Alex's POV
Being a baby is… quite the experience. Days blur into a routine of eating, sleeping, excreting, and repeating—like clockwork. My vision is still hazy, so sound is my main way to gauge my surroundings. It's embarrassing, to say the least.
The muffled voices around me speak a language I can't fully grasp. I catch a few familiar sounds here and there, but it's unlike anything I've ever encountered. It's almost like Latin—a language I'd picked up snippets of during my history studies—but this feels different, more fluid, less familiar. Latin is practically a dead language, reserved for scholars and academics like me. So how can this be?
With little to do—shocking, I know, for a baby with no motor skills—I focus on listening, hoping that someday I'll understand what my parents are saying.
A week—or so I think—has passed, and I believe my name in this life might be… Alex? I can't be certain, though; everything still sounds muffled, like I'm hearing through water. My ears, like my other senses, are still adjusting.
After a month, my vision noticeably improves, letting me take in my environment. I'm lying in a simple cradle, surrounded by stuffed toys and tiny pillows meant for a newborn. The room is small, especially compared to the lavish nursery I had in my previous life. It doesn't look like my current family is wealthy. There's just a bed, a cabinet for clothes, and a table holding an oil lamp.
An oil lamp, huh?I think, realizing, This must be a remote place, probably without electricity.
As memories of my past life drift into focus, an image of my mother appears in my mind. I miss her already, a pang of longing settling in my chest.
Just as I start to sink into my self-reflection, the door creaks open. I turn and find myself staring at a woman who takes my breath away. She has lush black hair with a hint of purple, and her warm brown eyes perfectly complement it. I can't help but notice her long eyelashes and her perky nose—features that only add to her beauty.
"Good morning, Alex," she whispers softly, her gaze filled with a warmth that could melt stone.
So, this is my mother. How lucky am I to have her? I must have saved someone in my past life to deserve this… Oh, wait—I did.
If you're wondering how I can understand her, it's simple: when you have nothing else to do but listen to people muttering strange words every day for a month, you start to piece things together. You'd probably figure out what "Good morning" means too.
"Have you been well, my child? Did you wet yourself again? Why didn't you call for your mother?" she asks, her words a gentle barrage as she checks my linens. While I can't grasp every word, I understand her intent well enough.
Yep, I wet myself. How embarrassing, especially in front of such beauty. Well, she's my mother, and I don't have full control of my bladder yet, okay?!
She gently lifts me out of the cradle and places me on the bed. Then she begins moving her hands in intricate patterns through the air, as if weaving something invisible.
What the hell is she doing? I muse, watching with fascination.
Suddenly, I feel it—a gentle tug as the damp linens lift themselves off my body.
Magic?! I exclaim internally, a jolt of excitement rushing through me. So… I wasn't just reborn. I was reincarnated!
Reincarnation—a foreign world. It seems those fantasy books I read as a hobby were onto something. But experiencing this personally? It's mesmerizing.
As I lose myself in thought, my mother starts weaving her hands again. Her gestures this time are faster, more precise, and I watch, captivated, as the damp linen visibly dries before my eyes.
"Good. Now it's your turn to wash," she says softly, lifting me up and walking out of the room. I assume we're heading to a washroom.
Please, use your magic to wash me, Mom, I want to say. But all that comes out is the garbled, gibberish babbling of a baby.
"So cute," she coos, smiling down at me.
Alicia's POV
It's been nearly three months since I delivered Alex, yet I can't seem to shake this lingering worry. He hasn't cried once since that first, sharp slap from the midwife. I've made more visits to the local healer than I'd care to admit, each time asking him to check on my Alex. And each time, he reassures me that my son is perfectly healthy. His words ease my heart, if only slightly.
Still, there's something about Alex that feels… different. Special. I feel it every time he looks at me, and I'm convinced of it, even if Victor laughs and tells me it's all in my head. Every morning, I say, "Good morning," and Alex lets out the softest little grunt in response. It's beyond adorable, but Victor insists it's just a coincidence.
But I know better. My son is special.
"Right, Alex?" I whisper softly as he sleeps, resting my hand on his back. "You're special."
Lately, his gaze has taken on an even brighter spark. His eyes have always had that twinkle, as if he somehow understood everything I was saying or doing. But now… now it feels different, sharper, more focused. He watches me intently, especially when I use magic. His eyes follow my every hand movement, studying them as if he's trying to understand.
Is it possible he knows more than I realize? The thought fills me with both wonder and pride.
Another three months have flown by, and my sweet baby has started to crawl. Alex is tenacious, my little fighter. On the first day, he managed only a few wobbly steps forward, but by the second? He crawled clear across the room! How incredible he is, my little genius.
Victor could hardly contain his excitement. He declared that he would start teaching Alex as soon as he learned to walk, practically beaming at the thought. I gave him a slap on the cheek and a sharp talking-to. Of course, I believe my boy will walk before he's three, but still… I want him to enjoy these early days of youth, without worry or burden.
After all, life outside this village is survival of the fittest. And I want him to be ready—when the time comes.