Baby Steps

As my coordination improved and the fog in my brain began to lift, a new world opened up to me—one of freedom and exploration.

Theron was thrilled by my newfound mobility. He quickly became my partner in crime, opening doors so I could sneak into places I wasn’t supposed to be, then watching gleefully as chaos unfolded. Alenya, meanwhile, took on the role of full-time warden, desperately trying to pin me down before I broke my neck climbing stairs or furniture.

Following people around and eavesdropping from various hiding spots did wonders for my grasp of the language. And in less than two years, I was fluent enough to talk circles around the adults—kids’ brains really were like sponges at that age.

Add to that the reasoning skills I carried over from my previous life, and I was clearly developing much faster than I should’ve been. But hearing a toddler speak like a grown man would’ve probably freaked people out, so I decided to play it safe. Dumbed it down. Kept things simple. Short words. Halting phrases. No full sentences.

It wasn’t easy. Every now and then, I’d slip up—usually when I was too distracted to keep up the act.

Blurting out some polite remark or saying “bless you” when someone sneezed—reflexes too deeply ingrained to suppress. A few times, I even caught myself correcting someone’s grammar before realizing what I was doing. Yes, I was one of those people. Old habits die hard.

Alenya was the one who got the most suspicious. She was seven years my elder and growing into a sharp, observant girl. She’d often look at me with this glint in her eye—like she knew I was holding back. Like she was waiting for me to engage and start up a real conversation.

I would’ve loved to give her the satisfaction, but I kept the charade going instead.

I had to stay mindful of my goals. From hiding spots under tables, behind doors, or curled up in corners with a stolen pastry, I pieced together more about this world—and the people in it.

I listened. I watched. And eventually, I caught the names of the ones who had brought me into it: Lord Edran and Lady Serina Caerlin. Our house crest appeared everywhere—etched into woodwork, stitched into the servants' uniforms: a golden sun rising from ocean waves, with two crossed swords behind it.

I swiped bread from the kitchens, crawled through servant passages, and treated the mansion like my own personal dungeon—mapping out every corner I could reach. I even managed to sneak into my father’s study just to see what all the fuss was about.

As he saw me approach the first time, a look of befuddlement replaced the usual tiredness on his face.

“What are you doing here, little guy?” he asked, standing up from his chair.

I hadn’t expected him to be here at this hour. I’d hoped to sneak around on my own, but instead, I was caught red-handed—frozen halfway behind the office door when he gently scooped me up with a smile.

“Good thing you’re here. I was starting to get bored…”

Cradling me in one arm, he gave me a casual tour of the office: pointing out trophies from his hunts, the rows of books lining the shelves, and a detailed map of the region.

“See this spot?” he said, tapping the parchment. “That’s Greenharbor, right here. Belongs to House Caerlin. Lots of people live there, and we have to do our best to protect them. Okay?”

I nodded, which made him laugh. I wasn’t supposed to understand a word of it.

Even so, the name was unfamiliar. Greenharbor hadn’t existed in the version of the world I designed. Likely, the empty countryside I’d imagined had been filled in by the simulation—stitched together with duchies, farmlands, and small villages into a coherent whole.

He set me down on his lap, and I finally got a good look at the state of his workspace: a mess of papers, half-opened letters, and scrolls strewn across the desk, some blotched with spilled ink. The mark of a disorganized mind buckling under a growing pile of responsibilities—a picture I knew all too well.

Lord Edran leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his tousled blue hair. His gaze drifted past the room—unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular.

“Been a rough couple of years,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Bandits on the roads. Crops failing…” he softened, lifting me into the air, his smile tired but genuine.

“Good thing you won’t have to deal with all this mess.” He sighed, glancing at the pile of papers on his desk. “That will be Theron’s job when he’s old enough. You’ll help him out though, promise?”

I smiled back at him.
For the sake of the house, let’s hope Theron wises up with age, I thought to myself, because the mischief-maker in chief was far from ruling material right now.

As I looked down into my father’s eyes, the office doors burst open and Serina strode in, slightly out of breath.

“Why can’t your sons be more like Alenya?” she complained, sweeping me up from Edran’s outstretched arms. “It’s Theron all over again.”

“They’re curious lads,” Edran chuckled. “That’s a good thing. They need to get into trouble while they’re young.”

“Like we did?” Serina shot back with a sly grin. “Look where that got us,” she added, nodding toward me now settled in her arms.

“I don’t remember you complaining too much… about our troubles,” Edran replied, returning her smile with one of his own.

Okay, I need to get out of here before I witness something I’d rather not, I thought, squirming in her arms like an eel, trying to slide down to the floor.

Thankfully, Mom took it as a sign I was ready for bed. She gave Edran a knowing look, thick with subtext, and carried me out of the office.

As we headed upstairs, she gently scolded me for slipping away again, then tucked me in for the night.

I’d already grown unexpectedly fond of this new family I’d been born into. They weren’t the placeholder NPCs I’d assumed they’d be. They were warm, flawed, affectionate… They felt so real.

The map of the region still lingered in my thoughts. I wasn’t entirely sure this was Nirellion. It certainly felt familiar—some of the names and places, even those only mentioned in passing, lined up with the lore I’d established. But until I saw more of the world for myself, I couldn’t be certain.

For now, I was stuck in this gilded playpen. But to my surprise, I was starting to enjoy life as a child. No deadlines. No burnout. No crushing expectations. I’d be an adult again soon enough—might as well enjoy the ride while it lasted.