It had been a full year since I first encountered DeciSlash, and in that time, I had learned much—about the world, about those around me, and about my own place in it. Some discoveries had been straightforward, others… more mysterious. One of the most striking things I'd uncovered was the true nature of my parents. They were no ordinary individuals, but powerful adventurers who had spent their lives braving dangerous dungeons, battling fierce monsters, and uncovering the secrets of the world.
My father was both a warrior and a summoner, a rare combination that made him an incredibly formidable fighter. Not only was he skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but he could also summon creatures to aid him in battle. He had three contracted beasts—beasts bound to him through magical contracts that allowed him to call upon their strength whenever needed. My mother, too, was a summoner, though her specialty lay in magic. A talented mage in her own right, she was also bonded to two contracted beasts.
However, there was one detail that struck me as odd—a small but significant thing I had noticed about their summoned beasts. Both my mother and father had one arch beast each, alongside their contracted beasts. That in itself wasn't unusual—after all, many summoners had arch beasts that stood as their primary companion. But what caught my attention was the way they summoned them.
The contracted beasts were summoned through portals—great rifts that tore through space and time, allowing the creatures to slip into this world from another dimension. But the arch beasts were different. These powerful creatures weren't summoned through portals. They were called upon from the heart—an intimate connection between the summoner and the beast, born from deep within the summoner's soul.
The more I thought about it, the more questions I had. What was the real difference between an arch beast and a contracted beast? Why did one need a portal and the other simply a connection to the heart? Was the strength of the arch beast tied to its connection to its summoner's very being? Or was there some other, hidden factor I didn't yet understand?
It seemed possible that an arch beast was far more than just a powerful creature—it might even be a reflection of the summoner's own strength, their essence. The idea that such a creature could be summoned with nothing more than a call from within made me wonder about the nature of the bond between summoner and beast. Was it a deeper, more sacred link, one that could not be broken? Perhaps only the most trusted and powerful creatures could form such a connection. But there were so many unknowns.
Why did my parents only have one arch beast each, while they could have as many contracted beasts as they could manage? Why wasn't there a limit on arch beasts? What made these creatures so special? In a world full of magic and wonders, surely there was a reason for this distinction. The more I thought about it, the more my curiosity grew.
At many points, I wanted to ask my parents about it. I wanted to know the answers directly from them—the people I trusted most, the ones who knew everything about magic and its complexities. But something held me back. I couldn't bring myself to ask. I was still young, after all, and I worried they might think it strange that I, a child, had such complex thoughts on things like arch beasts and contracted beasts. They might see it as something unnatural. Worse, they might think I was some kind of genius, someone who could never be a normal kid again.
Though I was indeed a genius, I didn't want them to think of me that way. I didn't want to be seen as someone above their age, someone destined to stand out in ways that could make things complicated later. I didn't want to make them feel like they had to treat me differently, or that I couldn't relate to the world as a normal child should. In many ways, I already felt like I was too different. Even though I could walk, speak a few words, and think about things beyond my years, I wanted to appear just like any other child.
I thought to myself, I might be a genius, and I might be talented, but for now, let's keep it simple. After all, I had plenty of time ahead of me. I wasn't in any rush. I could shine when I grew up, when it mattered. For now, I would stay grounded, keep my thoughts to myself, and continue learning the world at my own pace. One day, when the time was right, I would show them what I was truly capable of.
It was a special day, one I had quietly planned for in my small, infantile way. At only 1.5 years old, I had already noticed the excitement in my parents' faces whenever I made a sound, a gesture, or simply looked their way. But today, today would be different. Today, I would speak my first word, and I knew exactly when and how it would happen.
I waited until both of them were home, knowing that it would make the moment even more meaningful for them. I had noticed how they always seemed to get excited about the smallest things I did, and I wanted to give them something even more special. I knew my first word would make them smile—and that's exactly what I wanted.
Both my parents were at home that evening. Sara, my mother, was sitting on the couch, reading a book while glancing up at me every now and then. Leonard, my father, was busy preparing something in the kitchen, humming a soft tune as he worked.
It was the perfect time.
A spark of excitement danced in my tiny chest. I started to shift and made a small sound, just enough to grab their attention. It didn't take long before I saw their faces light up, their eyes locked on me with that familiar look of love and anticipation. They knew something was coming.
"Did you hear that, Leonard?" Sara's voice was filled with hope and excitement as she looked at my father. "I think Eren is going to say his first word soon!"
Leonard looked up from his work and grinned. "Oh, I'm sure of it! But let's make a bet. Eren's going to say 'dada' first, I just know it. Right, buddy?" He turned to me, his voice full of playful confidence.
Sara smiled, shaking her head. "No way, Leonard. You're on. It's going to be 'mama' first, I can feel it! I've been waiting for this moment."
I could feel the joy between them, their playful competition filling the air. They had been waiting for this moment ever since I had started babbling and making noises. Their voices were warm, full of love and excitement. I couldn't help but love the way they both looked at me like I was the most important thing in the world.
They both stared at me eagerly, their eyes sparkling with anticipation. I could see the playful challenge in their eyes. It felt like a little game to them, but it was a game that was special, a game that I knew I wanted to be a part of.
The moment had arrived. I shifted slightly, trying to steady myself as I took a deep breath. I opened my mouth, my tiny voice trembling with excitement, and then…
"Ma…"
Sara's face lit up instantly, her eyes wide with joy as she clapped her hands together. "I knew it! He said mama first!" She practically jumped out of her seat, grinning from ear to ear.
But then, as the syllable came out, something unexpected happened. I wasn't finished.
"Magic!" I added, my voice clear, though still small. I had completed the word in a way neither of my parents had expected.
Sara froze for a moment, blinking in surprise, her excitement deflating slightly. She glanced at Leonard, who had already burst into laughter.
"Magic? Really, Eren?" Leonard chuckled, shaking his head as he walked over to join us. "You couldn't just stick with 'mama', huh? You had to show off a little?" He ruffled my hair gently, his laughter contagious. "Looks like we both lost this one, dear."
Sara sighed dramatically, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at her lips. "Alright, alright, Leonard," she said, her voice full of mock exasperation. "But just wait. One day, it'll be mama again."
Leonard laughed again, shaking his head. "Of course, but today, it's magic. My son has already started on the right track—thinking beyond the basics."
I could tell from the warmth in their voices and their smiles that the moment was even more precious than the competition had made it seem. They were happy not because of who "won," but because of how special the moment was to them both.
Later that day, as the sun began to set, the two of them decided to celebrate. They spent the evening preparing a special treat to share with the neighbors. The smell of something sweet and fresh filled the house as they baked together—cookies, cakes, and even some small pies that had a playful touch to them, just like their personalities.
They didn't stop there. Soon, they were outside, handing out the freshly baked goods to our neighbors with big smiles, sharing their joy over the "first word" with everyone around.My parents' love, their playfulness, their bond—it all came together in this moment. I could tell that no matter what word I had said first, they were just grateful to share it together.
As the day ended, I curled up in their arms, content. I knew this moment would be one of the many happy memories they would hold on to, just like I would.