"Alethia are you ok?!" my father's voice boomed, his heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs to the attic, where my mothers workshop was.
My mother's voice followed, sharp and frantic. "I'm fine! It's under control!"
Somehow, I doubted that.
Seconds later, my father appeared in the doorway, his golden hair disheveled and his face pale. He looked at me, then back at the attic, muttering something under his breath before running up the stairs.
I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear their voices—Mom's frustration and Dad's concern mixing with the sound of crackling energy.
It wasn't long before my parents emerged, their clothes covered in soot. My mother held a strange metallic object in her hands—a small disc etched with glowing blue symbols that pulsed faintly, as though it were alive.
"This isn't safe, Alithea," Dad said, frowning.
"It was a minor setback," she replied, brushing soot from her hair. "Rune ink is volatile by nature. You know that."
Rune ink?
"You know that's not what I am talking about." my dad snapped back.
"This thing you are making." he stopped for a second his eyes pacing from one side to the other, before continuing.
"If the king of a single noble gets a whiff of this. They will tear our house down and you know it."
I watched as the glowing symbols on the disc faded, leaving behind intricate carvings that almost looked like writing. My mother sighed, muttering something under her breath before setting the disc down on a nearby table.
I didn't understand everything they said, but I could feel the tension in the air. Whatever my mother was working on, it wasn't ordinary.
And it wasn't safe.
........................…
It's been over seven months now since I was born into this strange world. Every day feels like something out of a storybook, from the magical tools my mother creates to the beast men who pass by our home, their voices low and gravelly as they chat with my father.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering if this is all a dream. But when I hear my mother's laugh or feel the warmth of her hand brushing my hair, I know it's real.
And honestly? It's terrifying.
Just a few days ago, I took my first steps—yes, seven months old and walking, thank you very much. My parents celebrated like I'd just discovered the cure for plague, and while they fawned over me, I felt something I hadn't in my old life: pride. I could actually accomplish something in this body.
Walking on two feet? Incredible. No aching knees, no gasping for breath, and best of all, I don't feel like collapsing after taking ten steps. The freedom is exhilarating.
Though I've yet to venture outside, I've explored every inch of our house. And let me tell you, the library is my favorite place. It's not massive, but the shelves are filled with picture books, records, and even old scrolls that smell like they've been sitting there for centuries.
Thanks to my growing fluency in this world's language, I've managed to work through a few of the simpler books. Most of them are fairy tales or morality stories, but one stands out: The Five Kingdoms.
It's technically a history book, though the way it's written makes it feel like a fairy tale.
The pages are full of stories—some about heroic adventurers, others about tragic wars—but what I keep coming back to is the chapter about this world's races. There are five of them: humans, beast men, elves, dwarves, and the mysterious Celestials.
Humans, of course, are everywhere. I have seen the beast men working in the fields already. Given my first impression of them was terrible, but now they are more or less a part of my daily life. Most are quite kind too.
Elves and dwarves, though? I've only read about them so far. The book says elves are gifted with long lifespans and incredible magic, while dwarves are brilliant craftsmen, building cities deep within the mountains.
And then there are the Celestials. The book doesn't say much about them, only that they're rare and incredibly powerful, capable of something called essence weaving.
"Essence weaving…" I muttered to myself, running my fingers over the glowing runes on the book's cover.
The phrase stuck in my mind, mostly because it's something I've heard my parents mention before. My mother is a sort of an engineer. A rune weaver—as they call her. She works with these strange, glowing stones called essence runes, which power everything from farming tools to lanterns. It's like magic, but it feels… technical. Precise.
I've only been to her workshop once, but the memory is still vivid. She was tinkering with something she called an "essence-string-compiling rune," her hands moving with practiced ease as glowing lines of light swirled in the air. It was mesmerizing, almost like watching a painter bring a canvas to life.
The tools the beast men use in the fields—the plows and irrigation systems—are all powered by these runes. Watching them work is like seeing magic and science blend together seamlessly.
And then there's my dad. He doesn't talk about essence weaving much, but I've caught glimpses of his sword—a beautiful, glowing blade etched with runes that pulse faintly in the dark. I've always been curious about where it came from. Probably designed by my mother, but what even is the purpose of those runes?
