My mother and father — Serena Midnight and Vincent — appeared to be good people. They might even be the best, or so it seemed. My mother, in particular, struck me as an angel in human form. Her heart radiated kindness, and her warmth enveloped me. She often took me with her to a place she referred to as a town, carrying me on her back in a baby cradle-strap contraption. This town, known as Greenwood, was more like a expansive settlement from my perspective. It lacked proper roads and substantial buildings. Instead, we traversed a dusty main trail lined with tents on either side, housing various merchants and salesmen peddling everything imaginable, from common necessities to curious items that piqued my curiosity, like weapons, armor, and those mesmerizing, glowing rocks.
In what seemed like an effort to facilitate my language acquisition, my mother engaged me in conversation while we strolled through the bustling market, exchanging pleasantries with passing individuals or the diligent vendors tending to their stalls. However, my fragile infant body betrayed me yet again, succumbing to exhaustion, and I drifted into an unwelcome slumber... Curse this helpless infantile vessel of mine.
I awoke cradled in my mother's arms, her touch soothing but her gaze locked onto my father. who was deeply engrossed in a continuous chant, a melody that seemed to be a tribute to the water itself. I, an oblivious infant with limited comprehension, inched closer, teetering on the edge of my seat, without a clear understanding of what to expect. After an unbearably long moment—though for an infant with an attention span as fleeting as a breath, it felt like an eternity—three torrents of water, each as immense as a grown person, materialized and enveloped the nearby trees. Their shapes and consistency seemed unnatural. They swirled like a cyclone, only in slow motion; their rapid, violent motion belies their slothlike form. My infant self gaped in wonder as they wriggled and wobbled with a purpose. I observed in awe as my mother gently handed me a small cup filled with the sparkling liquid, a refreshing water that revived my spent infant form.
"Your father is an Anima Element alist — one who draws power from the elemental planes and uses it in place of magic," my mother explained.
I flailed my tiny arm in frustration; yet my dear but clueless father mistook my gesture for excitement. With an overly enthusiastic grin on his face, he cheered, 'Is your daddy awesome, huh?"
Whatever mystical prowess they had demonstrated with those torrents of water, it was clear that they excelled even more in combat. When he donned their iron gauntlets; it left an impression on me, despite my previous encounters with formidable adversaries in my past life. Their movements, quick and precise, defied their bulky physique. Their fists held enough power to shatter boulders and bring down trees, yet they flowed seamlessly, leaving no openings for potential opponents. In my previous world, they would have held a high-tier ranking, leading an entire Gen—squad of soldiers. But to me, they were simply my father.
My mother, however, carried an entirely different kind of strength, the type that emanated from within. Her gentle voice and her kind and loving nature brought peace and serenity to my life. When I was with her, I was happy. She often sang lullabies while she rocked me to sleep, her voice like the soft tinkle of bells. As a result, I adored her and sought out her comfort and affection at every opportunity.
The days passed swiftly, and I absorbed every bit of information I could, listening attentively to my parents and observing every detail within my sight. Each day, I dedicated myself to perfecting my newfound body, mastering the motor functions that lay deep within me.
However, that cozy routine soon became a distant memory! I was now nearly a toddler, and while some of the baby weight had diminished, a slight roundness remained. Still, I was reasonably steady on my feet and less prone to falling.
My mother and father didn't hesitate to get down on all fours and chase me, crawling like dogs in hopes of getting a better look.
It was a comfortable morning—a day, too restful.