Chapter 2 - Language

Chapter 2 - Language

T he weeks rolled by quickly.

I spent the majority of my time confined to a wooden crib, made from timber so sturdy that I doubted my former adult self could have broken it (not that I had a heavy body in the first place), let alone this little potato of a body. Wisps of smoke drifted lazily up an uneven stone chimney at the kitchen, leaving the comforting scent of cooking in the air.

Cooking was accomplished by stacking firewood and, underneath, setting a highly flammable tinder ablaze. They first hit what looked like flint against the steel to create a spark. Very primitive, but hey, it works.

The main living space featured an uneven cobblestone floor. The furniture, including the chairs, shelving, and cabinets, was entirely hand-carved, slightly lopsided, and rough around the edges, yet functional. The walls and overhead beams were timber. In the fleeting moments when Mom or Dad carried me up the stairs each night, I memorized the way to the second-floor bedrooms.

I had two cribs, one by the living room and a singular room upstairs.

Every night I would stay in my upper crib, and then during the day, I would stay by the living room, where I could be fed easier every mealtime.

In the living room, my crib was positioned next to a small, square window frame. It lacked glass entirely, relying on a heavy cloth curtain to keep out the elements during severe storms. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the ground outside. I could only gaze up at the clouds and the vast expanse of blue sky. It was peaceful, to say the least, and I did not mind spending my time alone watching the clouds, a huge step up from my previous life where I used to waste my mind grinding items, which really was exhausting for the mind, and yet still going.

Bad, bad dopamine.

I looked at the sky; strangely enough, I felt so much better than just doing this.

Every morning, sunlight filtered through the woven curtain, bathing my small form. Tummy time was an awkward struggle, but my olfactory senses worked perfectly fine. The air inside the cottage carried harvested wheat, wood dust, morning dew, and the aroma of freshly baked bread. My stomach would gurgle instantly whenever that scent neared, signaling that sustenance was coming.

Sure enough, Mother would appear at the edge of the rail. She was exceptionally tall and strong, her hair tied up into a loose bun, and her eyes shimmering like polished emeralds from that famous block game. She would always offer a warm smile, lifting me up quite easily every breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Huh, breast milk tastes pretty good! Highly recommended.

I was starting to really like her, and ever since I was born in this house, I have never cried. Well, I would still cry just by myself when no one’s around to look because of my past life’s memories crossing my mind. Those memories carried a heavy burden, and it hurts every time they come. I always tried to make myself distracted whenever I’d be around them. I didn’t like to be seen as weak anymore.

At least, that was how I saw it.

To them, I looked like an emotionless husk. My new parents would always look at me with worry, and I could tell from the way their brows furrowed whenever they stared at me, and I stared back with nonchalance.

“Ha.. Jan bo naso. Rey, kyambyaro..”

“Neh, shibunara, Thors.”

Sometimes they would talk about something while I sat in my crib and occasionally looked toward me. I never understood a single thing from their mouths. I would sometimes just shrug it off and move on to my sightseeing to the random clouds outside the window.

“Pa-a..”

I tried to say papa.

“Am-am..”

Then mama. My baby mouth was trickier to control than I expected.

And Lyra, my sister. I figured out her name whenever she disobeyed our mother. Like, she would yell, ‘LYRA!’

Lyra would frequently torment me during these quiet moments whenever she was around, occasionally peeking over the crib with a mischievous grin. She would stick her tongue out, puff her cheeks, and deliver a swift flick to my forehead the exact moment our mother turned her back.

Sometimes, she would just do that whenever we were together or whenever she walked by the crib.

“Bwahh..” I tried to speak fluently but ultimately failed.

I hated it. But what could I possibly do to stop her?

The vibe she radiates is smug superiority in terms of the family hierarchy. If you have a big sister, you might expect her to be kind and loving. But this kid just smirks whenever she flicks me. Yet, I could feel she didn’t hate me. Some moments, she would occasionally hold my tiny hand or pull the fallen blanket back over my shoulders. She was wild, fierce, and unapologetically honest, much like her mother.

Honestly, I couldn’t help but admire her spirit.

***

Seven months slowly bled into the calendar. I still couldn’t walk, I couldn’t articulate sentences, and I possessed no bladder control whatsoever. Still, despite those glaring limitations, I had mastered the skill of vanishing randomly.

