Souta Laurent.
It was a name he'd been given in this new life, and while it wasn't exactly the name he would've chosen for himself, it was his now. After all, it wasn't like he could just toss it back and ask for a refund. He'd been born into it, so he might as well get used to it. Not that he felt particularly attached to it yet—he was only one year old, and that was more than enough to keep him busy with other things. Like trying to figure out why his hands were so darn interesting. If only he could stop staring at his tiny, chubby fingers long enough to do something productive, like—oh, I don't know—crawl without flopping over like a drunken toddler. But for now, "Souta Laurent" was what he was called, and that would have to do.
His parents, Kaelen and Lirien Laurent, seemed perfectly content with his name. In fact, they seemed downright thrilled by it, which was great news for Souta, considering he hadn't exactly had a say in the matter. Kaelen was the sort of father who looked like he could chop down a tree with a glare alone. He had a strong build, broad shoulders, and eyes that were the color of deep, rich coffee. His hair was black as night, and it was one of those styles that just looked effortlessly messy, like he'd gotten out of bed and said, "Yeah, I'm going to keep it like this."
Then there was Lirien, his mother. She was just as striking, with flowing brown hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial and eyes so dark they might as well have been the midnight sky. She had a calm, almost ethereal air about her, and she was always so gentle with Souta, even when he made the occasional attempt to eat his own sock. Honestly, Lirien and Kaelen were as kind and loving as they were beautiful, and Souta had already decided that they were pretty much the best parents ever—though he wasn't entirely sure what the competition was.
But as nice as his new family was, there was one thing that Souta had yet to grasp: he was no longer on Earth. In fact, he wasn't even in Japan anymore. This place—this new world he'd been plopped into—was called Arthea. And Arthea? Well, let's just say it wasn't exactly the same as Tokyo's bustling streets or the quiet, rainy nights he'd grown accustomed to in his past life. No, this world was something else entirely.
It was a land of magic, of sprawling forests, towering mountains, and rivers that shimmered with strange, glowing creatures. All of this was very exciting, except that he couldn't appreciate any of it yet. After all, he was still working on his fine motor skills, like not drooling on himself while trying to crawl.
Magic? Oh, yeah, that sounded cool and all, but right now, his most impressive accomplishment was managing to keep his rattle out of his mouth for five whole minutes. He couldn't exactly use magic just yet—or maybe he could, but who would trust a one-year-old with that kind of responsibility? He could barely keep from accidentally smacking himself in the face with his own fist, let alone summon a fireball or something.
Still, things were slowly starting to make sense. It was like he was putting together a puzzle—one that didn't have any edges and was missing a few key pieces, but still, progress was being made. The biggest victory so far? He was learning the language.
That's right, he was starting to figure out how to communicate with these strange, magical people. It had taken a while, but now he could at least recognize some of the words they spoke. For instance, when his mother, Lirien, would say "Lira toshel," he knew it probably meant something along the lines of "Eat your vegetables." Sure, that didn't explain why the vegetables in this world seemed to glow and sometimes tried to jump off the plate, but hey, at least he understood the concept.
And when Kaelen would grunt "Patu'tah henda," he had come to understand that this was a subtle way of saying, "Stop pulling my hair, kid." (Souta had a tendency to grab anything within his reach, including his father's hair, which, frankly, was just too tempting). So, while he couldn't exactly speak the language yet, he was picking up on enough of it to survive—and more importantly, to avoid any further hair-pulling incidents.
Of course, there were still plenty of words and phrases that flew over his little baby head like magical arrows—"Nira hendu," "Tavara shen," and "Mora'ta sibilen"—but Souta wasn't worried. He had time. He was just a baby, after all. And sure, he might have been reborn into a magical world, but he was still one year old. He was busy. He had to learn how to crawl without face-planting, how to keep his socks on, and how to make his parents think he was an absolute genius just for saying "papa" and "mama."
Hey, it's the little things. It was baby steps, but it was progress.
And speaking of progress, today was a monumental day—Souta's first birthday. A whole year had passed since his "reincarnation," and he couldn't believe how quickly time had flown. It felt strange to even think about it. Just a year ago, he'd been an adult in a different world, living a life that consisted of too many deadlines, too many stress-induced sleepless nights, and a coffee addiction that was on a dangerous trajectory. The thought of celebrating a birthday back then was laughable.
