A baby's life is a blur.
That's the first thing I learn. It's a haze of warmth, the thump-thump of a heart that isn't mine, and muffled voices that feel more like vibrations than sounds. Time is a soup. Days melt together. The memories of my old life are sandcastles in the tide. I remember... screens. The color gray. A feeling of being older. But it's all fading, the edges blurring, leaving me with just... this.
This world, Terra Solaris. And it is so, so real.
I'm trapped in this body. I can't talk. I can't walk. I can barely make my hands go where I want them to. It's infuriating. But it's also a miracle.
Because I can see.
The ley lines are always there. A constant, silent weave of silver threads in everything. They pulse brighter at dawn, I've noticed. I just... watch them. For hours. My brain, this new-old brain, just sucks it all in. It's not even 'learning'; it's like... remembering. Patterns, structures, a flow. The "Infinite Skill," I guess. It's not waiting for me to be ready. It's just... on.
My mother, Miren. She's the warmth. She smells like chamomile and something sharp and green, like snapped stems. She sings and talks to me, a constant, gentle flow of sound. And the scariest part?
I understand her.
One day, she's cooing at me, and it just... clicks. The sounds aren't just sounds. They're words. Not just her tone, but the actual, literal language. My brain is just... slotting it all into place.
"You're such a serious little one," she murmurs, tracing my eyebrow. "Always watching. What do you see in this old room that's so interesting?"
Everything, I think. A gurgle comes out. She laughs and kisses my head.
My father, Toren, is the other half of my world. He's not softness; he's a wall. Solid. Safe. He holds me like I'm a piece of fragile, priceless glass. He's a warrior. I know it without being told. It's in the way he moves, the way his eyes are never, ever still. He looks at me, and I see the love, but it's tangled up with... fear.
"He has to be strong," he tells Miren one night, his voice a low rumble. I'm in my cradle, wide awake, watching the ley lines pulse on the ceiling. "This world... and with his gift..."
"He's a baby, Toren." Miren's voice is sharp, but I hear the wobble.
"A baby who lit up the room when he was born. The elders are already talking." He sighs, a heavy, tired sound. "I just want him to be a boy. Not... a burden."
Marked. Different. Again. I should be scared, but mostly I just feel... angry. I didn't ask for this, but I'll be damned if I waste it.
By three months, I'm already a problem.
I'm not just looking at the ley lines. I can... nudge them. Just a little. I touch one of the warm stones Miren keeps by the hearth, and I push. It glows. Just faintly. I splash in my bath, and a ripple moves against my hand.
Miren and Toren see it. They don't say anything. They just look at each other, and the look is heavy.
Miren carries me everywhere. The village, Verdwood, is... insane. It's all built into these massive, ancient trees, connected by rope bridges and carved-out tunnels. It smells of woodsmoke, wet earth, and hot metal. I see a smith fold light into a blade. I watch an old woman weave a blanket that moves with patterns of its own. My brain just... drinks. It's not even trying. It just knows how they're doing it. It sees the patterns, the flow of the magic.
We pass the Temple grove. It's quieter here. The ley lines are so bright they almost hurt. A woman is standing there. Seraphine. The seer. Her eyes are silver, and they find me, even in the crowd. They see me. Not the baby. The me inside.
"The child thrives," she says. Her voice doesn't sound like it's coming from her; it sounds like it's coming from the air itself.
"He does," Miren says, holding me tighter.
"The Ancients have little to do with it." Seraphine takes a step. She smells like rain. "This one makes his own path. The world had best be ready to follow... or get out of his way."
Miren just nods, pale, and walks faster.
I'm six months old. It's a warm night. Miren is humming, stirring a pot. Toren will be home soon. Everything is peaceful.
And then the hunger hits.
It's not food hungry. This isn't my stomach. This is... a void. A clawing in my gut. My gums burn. The world, which was already sharp, snaps into a terrifying, high-definition focus. I can see the individual threads in Miren's tunic. I can smell the blood... her blood... pulsing under her skin. The smell of the roasting meat is suddenly, violently disgusting.
I want...
Oh, God.
A sound tears out of my throat, half-whimper, half-snarl. Miren turns, all
concern. "Ren? What is it, sweet one?"
She picks me up. It's the worst possible thing she could do. Her warmth, her smell, her heartbeat... it's deafening. The hunger roars. I can feel my mouth... changing.
The curse. The vampiric curse.
I'm... I'm hungry. For her. My mother. I twist, trying to get away, but my baby arms just flail. She thinks I'm in pain, holds me closer.
"Give him to me."
Toren. He's home. His voice is a blade. It cuts right through the red haze. Miren hands me over. His smell is all sweat, leather, and steel. It's sharp, not enticing. It's an anchor. He holds me, and his authority, his simple, unshakeable presence, beats the hunger back.
"His teeth," Miren whispers, horrified. "Toren... did you see...?"
"I saw." His arms are iron. He carries me to the open window. The cool night air hits me. The ley lines outside pulse, slow and steady. I latch onto the rhythm. Breathe. Thump. Breathe. Thump.
Slowly, the fire in my gums recedes. The world fuzzes back to normal. The hunger... it's still there. But it's not screaming anymore. It's just... waiting.
I go limp against Toren's chest, shaking.
That night, I hear them. Whispers in the dark. "Curse." "Bloodline." "Danger." Miren is crying. Toren's voice is iron. "We will protect him. We will find a way. No one will ever know."
I lie in my cradle, staring at the silver lines on the ceiling. I will not be a monster. I will not hurt them. This "Infinite Skill" isn't just for magic. It's for this. I will learn. I will analyze. I will control this.
I'm walking by my first birthday. Miren thinks I'm a prodigy. She has no idea. She doesn't know that I spent months working at it, my adult mind analyzing balance and leverage while my baby muscles screamed in protest.
The curse is quiet. A dull ache, a too-sharp interest in a skinned knee. I'm learning to build walls around it.
But the Skill... it's always on. I watch Miren mix herbs, and I don't just see her, I know why the willow-bark comes before the moon-petal. I watch Toren in the yard, his sword a silver blur, and I'm not just watching a drill. I'm feeling the physics, the transfer of weight, the geometry of the fight.
My brain keeps it all. A library of magic, combat, politics, and herbs, run by a one-year-old who still has to be carried to bed.
It's a strange, new life. And it's only just getting started.