hair was a striking shade of red, vibrant and fiery, standing out against the more subdued tones of the family. It was probably a mix of Cedric's and Elara's. Her golden eyes shone with a mix of shyness and interest as she peered around her mother's skirts.
The boy approached the crib first, leaning over the edge to get a better look at Vaylin. His gaze was intense but not unkind.
"So this is the baby Uncle Azuth brought," he said, his tone carrying the natural authority of the eldest sibling. He poked at the edge of the blanket tucked around Vaylin with a finger. "Does he do anything except just lay there?"
"Cedric," Lady Elara gently scolded, though her tone held more amusement than a reprimand. "He's just a baby. What did you expect?"
The boy straightened up and shrugged, looking a bit bored.
The girl was less direct. She hovered by her mother's side, her wide golden eyes fixed on Vaylin with an intensity that seemed out of place for her small frame. Slowly, encouraged by a gentle nudge from Lady Elara, she stepped closer.
"What's his name?" she asked softly, her voice a tentative whisper.
"Vaylin," Lady Elara replied, kneeling beside the crib and resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "He's your cousin. Isn't he adorable?"
The girl didn't respond immediately. Instead, she leaned over the edge of the crib, her red hair spilling down like a curtain as she studied Vaylin's face with an intensity that made him feel like she could see more than she let on.
"I like him," she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Well, there you have it," Lady Elara said with a soft laugh, straightening. She came up to the crib and said softly, "Vaylin, these are your cousins. Albert and Serina."
Albert gave an awkward half-bow, probably something he was taught as the heir but hadn't mastered yet.
Serina reached out with one small hand and gently touched Vaylin's chubby arm. "He's warm," she murmured, her smile growing. "Like the sun."
Lady Elara smiled warmly at her children. "He'll grow up with you, just like you two have grown together. Remember, family always comes first."
Albert nodded. Serina, in contrast, simply sat on the floor beside the crib, her face peering through the bars at him.
The carriage rocked gently as it rolled along the cobblestone path, the sound of wheels and horses' hooves blending with the muted chatter of the countryside. Vaylin, cradled in Lady Elara's arms, peered around with wide, curious eyes. Elara hummed softly, her presence steady and soothing.
The ride was not long, and soon the carriage came to a halt with a slight jolt. Azuth opened the door and stepped out first, his boots clicking on the cobblestones. Cedric followed, assisting Elara as she carefully stepped down with Vaylin in her arms.
Vaylin blinked at the scene before him: a small village nestled against a backdrop of rolling hills, its buildings simple but homey. Nearby, a tall structure stood out. It was made of stone, with tall, narrow windows and a sloping roof. The design struck him as vaguely familiar—something between a medieval chapel and a church—but with none of the prominent crosses he might have expected.
As the group approached the building, Elara passed Vaylin to Azuth. The transfer was anything but graceful. Azuth hesitated, fumbling for a moment before settling the baby in his arms. Vaylin felt the shift immediately, his father's hold was more awkward and tentative compared to Elara's.
"Why me?" Azuth muttered under his breath, his golden eyes flicking nervously to the building.
Cedric chuckled. "Because you're the father, that's why. It's your duty to present him."
Azuth sighed but nodded, adjusting his grip on Vaylin. "Alright, little guy," he murmured, his voice low enough that only Vaylin could hear. "Let's get this over with."
They stepped into the building, and Vaylin's eyes darted around as much as they could. The interior was sparse but reverent. Rows of wooden pews lined the sides, and the stone walls were adorned with faint carvings—symbols he couldn't quite make out. At the far end of the room stood four men in ornate robes, each a distinct colour: red, blue, brown, and green.
The group approached the altar, and the priests inclined their heads in greeting. Azuth stood stiffly, his discomfort plain to see, while Elara and Cedric took seats near the back with Albert and Serina.
One of the priests, the man in red, stepped forward. His voice was deep and commanding, filling the chamber with ease. "You have brought your child for the blessings of the Four Great Gods?"
Azuth nodded, his grip on Vaylin tightening slightly. "Yes. This is my son, Vaylin."
The priest gestured for him to step closer. "Place him on the altar."
Azuth hesitated but complied, setting Vaylin down gently. The altar was cool against his back, and he stared up at the high ceiling, the faint carvings now visible as patterns of flames, waves, leaves, and mountains.
The ceremony began. Each priest took up a ceremonial object and stepped forward in turn, offering prayers to their respective deity.
The red priest held a lit candle high, the flame steady in the still air. "Oh, mighty God of Fire, grant this child your passion and strength. Let him burn brightly, a beacon against the darkness. He placed the candle on the altar by Vaylin's right shoulder."
The blue priest followed, holding up a chalice shimmering with clear water. He put a finger in the water, took it out, and let a single drop onto Vaylin's forehead as he spoke. "Oh, eternal God of Water, grant this child your wisdom and adaptability. May he flow freely and overcome all obstacles." He placed the chalice by Vaylin's left foot.
Next came the brown priest, holding a simple dusty stone as though it were a sacred relic. He scraped off some dust and sprinkled it over Vaylin, causing him to sneeze. "Oh, steadfast God of Earth, grant this child your resilience and foundation. Let him stand firm in the face of any storm." He placed the stone by Vaylin's right foot.
