The universe has a cruel rule—one so unyielding it seems carved in stone, impossible to alter no matter what you do. It doesn’t matter if you’re the best at what you do, a hero, a powerful being, or even a god.

“All good things are always the hardest, while all bad things are always the easiest.”

This rule can be expressed in countless ways, but no matter how you look at it, it holds true. Building a structure can take months or even years to complete, but a few explosives are all it takes to tear it down. Building a stable relationship takes time and trust, but one stupid mistake can destroy everything. Being a model citizen requires years of following every rule and norm, but a single misstep can ruin a perfect life painstakingly built over time. That one mistake gets permanently etched into your record, making job searches harder, relationships strained, or even broken.

The negative is always the easiest: stealing, cursing, anger, breaking, hitting, lying, attacking, falling ill, or succumbing to depression. Meanwhile, the positive is always the hardest: building, staying healthy, believing, being happy, maintaining relationships, learning, and growing.

It seems like a universal rule, one you can clearly see if you pause and observe the world around you. It's one of the cruelest rules of the universe—a single act of evil can inflict more damage on the good than you can imagine.

As I said, one small act of evil can destroy everything you've worked for in mere seconds.

And it was just that—a stupid mistake, a moment of malice—that changed my life forever. That tiny, insignificant moment robbed me of the most precious gift the universe bestows upon all living beings: my life.

One moment, I was walking my usual route home after spending some time alone in the park to clear my head, and the next, I was lying face down on the ground, unable to move, my body soaked in a crimson puddle seeping out of me.

The only thing I managed to see was a hooded man running in the opposite direction, sprinting as if his life depended on it, clutching a very familiar bag in his arms—my bag.

I was stabbed over a simple backpack containing nothing more than a change of clothes and a bottle of water.

A life built over years of effort erased in mere seconds.

The universe—or fate—can be a massive jerk sometimes. If I hadn’t spent so much time reflecting on my life in the park, maybe I wouldn’t have crossed paths with that guy. If only I hadn’t gone to that park, or had taken another route, or stayed home that day, or even been on the other side of the street…

A single act of evil, and it was all over.

That’s life—always so complicated in every aspect. Play or work, enjoy the day or prepare for tomorrow, chase your passions or follow the path others set for you. Deciding which path to take—friends, fame, knowledge, wealth, or peace.

But honestly, does any of that matter right now? All those complications are things you deal with when you’re alive. But now? Now, I don’t have to worry about what to do with my life because, first of all, I’m not even alive anymore.

Second of all, I spent far too much time in life philosophizing about my existence—time I now regret wasting since I never reached a conclusion. Now, I’m dead, and I never figured out what I truly wanted to do.

However, all those problems, that stress, and those complications? They’ll never bother me again. After all, I’m dead now.

...

That’s right. I’m dead.

...

...

Am I dead? I can’t see anything, just an infinite darkness surrounding me. I can’t feel anything—not my body, not a single sensation.

But despite all this being clear proof of not being alive, why am I still thinking? I think, therefore I am. And if I exist, then I must be alive… right?

Yet, how can I be alive when that guy clearly stabbed me, there was no one else around to call an ambulance, and I felt all my strength fading away as I closed my eyes for the last time? There’s no way I could’ve survived that.

And yet… here I am, thinking. Wait—if I’m still thinking, maybe the afterlife isn’t just a state of “ceasing to exist.” Maybe, just maybe, I’m in some sort of afterlife.

So, tell me, universe—who was right in the end?

...

So, this is how it’s going to be, huh? The silent treatment. Very mature, universe.

Or maybe I’m in some kind of waiting room, an in-between space between life and death. If that’s the case, then what exactly am I waiting for? A gateway to paradise? Judgment? Or, in the worst-case scenario... total oblivion, slowly fading into nothingness.

Whatever it is, I guess I don’t have much choice but to wait. Unless, of course, this is some kind of test of patience or determination.

Either way, I think I’ll just sit here and wait for something to happen, though I doubt it’ll be anyt—

And just like that, as if the universe itself had been eavesdropping, something happened.

Out of nowhere, a blinding white light appeared in front of me. The grand revelation of the afterlife unfurled like a curtain, illuminating the darkness that had surrounded me.

So, what will it be? Judgment, paradise, or complete annihilation?

Minutes later, after being bathed in that warm, radiant light, I discovered what awaited me on the other side. Much to my disappointment, I should add.

