At least now… I'm not alone.
There's someone—someone who understands this world, someone who holds me close not just with her arms, but with warmth that even my past life never knew.
Strangely enough, I understand their language. I don't know how—maybe it's a gift from whatever force brought me here… or perhaps from the dragon that appeared in that blinding light before I was born again.
My new mother… she's more than she appears. A gentle smile hides the power that once shook kingdoms. She told me stories—whispered tales as she rocked me to sleep—of her days as an adventurer, of sword and spell, of dungeons deep and skies lit with fire.
She once fought beside heroes to stop the resurrection of a Demon King. I don't remember all the names, but the way her voice trembled with both fear and pride… I knew the battles were real. That she was strong.
Now she lives quietly, in a peaceful cottage far from the chaos of her past. But she still keeps a wand beside the hearth and watches the sky when she thinks I'm asleep.
And me? My name in this world is Belial Lionheart. A name strong enough to belong to a knight, or a king.
One quiet afternoon, a familiar ache stirred in my stomach. Hunger.
If I could cry on command, I might have gotten someone's attention—but I wasn't a normal baby. I still had the mind of a seventeen-year-old trapped in this tiny, helpless body.
My little hands trembled as I crawled across the wooden floor. "Where is she?" I mumbled under my breath, my voice barely more than a whisper. I was looking for my mother.
She wasn't in the room. I sighed—a deep, frustrated sound, though it probably came out as a soft baby grunt. Then, from outside, I heard a voice. A soft murmur. My ears perked up.
"Maybe it's her," I thought.
Driven by instinct and curiosity, I crawled toward the door. But the knob—of course—was far beyond my reach. I looked around, eyes scanning my surroundings like a strategist.
Then I saw it.
The window was slightly open, a soft breeze flowing in. My gaze flicked from left to right, searching for something—anything—to help me climb.
That's when I spotted it: a wooden chair.
My tiny arms and legs moved with purpose. I pushed the chair slowly, inch by inch, toward the window. It scraped softly across the floor, echoing in the quiet room. With great effort, I maneuvered it into position.
Standing on trembling legs, I pulled myself up, balancing carefully. My hands gripped the windowsill.
And there—outside—was my mother.
She stood in the garden, her staff in hand, her lips moving silently as magical symbols danced around her. The wind played with her hair as she practiced her spells, completely focused.
I stared at her in awe.
"wowso cool''
I was amazed by her.
Then the air changed.
She raised her hand, and the sky answered. Magic burst forth around her—lightning crackled through the air, the wind howled like a living thing, and leaves swirled in wild spirals. She began to rise, slowly, steadily, until her feet no longer touched the ground. She was levitating, completely untethered, as if she had defied gravity itself.
In her left hand, she held a book—no, not just any book. It looked divine, bound in white with golden carvings that shimmered with every pulse of her magic. Ancient symbols covered its surface, glowing faintly like embers stirred by breath. I didn't know what it was, but I could feel its power from where I stood.
Then, suddenly, it all stopped.
The winds stilled. The sky quieted. The magic settled like dust after a storm. And across her face stretched a smile—soft, triumphant.
"Yes… got it," she murmured to herself.
She slowly descended, the tips of her boots brushing against the earth like feathers. She turned, glancing toward the house, and began walking.
Then her eyes fell on me.
Her smile vanished.
"Belial!" she cried out, her voice sharp, filled with panic. "How did you get there?!"
I didn't move. I couldn't. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest ''oh on she so me''
I lost my grip on the window frame.
Everything seemed to slow as I tumbled through the air—my small hands reaching out, grasping for something, anything. But there was nothing. Just the open space between me and the ground rushing up to meet me.
Panic surged through me.
Then—light.
A radiant glow surrounded me, warm and humming with energy. I clenched my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. But it never came.
Slowly, I opened them.
I was suspended in midair, wrapped in a glowing bubble of light. It shimmered like morning dew catching the sun, gently lowering me toward the earth. I stared, wide-eyed. "What… what is this?"
