A FEW WEEKS LATER
A few weeks later, the initial shock and confusion finally began to recede. The overwhelming strangeness of this new life had dulled, replaced by a quiet curiosity. Maybe it was resignation… or maybe it was the first flicker of acceptance. This wasn't a dream. Every time I opened my eyes, the same world greeted me: rough wooden beams, hushed, unfamiliar voices, and the constant warmth of unfamiliar arms. This was terrifyingly real.
"So, you're Diastasi," I thought, addressing the System directly. We had communicated before, its neutral voice outlining the basics of this new reality. It was Diastasi who had first explained the System, the Gacha, and the elusive Points and Tickets.
"Surprised as I was," I decided it was time to examine the System more thoroughly. A shimmering window materialized before me, displaying multiple functions: Gacha, Shop, Inventory, and Status Window, each pulsing faintly with energy. It reminded me of games from my past life, only now, it was terrifyingly real.
My first stop was the Gacha, which required Tickets—a new form of currency. The Shop, in turn, ran on Points. I quickly deduced that both were primarily obtainable through Quests and Achievements, tasks assigned by the System, categorized by difficulty and reward:
Quest Rewards:
Common – 1 Ticket, 10 PointsUncommon – 2 Tickets, 100 PointsRare – 3 Tickets, 1,000 PointsEpic – 4 Tickets, 10,000 PointsLegendary – 5 Tickets, 100,000 Points
Achievements, however, were a different beast. They granted ten times the reward of quests. A single, pivotal act—one shining moment—could elevate a pauper to a king. The idea thrilled me. It was as if fate itself had been gamified, destiny with a visible progress bar. For the first time in either of my lives, I had a tangible way to climb.
Next, I opened my Inventory. It was a vast, seemingly bottomless void, limited only by the physical size of items. I stared into that endless darkness, envisioning the books, weapons, tools, food, and relics I could one day store there—a whole life in my pocket.
Then, I stopped. The Status Window loomed, a mirror I dreaded but couldn't avoid. I braced myself and opened it.
My Status
Status
Age – 0Strength – 01Defense – 01Dexterity – 01Stamina – 01Intelligence – 15~20
My heart sank. I was a baby in every sense: weak, fragile, useless. Except for that one stat. My Intelligence was unnaturally high. A quiet surge of pride rose within me. In another life, I might have dismissed these as mere numbers on a screen. But here, they were everything.
I questioned Diastasi about these stats. Its neutral, omnipresent voice responded:
"Average adult humans possess stats ranging from 5 to 7. Trained warriors measure around 10 to 15. The exceptional, the legends, reach stats of 25 to 30."
So, I was a genius, trapped in a newborn's body. It felt like having the mind of a scholar and the limbs of a worm—a cruel joke, or perhaps a hidden advantage. Diastasi then added, with something akin to irony:
"Strength and intelligence do not always coexist."
I chuckled internally. No kidding. In my old world, that divide was obvious: brutes who could lift cars but couldn't spell their own names, intellectuals who could solve quantum equations but couldn't change a tire. But now? Now I had the chance to become something else—someone balanced. Someone dangerous.
Before I could dive deeper into that thought, I was interrupted. The woman who had been caring for me entered the room. This time, she wore a strange helmet—angular, etched with glowing runes. Its meaning escaped me. Was it ceremonial? Functional? Sacred?
She lifted me and the other baby beside me with practiced ease. Her footsteps were steady, graceful. Her arms, though soft, were solid. I felt her warmth through the thick cloth she wore. I studied her: her movements, her unwavering breath. There was a silent strength about her. She wasn't just a nursemaid or servant; she was trained, a warrior of some kind.
As we left the room, I took in more of the building: its sturdy wooden frame, hand-carved beams, and the distinct scent of smoke and crushed herbs. This was clearly not Earth. This world breathed like a myth come to life.
We stopped. And there he was: the man I had only glimpsed once before, now fully visible. He stood like a monument to survival—towering, broad, with eyes like stone and thunder. Muscles rippled beneath a cloak of scales and leather. He looked as if he'd hunted dragons, and perhaps he had. His beard was thick and wild, and like the woman, he wore a helmet—his adorned with horn-like protrusions and deep, old scratches. Battle-worn. Revered. Feared.
I stared, awestruck. This man wasn't just strong; he was a figure of legend.
But the woman didn't hand me to him. Instead, she walked past him, towards a bed where a figure lay propped up with furs and pillows. She looked at me immediately. Our eyes met, and something inside me cracked, opened. Warmth flooded my chest.
She was radiant despite her exhaustion. Her face was pale, but her expression glowed. Her eyes were soft, and her lips trembled into a smile. She took me in one arm and the other baby in the other. Then, softly, like a song made just for our ears, she whispered, "My miracles…"
And it all clicked.
The man stepped forward, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Valka, you should rest. You just woke up."
She shook her head, her voice barely holding together. "That's exactly why, Stoic. I had to see them."
That name. Stoic. And hers. Valka.
Then, everything aligned.
She was my mother. He was my father. And the other child beside me… was my twin.
In my past life, after losing my own family, I had become the caretaker of the children in the orphanage. My sanity, my very purpose, was kept by that new responsibility. But here… here I was held. Wanted. Loved. Again.
I looked up at her again. Her hands were scarred. Her breath was shallow. But she held me like I was something sacred. I didn't mean to cry, but I did. Through the tears, I smiled.
This… this was my new family. And I would earn my place among them.
Just as I settled into the warmth of my mother's embrace, a sudden, jarring thump reverberated through my tiny form. It was Hiccup, my twin brother, and he followed the blow with a soft, joyful giggle. My momentary peace shattered. How dare he strike his older brother?
A sharp, indignant cry erupted from my throat—the only way I could express my fury in this tiny, underdeveloped body. In my mind, I raged at him in perfect, articulate sentences. "How dare you hit your older brother, you little menace!" In reality, it was just a series of indignant wails and frustrated grunts, a symphony of baby noises. My mother and father, completely oblivious to my internal monologue, merely chuckled at my "antics." They found my outburst adorable.
note: what up guys. ive been busy and i was really lazy and didnt have the energy to write another chapter. if you read the previous one you should see alot of similarities. i added a few things. Hopefully il upload tomorrow.