It turns out, after all the trials and tribulations of life, the grand secret of what lies beyond death is (drumroll, please)... nothing less than another life!

That’s right—the answer to the great mystery of existence after death is reincarnation. Who would’ve guessed? Turns out, all those isekai stories are based on true events! Ha!

Don’t get me wrong—I love being alive. But after a good, ironic moment of reflection about life while I was dead, I realized that life can suck. Hard. All those agonizing questions about what to do with your life, which path to take, what career to choose for your future... those endless pros-and-cons lists that consume you when you hit young adulthood. And now, I have to go through it all again.

Just when I thought I’d escaped the exhausting overthinking that comes with making every decision—knowing full well that everything could be ruined in an instant—it’s all back. So, what’s the right choice? Should you work tirelessly for a brighter future, even though life might end abruptly? Or should you live in the moment, pursuing peace and joy even if tomorrow is uncertain?

All those existential crises have come back to haunt me, right along with the fact that I’m alive again. If only I’d figured it all out before, I wouldn’t be stuck mulling over it now. But here I am, starting over from scratch. “Welcome to the world, kid. Here’s your complimentary existential crisis,” I told myself as I reincarnated.

But that’s not the only surprise. Not only have I been reincarnated, but I’ve also been reborn in a completely different world—if my excellent deductive skills aren’t failing me.

Why do I think this is another world? I'm not entirely sure, but being cradled in the arms of what appears to be a grey horse with a blue-grey mane, lying in a hospital bed, while another pony in a lab coat stands nearby, makes me think that the intelligent life forms of this world are colorful horses.

Everything seems relatively normal for a birth—if you ignore the intelligent horse part. I suppose the one holding me must be my mother, and the one in the lab coat is undoubtedly the doctor.

Wow! Reincarnated into a world of horses. Depending on the time of day, I might feel differently about this. On one hoof (yes, I’m saying that now), a new and unknown world could be a great adventure. On the other, recalling how easily life can go off the rails with one simple mistake, I can’t say I’m thrilled about the prospect of an "adventure" at the moment. Maybe I’ll feel differently once I learn more about this place.

I strain to turn my head, trying to take in my surroundings. Besides me, there are two other creatures cradled in the hooves—er, forelegs—of what I assume is my mother. They’re wailing at full volume, and from their size, they seem to be my age. One is gray, and the other... well, they’re entirely pink. Bright pink. I really hope that’s not contagious.

Wait a second. They were already here when I arrived, so that must mean...

“Congratulations, Mrs. Cloudy Quartz! You have triplets!” the doctor exclaimed. He then walked to the door and opened it, calling out, “You can come in now, Mr. Igneous Rock Pie!”

Triplets, huh? So, these two are my siblings. That’s amusing. But what really grabs my attention is that they’re tiny horses just like me. Fascinating. As for the new arrival, the horse who just entered the room seems... nervous, I think?

This one is a brown stallion with a gray mane. He has long sideburns, wears a black tie, and sports a hat that reminds me of something out of an old, depressing farming era—a black hat with a gray band.

He looks around nervously from the doorway before the doctor gestures toward us. The brown horse freezes for a moment before his eyes widen, locking onto what I assume is my mother, my siblings, and me. Slowly, he approaches the bed and stops right beside it.

“These are our little ones,” he said softly, inspecting us with such focus you’d think he was trying to memorize every tiny detail.

“Two fillies and a colt,” my mother said in a calm, relaxed voice.

Wait—two fillies and a colt? So that means... filly equals girl, and colt equals boy, right? That pink one is almost certainly a filly. But the gray one? Could they be the colt? And if they are... does that make me the other filly?!

Igneous placed a hoof to his chin and spoke again. “Fortunately, we already had names prepared.”

He glanced at the pink foal for a moment, inspecting her thoroughly before gently cradling her in his hooves. She had already calmed down and was now fast asleep.

“Pink,” he murmured, then glanced at my mother, who nodded. Finally, with a tone of serenity and a touch of enthusiasm (or so I think), he announced, “Pinkamena Diane Pie.”

Pinkamena... so, she’s the filly. That checks out.

The serious stallion carefully returned Pinkamena to my mother’s hooves before turning to the gray foal beside me. He repeated the process: a moment of observation, then gently picking them up for a closer look.

“Seven minutes after Pinkamena,” my mother noted as she adjusted Pinkamena in her right foreleg. She then added, “Marble Pie.”