My feet touched the ground with the softness of a feather's landing.
Then I heard her.
"Belial! Belial! Belial!"
She came running—her footsteps fast, uneven, frantic. She dropped to her knees beside me the moment I touched down, arms wrapping around me with a strength I hadn't felt before.
"You're safe now," she whispered, holding me tightly against her chest, her voice shaking with relief.
For a moment, I didn't speak. I just clung to her, listening to her heartbeat thudding wildly—proof that she had been just as afraid as I was.
I clung to her, feeling the warmth of her embrace, the tremble in her arms as she held me like she never wanted to let go.
In my previous life…
No one had ever shown me this kind of kindness.
Not like this.
I had been alone for so long back then—forgotten, ignored, treated like a burden. But here… in this strange new world, in this small, fragile body… someone was holding me like I mattered.
I looked up at her.
She was crying.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, shining in the fading light, even as she smiled through them. I didn't understand why it hurt to see her cry, but I reached up with my tiny hand and touched her face, unsure of what to say.
She covered my hand with hers, her fingers warm and soft.
"You scared me," she whispered, voice breaking. "But you're safe. That's all that matters."
And for the first time in two lifetimes, I believed it.
I couldn't stop thinking about her magic.
The way the wind answered her. How lightning obeyed her command. The divine book she held, glowing with power. It wasn't just beautiful—it was something I wanted to understand. No… something I needed to understand.
That night, long after the house had gone quiet and her soft breathing echoed faintly from the bedroom, I sat in my crib, wide-eyed, thoughts racing. I waited. Minutes passed. Then an hour. When I was sure she was asleep, I made my move.
Clutching the edge of the crib, I hoisted myself up with effort, then swung one leg over, landing softly on the floor with a quiet thud. I glanced back toward the room—no movement. No sound.
Perfect.
With the caution of a thief in the night, I crept through the hallway, my small feet making barely a sound on the wooden floor. I knew exactly where she kept her books—in the living room, beneath the hard rectangular table that stood like a silent guardian in the center of the room.
I approached it, heart pounding, then bent down and pulled at the books stacked beneath. My tiny hands trembled with excitement as I grabbed one bound in soft leather, its corners worn with age.
I opened it.
The pages gave off a faint, earthy scent—like dust and magic. And then… I saw the words. They didn't blur, or confuse me, or hide their meaning like I feared they might.
They made sense.
"The Mana Core—source of all magic. Every living creature possesses one, from the smallest insect to the mightiest dragon. It is the wellspring of life and power. To control magic, one must first understand their core.
Within every living being lies a mana core—a concentrated sphere of magical energy, often nestled in the solar plexus. It generates, stores, and circulates mana, the lifeblood of all spells and enchantments.
Though invisible, it pulses like a second heart, growing stronger through meditation, battle, and the absorption of raw magic. With time and effort, it evolves.
It was getting late... too late. If she noticed I was gone, I'd be in trouble. I couldn't let her know—not yet. Not until I understood more about this magic, about the strange pull I felt toward that book.
I closed it gently, the old cover making a soft thud as I slid it back under the table. My hands trembled a little—not from fear, but from excitement. There was power in those pages, and somehow, I understood it. But now wasn't the time. I had to get back.
I crawled across the cold floor, the wood cool beneath my hands and knees. Her door was open just a little, the room dimly lit by the glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. I peeked inside—the crib stood there like always, tall and impossible. I frowned. No way I was getting back in there on my own.
Then I saw the bed. The sheet draped down like a rope. It was risky, but better than nothing. I grabbed hold and started climbing, my tiny muscles straining with every pull. One slip and I'd fall—but I didn't. Somehow, I made it.
The moment I reached the bed and curled up beside her, I felt it—safe, warm, hidden. Her breathing was steady, peaceful. She hadn't noticed a thing. I closed my eyes, heart still racing.
Tomorrow, I'd return to that book. But for now… I was just her baby again.