His last real birthday party had been in the sixth grade—before life had taken a nosedive into the abyss of adulthood. That birthday had been the last glimmer of joy in what was otherwise a bleak existence. After that, every subsequent birthday was just another reminder that life was a never-ending cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. Celebrations were for people who had time for them, which, judging by the state of his life back then, he most certainly did not.
But here? Here, everything was different.
The Laurent household was buzzing with energy, like a beehive on a sugar rush. Lirien had transformed their modest home into something that looked like it belonged in a dream, with flowers glowing faintly in the soft evening light. There were candles in every corner—an entire sea of tiny flickering flames that made Souta's baby eyes widen with fascination (and probably a little fear, because baby brain). The whole house smelled like an unfamiliar mix of spices, herbs, and something that could only be described as "magical," like the kind of smell that you'd expect to encounter right before meeting a forest fairy who's about to give you a quest.
His little baby stomach growled in anticipation, and if he could talk, he'd probably tell them all to hurry up with the food. He could already smell something sweet in the air—cake, maybe? It didn't smell like the sugary concoctions he remembered from Earth, but more like… well, grainy earth? Maybe that's what happens when you bake with dirt—he wasn't sure yet, but his stomach had decided it was a go.
Then there was the cake. Oh, the cake. It wasn't the fluffy, frosting-laden masterpiece he remembered, the kind of cake that practically screamed "sugar high." No, this one had a different kind of charm—a thick, earthy scent that didn't quite match up with anything he'd ever had. Still, the sight of it made his little hands twitch, as though his body was saying, "What the heck is that? Let's try it anyway!" It looked like a dense bread more than a cake, but in this new world of his, he was ready to expand his culinary horizons—especially when it came to sweets.
The house was filled with guests—an assortment of cheerful, chattering faces, most of whom Souta vaguely recognized from his parents' frequent conversations. Though, considering he was still too young to understand their language properly, those conversations were basically just a blur of warm, pleasant noises. But today, there was one guest who stood out. A little girl about his age, though she seemed much more composed than he was—her name was Elena Sylvaris.
Elena had maroon hair that shimmered in the light, and eyes that were as green as a summer meadow, making her seem far older than her tiny frame let on. If Souta could speak, he might have said something like, "Are you sure you're not an adult in disguise?" But, given his current state as a one-year-old with questionable motor skills, he just blinked at her in awe.
She was, of course, adorable, and he could already tell that she would grow up to be something of a showstopper. Even in this strange world, there was no denying that she had that rare quality—that je ne sais quoi—that made people stop and look. Still, it was hard to have a meaningful conversation when you were both still learning how to sit up properly, so instead of chatting, they mostly stared at each other with wide-eyed curiosity, occasionally making gurgling noises that might have sounded like words if you squinted hard enough.
Elena's parents, it turned out, were old friends of Kaelen and Lirien from their "adventurer" days (which Souta had yet to fully understand, but hey, it sounded exciting). And because of that, Elena and Souta were destined to be the best of friends—or at least, best of baby friends, which mostly involved a lot of drooling and uncoordinated reaching for toys. To celebrate, Elena tried to share a piece of fruit with him. Souta, being a baby with no concept of etiquette, grabbed it with both hands, then proceeded to squish it into a pulp.
The adults laughed, and for a moment, Souta basked in the attention. Maybe being a baby wasn't so bad after all. In fact, this might just be the best gig in town.
The day passed in a blur of laughter, food, and even more food. Kaelen boasted proudly about how his son was going to be the strongest warrior in all of Arthea (which, if we're being honest, was a bit of an overstatement—Souta could barely lift his own head without toppling over). Lirien, on the other hand, couldn't help but gush about how sweet and gentle her little boy was. It was hard for Souta to follow along, considering he was still trying to figure out how to not spit up when he smiled, but the warmth in the room was undeniable.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him. And though he couldn't fully grasp the significance of the moment, there was something deep inside him that felt... normal.
By the end of the evening, after the cake was gone (or rather, squished beyond recognition), Souta found himself in his crib, his tiny stomach pleasantly full from all the unfamiliar food (which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn't that bad). His eyelids were heavy with sleep, and as he drifted off, he couldn't help but reflect on how strange this whole situation was.
