Aarav's first day after getting reborn as a human baby was peaceful, far from boring.
It was… simple. Blissfully
Gone were the crushing pressures of expectation and the betrayal.
His universe had shrunk to three commandments: suck, poop, and sleep.
'Please the parents by making some noise. Get the diaper changed. 'Repeat,' Astrael mused, blinking milk drowsy eyes at the intricate ceiling of his nursery.
'This… isn't half bad.' Compared to ten thousand deaths, it was paradise. A fragile, vulnerable paradise wrapped in swaddling clothes.
His life was like a dream.
Weeks turn into months.
He observed constantly. The stone walls of the manor. The rhythmic clang of a smithy somewhere distant. The smell of burning wood and baking of bread that drifted through open windows.
The way servants bowed, quick and low, when his parents passed. His father, Lord Kaelen Ravenastra, a broad-shouldered man with hair like spilled ink and eyes the piercing blue of a glacier, moved with an authority that silenced rooms.
His mother, Lady Laira, a beautiful noble woman with raven-black hair cascading over shoulders held straight, but her eyes… her eyes were molten silver, holding a warmth that seemed reserved solely for him.
They were nobility.
And the most important part is that there is magic in this world.
It wasn't a grand display. It was the midwife a week after his birth, her wrinkled hands was hovering over his tiny chest.
She murmured some incomprehensible words that buzzed strangely in the air, then a soft, emerald light pulsed from her palms. It washed over him, cool and invigorating, like diving into a hot spring. The lingering fatigue from the previous night vanished.
He started to feel energetic.
'Medicine?' Astrael wondered, fascinated.
He confirmed it many days later.
His plump, easily flustered nanny, Elara, was trying to soothe him.After getting frustrated, she muttered under her breath, fingers weaving a small, intricate pattern in the air.
Aarav watched and got mesmerized, as droplets of water started forming from nothingness, gathering into a shimmering, palm sized sphere. Elara let it hover for a second before letting it splash gently into a basin.
A mundane act of summoning water. A revelation that shattered his understanding of reality.
'Magic. Real magic. Fireballs and watershots weren't just stories'.
The initial wave of optimism given a second chance in a world of wonder! quickly crashed against the rocks of cold logic.
Nobility. Medieval setting. Magic.
This wasn't a fairy tale; it was a recipe for brutal hierarchy and deadly power struggles. The strong devoured the weak here.
Just like the novels he used to read in a previous life. He is excited but cautious at the same time.
He remembered the casual cruelty of his past life's bullies, magnified a thousandfold by fire wielding lords and shadow walking assassins.
The grey numbness of his previous existence was replaced by a sharp, focused dread.
Comfort wasn't enough. Safety wasn't guaranteed. He needed power. Power to shield himself, to carve out a space where no one could threaten his fragile peace.
To ensure he never, ever faced the wheel of death again. Just the phantom memory of those countless endings sent an icy tremor through his infant body.
And the first step is to learn the language. He could learn quickly with a mature mind, but he will demonstrate gradually enough that he cannot be called a demon.
He remembered a novel he read: the MC was so much of a genius that they labeled him as demonically possessed and got burned at the stake.
That was the last thing he wanted to happen.
However, he can display some of his brilliant mind.
"Ignorance is one of the benefits of being a baby," Aarav thought.
"Ok, the first priority is to learn the language, and second, to understand the foundation of magic as his body is in a growth period, and if I can make my foundation supreme, then my potential will be immeasurable." Aarav began to fantasize about his future.
He didn't want to reincarnate again and experience the rebirth and death a thousand times. Just thinking about it gives him goosebumps.
He learns after a few days that his name is Astrael Ravenastra due to his mother's excellent parenting.
He mapped sounds to actions and gestures to meanings.
"Milk" coincided with the comforting press against Laira's breast.
"Sleep" with the dimming of lights and soft lullabies. "Luna" usually preceded chaos.
Ah, Luna. His apparent sister. A four year old girl, cute-looking, with Raven coloured hair just like her mother and her father's intense blue eyes. She burst into his room one afternoon with flushed cheeks and the smell of smoke and crushed grass.
She leaned over his crib, her face filling his limited view, and unleashed a torrent of incomprehensible sounds, punctuated by pokes to his belly.
*Woah! Astrael! Look at you! I'm Luna! Your big sister! I'm gonna teach you everything! How to climb the apple tree, how to find frogs, how to make the really BIG sparks!*
'Translation: Loud small human claims relation. Possible pyromaniac tendencies detected,' Astrael deduced dryly, blinking up at her enthusiastic grin. She seemed… lively. Potentially hazardous.
*LUNA RAVENASTRA!* Their mother's voice, sharp as a whip crack, echoed from the hallway. *BY THE GODDESS'S MERCY, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT PLAYING WITH FIRE IN THE ROSE GARDEN?!*
Luna's eyes widened comically. *Oops!* She flashed Astrael her toothy grin that looked more like a grimace. *Gotta go, little brother!" And she was gone in a blur of dark hair and skidding shoes.*
'Definitely hazardous,' Astrael confirmed. But the word 'sparks' lingered. Fire magic? His sister? The possibilities were exhilarating and terrifying. 'Focus.'
In the quiet moments, during naps or while being rocked in the craddle, Astrael turned his focus inward. He tried to feel. To sense the energy the midwife had channeled, the power Elara summoned from the air.
He lay still, concentrating with all his newborn might, searching his tiny body for any flicker, any warmth, any current beneath the skin. He imagined roots drawing power from the earth, light gathering in his core.
He visualized the emerald glow that had energized him.
Nothing. Just the gurgle of his stomach, the rustle of his blankets, the distant call of a bird.
Frustration, cold and familiar, began to seep in.
Day after day, the same empty void. Had the countless deaths damaged his soul? Was this body simply devoid of the spark? The fear was a cold stone in his gut, heavier than hunger.
'Don't have talent…' The thought was a chilling whisper, threatening to drown his newfound determination.
Thankfully, his mother, Laira, was there to shower him with love and affection despite the biased feelings he had in his previous life.
Her love was a tangible force, a warm balm against the chilling anxiety.
When despair threatened, her silver eyes would meet his, filled with an unconditional affection he'd never known in his first life. It confused him, this pure devotion, but he clung to it.
'Don't get disappointed, Astrael,' he lectured himself.
'The path to supremacy starts with a baby step. Literally. Can't even walk yet.' He tried again. Inhaled deeply (as deeply as an infant could). Focused on his tiny fingertips. Imagine a spark.
Nothing.
'I will not give up; I will learn magic today, definitely,' Astarel said determinedly.
The door creaked open. Lady Laira swept in, her expression softening instantly as she saw him awake.
*Astrael time for your milk.* Laira enters and pick him up to breastfeed him.
'Uh… uh,' Astrael's priorities underwent a swift and absolute consideration. The grand quest for a supreme foundation, the fear of weakness, the specter of ten thousand deaths… it all faded into glorious, immediate irrelevance.
There was warmth. There was comfort. There was sustenance.
'Magic can wait tomorrow; first fill my stomach in this heavenly bliss
'Magic,' he thought, latching on with instinctive fervor, 'can definitely wait until tomorrow.'
The heavenly bliss of filling his stomach, safe in the arms of his silver-eyed mother, was the only power he needed right now. The rest, for this moment, was just noise.
The rhythmic sound of his suckling filled the quiet nursery, a counterpoint to the distant clang of the smithy and the faint, lingering scent of smoke from Luna's latest adventure.
His path to supremacy, it seemed, would be paved with milk and patience.
Just like this, his days went by.