Marble? Like the rock? Is that a girl’s name or a boy’s? I need to know! Don’t leave me hanging—tell me the gender! I need to figure out if I’m the other filly or not!

Marble, who had been crying all this time, eventually fell silent as Igneous swayed them gently in his hooves. Once they drifted off to sleep, he placed them back into my mother’s care.

Finally, my turn came.

Like my siblings, he examined me thoroughly before lifting me in his hooves. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, it felt like a battle of wills—his unblinking stare meeting my own wide-eyed gaze.

"The youngest, twelve minutes after Marble" my mother added.

As the brown stallion continued to study me, something in his eyes shifted. Should I "act like a baby"? Should I cry? A serious demeanor might seem suspicious. What if someone noticed that I wasn’t acting like a typical newborn?

The thought sent my mind spiraling into chaos. “What if they think I’m... strange? Or, worse, that I’m... aware?” My imagination conjured ridiculous, catastrophic scenarios.

When the horse looked at me closely and murmured, almost to himself, "You have serene eyes... just like mine when I was young. That’s good. Strong, like a proper farmer… you shall be named Echorellian Crumble Pie" I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

For the first time since my arrival in this world, I could stop pretending. The paranoia weighing on me eased, and I managed to give the farmer a shy smile. To my surprise, he returned the gesture with a subtle, knowing smile, as if he understood something unspoken about me.

This horse was clearly my father.

In that small interaction, I realized a few things. First, the language here is exactly the same as my previous world’s. What are the odds of that? Thinking about how astronomically low the chances must be to land in a universe where the language barrier isn’t a problem is mind-blowing. But hey, I’ll take this lucky break.

Second, the phrase “a proper farmer” gave me an important clue about my new life: this family owns a farm. Honestly, I’m okay with that. A simpler life, less stress, and plenty of land? Sounds like a pretty good deal. Plus, inheriting a farm in the future is almost like being handed a family business. Definitely a safety net if anything I try later goes sideways.

Lastly, it became clear that my calm demeanor didn’t bother him. This meant I wouldn’t have to fake being a typical baby. No need to cry on cue or act like a complete newborn.

My father held me for a moment longer, studying me in complete silence until the sound of the door opening interrupted the moment. It was the nurse, her expression apologetic for the intrusion. My father carefully placed me back in my mother’s hooves before heading to the nurse. After a brief exchange I couldn’t quite catch, they both left the room.

I sighed inwardly. It seemed there wasn’t much need to keep up the charade of being a “normal baby.” This was my life now—truly mine. I wasn’t some intruder or a human magically transformed into a horse. No, I was reborn here. This was my new existence, a new world to explore, a family I was born into, and, well… a new body.

Wait. A new body!

The realization hit me like a truck. If my parents were horses, then that meant I was a horse too! No more hands with opposable thumbs—just these stumpy little hooves.

I glanced at my siblings nestled beside my mother. Did that mean I looked like them? I mean, it made sense, but… oh no. I’m really a horse, aren’t I? Should I laugh at how absurd this is, or should I be utterly depressed about it?

Wait, what did my father just call me? “Echorellian Crumble Pie”? What kind of name is that? Is it masculine? Feminine? Oh no, they left me hanging again. Am I the colt, or… the filly? The suspense is killing me!

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the energy to keep spiraling. Being freshly born meant my eyelids were getting heavy again. So many questions, so much weirdness, but it could all wait. Right now, I needed sleep. A nap seemed like the best idea ever.

Several days passed, most of which I spent in the hospital. It was a routine of being cradled by my mother, placed in a crib, and occasionally seeing my father for an hour each evening before he left again.

During this time, I made a discovery: these weren’t regular horses—they were ponies. Small, colorful ponies. A world of talking ponies… it sounded oddly familiar, but honestly, between pondering life, death, reincarnation, and being in a whole other world, I had enough on my plate without trying to dredge up where this seemed familiar from. My newborn energy reserves could only handle so much thinking at once.

But the real breakthrough? I finally confirmed that Marble was a filly—a girl. Which meant, to my immense relief, I was the colt. Thank goodness. That was one less thing to worry about.

The monotonous days of checkups and medical routines gave me plenty of time to sort through my thoughts, even if the repetition got a little dull.

Today, however, things were different. My father, Igneous Rock, arrived early. After some discussions with my parents and a few of the hospital staff, they began preparing to discharge us. Finally, I was leaving this place for good—or at least, that was the gist of what they were saying.