Finally, the green priest stepped forward, holding an intricately carved fan with reverence. With a gentle sweep, he waved it over Vaylin, creating a soft breeze. "Oh, swift God of Wind, grant this child your freedom and grace. May he soar to heights unknown." The priest folded the fan and placed it by Vaylin's left shoulder.
Vaylin lay still, his infant body unable to do much else, but his mind raced with thoughts. This is some kind of baptism, he realized. A ritual to bless me in the name of their gods. The symbolism was unmistakable, and despite his young age, he felt a strange weight in the air—an energy that seemed to hum around him.
The ceremony concluded with the priests turning to Azuth. The red priest spoke again, his tone formal. "And now, the father must name the child before the gods."
Azuth straightened, his voice steady despite the clear tension in his posture. "His full name is Vaylin Zereth Cedric Aindra."
The priests nodded in approval, repeating the name in unison. "Vaylin Zereth Cedric Aindra. Blessed be he in the eyes of the Four Great Gods."
Azuth stepped forward to retrieve Vaylin, holding him with slightly more confidence now. The priests each placed a hand on his shoulder in turn, offering quiet blessings, before the group was dismissed, but not before Vaylin saw Cedric hand them a very full-looking coin purse.
As they exited the building, the sunlight felt warmer and brighter. The hum of energy still lingered faintly in the air. Azuth glanced down at his son, his golden eyes softening.
"Well, Vaylin," he said quietly, "looks like you're officially one of us now."
A gentle hum activity followed Vaylin's pseudo christening and baptism as he settled into life at the Aindra estate. The sprawling stone manor, surrounded by lush greenery and rolling hills, was a world away from the cramped, dim nursery where his life had begun. Here, everything felt open, bright, and undeniably foreign.
Azuth had stayed for a few days after the ceremony, but his restlessness was palpable. Though he spent much of his time with Vaylin, his golden eyes often wandered to the horizon as if already imagining the next adventure. On the seventh morning after the christening, he approached Cedric in the estate's main hall, his pack slung over one shoulder and his red coat flaring behind him.
"I'll be back when I can," Azuth said, his tone a mix of resolve and regret. "Take care of him, Cedric. He's… well, he's special."
Cedric crossed his arms, his expression stern but understanding. "He'll be fine here. Elara and I will see to it."
Azuth nodded, then knelt beside Vaylin, who was nestled in Lady Elara's arms. His awkwardness from before had faded slightly, and he gently ran a hand over the baby's blond hair. "Stay out of trouble, little guy. Not that I expect you'll listen to me, I wouldn't." With one last glance at his son, Azuth turned and strode out, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.
For Vaylin, life settled into a comfortable rhythm under the care of his aunt and uncle. Lady Elara, warm and nurturing, took on the role of his primary caretaker. Her presence was a constant, and her soft voice and gentle touch became the cornerstones of his young world. She moved through the estate with an air of quiet authority, managing both the household and her children with remarkable ease.
Albert, five years old and already displaying the confident bearing of a future heir, was both curious and dismissive of his new cousin. He would poke at Vaylin's cheeks or tug on his blanket, muttering things like, "Why doesn't he do anything?" But when Vaylin giggled or made a small sound, Albert's face would light up with a mixture of surprise and delight.
Serina, on the other hand, was endlessly fascinated by Vaylin. The three-year-old would often sit beside his crib, her fiery red hair glowing in the sunlight that streamed through the nursery window. She brought him toys—small wooden animals or colourful scraps of cloth—and chattered to him in a mix of baby talk and half-formed sentences. Vaylin found that both her bright smile and gentle presence were comforting.
Cedric, ever the dutiful head of the family, was a more distant figure. His stern manner softened slightly in Vaylin's presence, but he largely left the day-to-day care to Elara. When he did interact with Vaylin, it was often in quiet moments—standing by the crib late at night or brushing a hand over the baby's hair as he passed by. His affection was understated but genuine, and he was a steady presence in the household.
The nursery itself became Vaylin's new world. The room was bright and airy, with wide windows that overlooked the estate's sprawling grounds. The walls were adorned with simple tapestries depicting pastoral scenes, and the polished wooden furniture spoke of both quality and practicality. A crib far finer than the rough box he had arrived in was his new bed, and the soft wool blankets were a luxury he was quickly growing accustomed to.
The days blurred together, filled with feedings, naps, and the occasional visit from his cousins. Vaylin's world was small but safe, and the steady care of Lady Elara made it clear that for now at least, he was truly part of the family. Even as he lay in his crib, gazing up at the beams of sunlight dancing across the ceiling, a part of him couldn't help but wonder what lay beyond the walls of the nursery and what his future in this strange world might hold.
A/N: Vaylin is a self-insert, and I know that reading this it is very obvious which world Vaylin has been born into, but he spends a lot of his time unconscious and it's hard for him to connect names like Aindra because of people's strange accents. Plus Azuth has only appeared a handful of times in the original series, and he looks very little like how he will later in life. He doesn't have the red streak or his beard yet.
Lakyus will be born in a few years. Vaylin was born ~25 years before Nazarick's arrival.