About a month ago, I began to clearly see how my mother—no, my mother—would clean my dirtied linens. Magic?! Even now, I can hardly believe it exists. Granted, my own reincarnation is surprising enough, but the presence of magic makes this world even more incredible. I often wonder how I came to be here, or if some spell or magical mishap twisted the laws of reincarnation and brought me here with my memories intact.
My days have turned into a mix of eager observation and determined practice. I study my mother's every move, absorbing each spell she casts as if it holds the key to everything. Her gentle incantations, the graceful flick of her fingers, the way energy ripples through the air—it's like watching art in motion. She doesn't know it, but every gesture, every whispered word, is seared into my memory, adding fuel to a growing fire inside me.
In those quiet moments, I turn to the basics—pushing these awkward little limbs to move, testing my strength as I crawl just a bit farther each day. I'm starting to wonder if there's something in this world that makes even a newborn's body a little stronger, more resilient. Maybe it's my imagination, but I can feel my muscles responding faster than I'd expect, and if I keep up this pace, maybe I'll be walking sooner than anyone expects.
Today, though, my daily routine are cut short as the door swings open. My father, Victor, strides in with a wide grin, his laughter filling the room with warmth.
"Hello, little Alex!" he greets, voice rich with affection.
It's hard not to be struck by how handsome he is. His chiseled features, emerald-green eyes, auburn hair, and tall, muscular frame could make anyone feel small. I can't help but hope I inherit his looks—though I certainly wouldn't complain about resembling my beautiful mother. I just want to look… a bit more rugged, more like the "manly" figure Victor embodies.
Victor towers over the crib, his bright eyes crinkling as he bends down to scoop me up. There's a comfort in his embrace, a sense of security that I hadn't realized I missed from my previous life.
"How's my little man doing today?" he asks, bouncing me gently in his arms. I respond with a soft grunt, the closest I can manage to speaking at the moment. It earns me a hearty chuckle.
"Look at you, already trying to talk back, huh?" he teases, his voice filled with pride.
The warmth of a father—it's something that feels entirely new. With Victor, there's no edge, no looming disapproval, none of the rigid expectations I remember from my past life. This feels like a gift, and it only makes the memory of my former father feel that much harsher, like a distant shadow. Here, I have something I never thought I needed: a parent who just… enjoys my presence.
In this world, this life, I'm determined to make the most of it.
"Hey, little bud, want to tag along with me to the market? Gotta pick up some daily necessities," Victor says, almost as if he actually expects an infant to have a preference.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Is he oblivious or just overly hopeful? I snark inwardly, but still give a grunt and flash him a cheerful smile. Finally, a chance to see the outside world!
"Huh, would you look at that," he says, his face lighting up. "You really can understand me, can't you? Looks like Alicia was right—my little man's a genius!"
I can't help but feel a small swell of pride. Whether he's teasing or just caught up in his own excitement, there's something comforting in how he speaks to me like an equal. And now, as we head out to explore, I feel the pull of curiosity and determination deep within.
As my father walks us through the bustling streets, I can't help but take in the surroundings. The people's attire is strikingly similar to Earth's medieval period—long tunics, leather boots, women in layered dresses, and men with tunics belted at the waist. But there's one key difference: nearly every man I see carries a weapon. Swords, daggers, axes—some even with exotic weapons slung over their backs. It's as if it's second nature to them, like a world that expects and embraces battle.
Mercenaries? Adventurers? I wonder aloud in my mind, recalling the familiar tropes of Earth's novels. These people seem like they're ready for anything, prepared for whatever danger might come their way.
I glance at my father. He's still carrying me with that easy confidence, greeting passersby with a nod or a cheerful wave, but there's something about him that catches my attention. His relaxed smile and easy demeanor hide a quiet strength, something I hadn't noticed in the nursery. He carries himself almost like a knight from the stories, a bit too practiced to be just a civilian, yet his joy and warmth are genuine. There's something more to him.
As we approach, a woman's voice rings out cheerfully.
"Victor! Fancy meeting you here with little Alex," she calls, waving. My father turns with a smile, and I recognize her voice—it's the midwife who helped my mother.
"Susan!" my father responds, grinning. "I still haven't properly thanked you for all the help with Alex."
The woman, Susan, has a warm, down-to-earth presence. Short brown hair frames her face, and her dark eyes are lively, reflecting a certain strength. She's shorter than most of the women we've passed, but there's something about her that stands out even more than her voice—her bosoms.
Those… are substantial, I think, blinking in astonishment. Perhaps there's some aspect of magic in this world that affects physical development? It's hard to believe that's entirely natural. This place, with its casual magic and its people who look ready for anything, feels as if it has its own rules and standards for what's considered "normal."
Susan leans down, her eyes softening as she looks at me. "Well, well, little one, it's nice to see you up and about," she coos, reaching out to give my cheek a gentle pinch.
I respond with a small gurgle, giving her a polite smile, which earns a chuckle from both her and my father.