I’m being carried in a basket by my mother, alongside my “twin” sisters—quotation marks very much intentional. We’re in the living room with my father, just a few meters away from the door. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, I’m about to see the outside world for the first time. What lively, surprising, and fantastical adventures await me beyond these doors?

The brightness of the sunlight blinds me for a moment until my weak newborn eyes adjust, and the blur sharpens into clarity.

For the second time in my new life, I’m disappointed.

The colorful, friendly, and magical world I imagined would greet me is nowhere to be found. Instead, I see a gray, barren, and depressing landscape that saps my enthusiasm just by looking at it.

Well, drawing from the wisdom of my past life, I can only recall a saying that seems fitting for this moment: “If you expect nothing from anyone, you’ll never be disappointed.” I’m not sure if a great philosopher said it or if I heard it on TV, but it doesn’t matter—it’s equally valid.

But seriously, is this how you welcome a newborn into the world?

We’re now riding in a cart pulled by my father, Igneous, over a dusty, gray road. The landscape is sparse, with a few trees barely clinging to life, leafless trunks, and a scattering of rocks. The horizon offers more of the same: desolation, patches of scraggly earth, and the occasional decrepit hut. Eventually, we arrive at what I assume is our home.

As we cross an open field, I take note of the farmhouse. It looks like a typical farmstead—two stories tall, wooden walls, a thatched roof, a windmill, and a grain silo. There’s a barn off to one side, and vast open fields stretch around us. Everything screams “farm life,” but… where are the crops? The fields are littered with nothing but rocks—small rocks, big rocks, just rocks everywhere.

Don’t tell me we’re in the middle of a drought or, worse, some sort of economic crisis. That would explain the worn-down appearance of this entire town.

This is bad news. I really don’t want to set a record for shortest reincarnation. I just need to survive long enough to move independently. Maybe, just maybe, my mind, armed with the wisdom of another life and world, can help improve our family’s situation.

For now, I just have to trust they can take care of me until I reach that point.

As we approach the house, we pass under a wooden archway with a dusty sign hanging from it. My father stops the cart a few feet from the front door. Despite some minor signs of wear, the house feels sturdy. My father unhitches the cart and helps my mother out. She holds us firmly in the basket, but with a gentle touch. My father then moves the cart and drives it toward the barn.

My mother waits at the entrance of the house, standing patiently until my father joins her. Once we’re all together, the door opens.

All right, let’s see what will be my home—and my future economic project.

From inside the house, the sound of hoofsteps grows closer. Clip-clop, clip-clop. Soon, two smaller figures and one larger one emerge.

I assume the smaller ones are my siblings. As for the larger one, they seem too old to be another sibling. Based on her appearance, I’d guess she’s my grandmother.

“You’ve returned. I trust your journey went well, my dear son,” the older, pinkish pony said, her voice warm and steady.

My father nodded respectfully. “Thank you, Mother. The trip went without issue. I appreciate you looking after the girls while we were away.”

My mother set the basket down gently on the ground so everyone could see us. I curiously observed the two younger ponies approaching. Judging by their size, they couldn’t be more than a year or two older than us—or at least that’s my best guess. I wasn’t exactly an expert in judging horse ages in my previous life.

One of them was a filly with gray fur and a purple mane. Her demeanor was calm, almost solemn, and her expression barely shifted. Her deep, tranquil eyes seemed to calculate every detail, and the tilt of her head suggested curiosity tinged with caution. She stood a few steps away, silent, simply observing.

The other filly had a grayish-blue coat and a mane that was nearly white. Her expression was more animated—aggressive, even. There was something fierce in her gaze, as though she were ready to protect or confront, or maybe both. She stepped forward boldly, leaning over the edge of the basket to get a closer look at us.

After a closer inspection by my grandmother, which included the classic cheek-pinching routine, my mother picked up the basket and carried us inside the house.

Even as we entered, my mind kept circling back to one question: what exactly do we grow here?

Author's Note

This story is not a self-insert, but interestingly, while I was writing about his crisis about deciding, it influenced me and made me indecisive in some aspects of the story, which ironically ended up in me making my own decision tree. I hope that helps me develop it better hehe.

Initially he was only going to be Pinkie's cousin but he ended up being a direct relative of hers to get more direct interactions with the protagonist's family.

I know that Octavio already exists in Pony Life but I wanted to give a more personal touch to the character and that he won't impersonate anyone.

Another point: Echo is the youngest of the Pie family by twelve minutes of Marble, nineteen of Pinkie.

Thanks for reading!