A year ago, he'd been a stressed-out adult in a world that didn't care for him. Now? Now he was a baby, in a magical world, with loving parents who cared deeply for him. It was so far removed from the depressing existence he'd left behind—but in a way, this was exactly what he had needed all along.
A soft giggle bubbled up in his chest as he snuggled deeper into his blankets. Maybe this life was the one he'd always wanted. He didn't have to work until he dropped. He didn't have to worry about missed calls and unpaid bills. Instead, he got to be—to exist in a world where cake was strange, friendships were just beginning, and everything was new.
And perhaps, just maybe, this whole "magic and adventure" thing wasn't so bad either.
The last thought before he fell asleep? Next year… I'm getting two cakes.
Souta let out a small, contented sigh as he drifted into the best sleep he'd had in years.
***
Days passed, and Souta grew stronger, though his progress was still in typical baby fashion—slow and filled with a fair amount of clumsy attempts. Instead of just lying around and wiggling, he could now crawl. It wasn't exactly the speed of a seasoned adventurer, but it was something. Every now and then, he'd make a valiant effort to reach his toy—only to end up face-first in the carpet or somehow wedged underneath the couch. But hey, he was moving, and that was progress in any universe.
He could also say simple words—"Papa" and "Mama"—though the rest of their language still eluded him. And by "eluded," he meant it as though the language was off on a vacation somewhere far away while he was stuck here trying to understand. But still, he was learning. Every time he uttered a new sound, like his attempt at "Lira-toshel" (which probably meant something like "Eat your vegetables" but sounded like a secret spell to turn someone into a frog), his parents would beam with pride, completely convinced that their son was a genius.
They didn't fully understand him, but they didn't care. To them, "Papa" and "Mama" were enough for now. They were thrilled that their baby boy was growing and learning—after all, it wasn't every day that you raised a future prodigy (or so they hoped). Of course, Souta's version of a genius meant crawling in circles for five minutes and attempting to eat his own hand, but hey, everyone had their own definition of success.
One evening, as Souta lay in his crib, his little eyes blinking slowly as he fought off the relentless march of sleep, he found himself lost in thought—though, to be fair, his thoughts were a bit scrambled. You try thinking clearly with a brain that's only one year old. He couldn't remember much from his life on Earth—not the details, at least. His childhood was a blur of half-forgotten images and the distinct feeling of too many hours spent in a cramped office chair. And even if he could remember it, it didn't matter much. It wasn't like he was going to get back to Earth anytime soon, so why dwell on it?
Besides, he had a new life now, complete with a cozy crib, a slightly questionable diet of grain cakes, and the ever-present company of his well-meaning but sometimes overzealous parents. It wasn't Earth anymore—it was Arthea, a whole new world. A world filled with magic, strange creatures, and—Souta's personal favorite—the possibility of dragons. Dragons.
Now, that was something to look forward to.
And even though he was still just a baby in this strange new world, he could already feel something inside of him—this tiny but growing sense of hope. He had a second chance. A life where he could do things his way. Eat the foods he wanted to eat (though let's be honest, the grain cakes were questionable), drink when he was thirsty (and no one would judge him for it), and—most importantly—sleep without worrying about the next deadline or the pile of emails waiting for him in his inbox. Ah, the sweet, sweet bliss of not having to be productive every second of every day.
And who knew? Maybe someday, he'd even get to ride a dragon. That thought was enough to make him giggle in his crib, an unintentional high-pitched sound that startled his parents, who had been under the false assumption that he only knew how to grunt and make a mess of his food. For a brief moment, they looked at each other, utterly confused as to why their baby was laughing at something they couldn't possibly understand.
But that was okay. They didn't need to know why he was giggling. It wasn't like he knew, either.
What does it feel like to live a normal life? he mused silently, his tiny brain struggling to process anything beyond the feeling of soft blankets and the constant lull of his parents' soothing voices. He wasn't sure what exactly "normal" meant anymore, but the fact that he didn't have to worry about spreadsheets, meetings, or disappointments was a good start.
As his eyelids grew heavier, Souta smiled to himself. There was something comforting about finally feeling… well, normal. Even if it was a bit of a strange kind of normal.
He snuggled into his blankets, letting out another little giggle, and drifted off to sleep. The thought of his future adventures, the possibility of magical creatures, and, of course, the grand idea of riding a dragon, filled his dreams.
This life? It was his now. And for the first time in a very long time, that felt pretty damn good.