It had only been three days since my rebirth, and I was still trying to process the absurdity of it all. I had died—there was no denying that. I remember the heart monitor, the blaring sound of my last heartbeat echoing in that hospital room. And yet, here I was, alive again, though in a much smaller, much… squishier body.
My parents—yes, that still felt odd to say—were named Selene and Alden Orlanth. From what I'd been able to gather so far, they were a curious pair. My mother, Selene, was the more cheerful and lighthearted of the two. She carried herself with a grace that made even mundane tasks seem elegant. With her flowing black hair and those striking violet eyes, she could probably silence a room just by walking into it. Yet, she wasn't the type to bask in her beauty. She spent her time keeping the house tidy, humming softly as she worked.
Aldan, my father, was an entirely different story. Reserved and steadfast, he radiated a quiet strength. His sharp features and steel-gray eyes gave him an imposing look, but I could tell he wasn't unkind. From dawn till dusk, he was busy with labor. I hadn't seen much of what he did yet, but judging by the strange animals I glimpsed during trips to the nearby market, I had a hunch he was a farmer—or maybe even a rancher. He worked hard, returning home each day smelling of earth and sweat, but his tired face would light up whenever he saw Selene or me.
As for their history, it seemed my parents' love story was a dramatic one. From what little I could piece together from overheard conversations, they both came from noble families. Different cultures, different traditions, and a mutual love that defied both. They had chosen each other over their families, severing their ties to the nobility and starting a quiet life together in this modest home. They had even changed their last name, "Orlanth," to reflect their fresh start.
And now, they had me—Elior Orlanth.
I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about being reincarnated into this life. For one, the reality of being an infant was… humbling. I could barely move, my arms and legs were annoyingly weak, and the whole diaper situation was enough to make me cringe inwardly every time. Oh, and let's not forget the constant barrage of baby talk.
"Who's my cute little Eli?" my mother would coo, poking my cheeks with her delicate fingers.
It wasn't like I could argue with her—being physically incapable of speech and all—but cute? Seriously? Still, despite my silent protests, I couldn't deny there was a certain warmth to it all. I had parents who clearly adored me, a peaceful home, and a quiet life that already felt so far removed from the one I had before.
And then there was the town.
My mother would occasionally carry me along to the nearby market, a lively little hub filled with colorful stalls and bustling townsfolk. The town wasn't large by any means, but it had its charm—quaint stone buildings, cobblestone roads, and an energy that felt infectious. I'd only been there a handful of times, but I'd already begun to memorize the general layout. It might not seem like much now, but it was better to be prepared.
For now, though, I was content. My days consisted of watching my parents, observing their habits, and slowly piecing together more about this world.
…..
Four months passed in what felt like a blink.
By now, I'd made my first major achievement in this new life—I had learned to crawl. Well, "crawling" might be a generous term. It was more like pulling myself across the wooden floor using my tiny arms and legs. Each attempt was accompanied by small, incoherent baby noises as I strained to drag my weight forward.
It was surprisingly difficult, but the challenge only made it more rewarding.
"Look at him go!" my mother exclaimed, her violet eyes sparkling with pride as she clapped her hands. "That's my boy!"
"Keep at it, Elior!" my father added, his usually stoic face softening with a rare smile.
Their cheers only fueled me. I couldn't explain it, but something about hearing their encouragement lit a fire within me. My small body seemed to move faster, rolling and tumbling awkwardly across the floor as I worked to close the distance to the other side of the room.
And then I saw it—a mirror propped against the far wall. My reflection stared back at me, and I froze.
Damn, i'm a cute baby
It was true. Despite the lack of hair, I could already tell my features were a perfect blend of my parents. My hair—what little of it existed—was a deep midnight ruby, a stunning mix of my mother's black and my father's brown. My eyes, however, were the real standout feature: muted violet, like a softer version of my mother's but with a hint of my father's piercing steel-gray.
Alright, future me. Get ready to be called a pretty boy down the line.
As I admired my baby self, my mother scooped me up with a laugh. "That's enough excitement for today, my little explorer. A growing boy needs his rest."
I grumbled internally but didn't resist as she carried me to my crib. As she walked, something caught my eye—the door to the study.
The study was a small room filled with books and household items, but to me, it represented something far greater: knowledge. If I could get in there, I could finally start learning about this world. Its history, its cultures, its rules. I needed that information if I was going to make the most of this second chance at life.
As my mother tucked me into my crib, I clenched my tiny hand into a determined little fist.
My first mission is clear. Get into that study. Read everything I can.
This was just the beginning.