There's so much I don't know about this world. The more I read, the more questions I have.
But one thing is clear: this world is full of possibilities.
........................…
Three months later, something unexpected happened.
It started with my voice. For the first time, I was able to speak actual words instead of the pathetic grunts that had made up my vocabulary for months. At first, I thought it was some kind of fluke, but as the days went by, I realized I could actually hold a conversation—though I've been careful to keep this a secret from my parents.
I mean, how do you explain to your doting mother and father that their ten-month-old can speak fluently? They'd probably think I'm possessed. Or worse, they'd start treating me like some kind of freak.
But even as I reveled in my newfound ability, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was… wrong.
That night, as the warm breeze filtered through the house, I made my way to the library. Stargazing had become a nightly ritual for me. I used to watch the stars in my previous life too. The only difference? Back then they used to remind me how lonely I was but now it was mostly out of habit and entertainment.
Although today with clouds rolling in, the stars were hidden. So, I decided to pass the time with a good book instead.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering candle in my hand casting long shadows on the walls. I was just about to pick a book when a sudden gust of wind snuffed out the flame.
The room plunged into darkness.
For a moment, I stood frozen, my tiny fingers clutching the unlit candle. The air grew cold, biting against my skin.
A strange sensation crawled up my spine, like a thousand unseen eyes were watching me. The silence was deafening, broken only by the creak of the floorboards.
Someone's here.
The creaking grew louder, closer. My heart pounded in my chest, and my fists clenched instinctively. I wanted to run, to scream, but my body refused to move.
I tilted my head, just barely, and from the corner of my eye—
I saw it.
A hulking figure loomed in the shadows, half-hidden by the faint light of a distant storm. It was massive, its features obscured, but I could make out the faint gleam of a sword in one hand. The other held a candle, its dim flame barely illuminating the jagged scars that ran across its body.
My blood went cold. My face turned pale, and I felt like I was about to pass out.
A demon?
CRACKLE
Lightning flashed outside, as I stumbled back down to the ground. Its light just enough to light up the figure's facial features—blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
It was my dad.
I sighed in relief picking myself up from the ground.
"You scared me dad" I said as smooth as breathing, scrubbing of some dust from by pants
"Kael?" he said, his voice confused. "When did you—wait." he shifted, putting the candle on a desk clutching his forehead.
"Did you just… talk?"
Well… shit.
The look on my mom's face the next day was priceless. Her jaw looked like it had hit the floor, her wide eyes darting between me and my dad as if trying to process what she'd just heard.
Sitting around the dining table, I could feel my parents' stares drilling holes into my skull. The air was heavy with silence, the kind that made you break into a cold sweat.
Mom's usual warm, playful expression was gone, replaced by a narrow-eyed glare that could probably set the table on fire. Dad, meanwhile, scratched his head awkwardly, glancing at me like I'd grown a second head.
Finally, my mother leaned forward, resting her chin on her clasped hands. Her lips curled into a smile—sweet, soft… and utterly terrifying.
"So, Kael, dear," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "When, exactly, did you learn to speak?"
Her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, her smile widening, and for a moment, I was certain she was going to devour my soul.
I swallowed hard, my tiny fingers twisting in my lap. Stay calm. Play it cool.
"Goo goo… ga ga?" I offered, putting on my most innocent baby face.
Her eyes narrowed.
Dad cleared his throat, clearly trying to break the tension. "Maybe… maybe he's just gifted?"
"Gifted?" Mom's sharp gaze swung toward him. "Dorian, he's ten months old. Babies don't just wake up one day and start reciting poetry."
"Well, not poetry—"
"Not. Helping."
I sank further into my chair, wishing I could disappear. My mind raced for an escape plan, but there was no way out. If I confessed the truth—that I wasn't their baby but a reincarnated eighteen-year-old—Mom would probably faint. Or worse, she'd call an exorcist.
"Alright, Kael," she said, her voice soft but razor-sharp.
"Explain. How and when did you learn how to speak?"