HAHAHAHA! Ba-bye~!

It had taken me months of dragging my lumpy, uncooperative baby body across the cobblestone floor like a sack of meat, and you might be wondering, how am I getting away from my crib? Turns out, at the far right corner, the crib had this tiny gap where I could actually fit through with enough effort. Sure, it was exhausting, but my curiosity to explore the house was far stronger than the little bruises I got from doing so. By the ability to crawl, I was able to get to places I never have gotten in my age. I explored the entirety of the living room and the kitchen.

After that, my mom, Reyna, would always come into the house at the wrong time, be in the middle of the living room, and still be crawling. Occasionally I would stay by the door and just admire how big it looked, and she would come in, and every time she did see me on the floor, she would frantically lift me up with confusion. Not like the entire floor is designed for crawling.

She would always make a worried expression whenever she saw the bruises on my knees, and eventually, my little gap I was gatekeeping was caught, and Father, Thorskil, immediately fixed it. Adding another horizontal plank on each rail, I could still see the living room, but my chances of escaping had turned to 0.

Bummer.

Though, from what I gathered from my recent expeditions, the living room is composed of my crib, a long wooden bench next to the front door, some decorative flowers next to the stairs, and a square dining table that has six wooden chairs. The kitchen has its massive clay oven and a pantry. I do wonder where the washroom is; probably outside.

Up the stairs, my parents’ bedroom was the largest room, containing an iron bed frame and a rustic desk cluttered with maps, documents, and strange tracking tools. A massive steel sword and a heavy spear hung crossed on their wall, indicating they were likely retired warriors. Lyra’s room was chaotic, filled with cloth dolls and wooden training swords, while my own remained, uh, small.

The worst aspect of my existence was the lack of physical independence, particularly concerning basic hygiene. I could actively feel the urge to relieve myself, but my undeveloped muscles were incapable of holding back the force. Having Thorskil constantly changing my cloth diapers was a somewhat humiliating experience that crushed whatever remnants of adult dignity I had left.

Despite that, I achieved a monumental milestone during a normal afternoon.

I was lounging in my crib, contemplating the existential dread of my circumstances, y’know, as usual. My mother marched into the living room carrying a massive wooden axe, slung casually over her shoulder. She was drenched in sweat, with wood shavings embedded in her golden hair tied up in a bun, tracking a faint trail of sawdust across the cobblestones. Looking at this powerful woman radiating strength, my vocal cords suddenly came to life.

“Mama.”

There, I have finally said it. Months of practice are now paying off.

Reyna froze entirely in her tracks. Her green eyes widened in absolute shock, and the iron axe slipped from her fingers, clanging against the stones with a resonant ring. It made me flinch. She turned toward me slowly.

“Kyro..?" She whispered my new name.

Capitalizing on the moment, I repeated the word. “Mama.”

She immediately sprinted to the back doors, shouting for my father.

“THORS!”

She then went back to me, lifting me up with excitement.

“Kabanashi, Kyro tan. Mama~?” While carrying me, she rocked me gently back and forth. “Mama~? Mama-mama-mama~?”

I looked at her, smirking.

“Mama.”

“EEEE! MWAH-MWAHMWAHMWHAMWAHHH~!” Reyna gave me a barrage of kisses.

Ah — oh — Augh! Stop it! Hehe — It tickles!

Thorskil came barreling through the doorway seconds later, his hand resting instinctively on his belt and his other hand on his straw farming hat, eyes scanning the perimeter for any kind of invader. Instead, he found me and my mother.

“Neh!” Renya stretched her hand over to him, showing me in front of Thorskil. “Kyro? Neh, mama~?”

I looked at him and executed the follow-up combo.

“Papa.”

Both my parents gasped. Thorskil took off his straw hat and placed it on the dining table, then scooped me from Reyna’s grasp.

“Kyro~! MWAHWMAWAMWHAMWAHMWAH~!”

Ah — oh — Augh! Here we go again!

I made laughing baby noises.

“Neh, Kyro! Jamohase!” He tossed me into the air playfully. “Haf ga non, Reyna! Bos du papa!” he shouted, his rose-colored pupils sparking with joy. I genuinely loved their reactions, and my naturally guarded heart was slowly being chipped away by their laughter. Then, Lyra, who was also drenched in sweat—probably from playing tag with her friends—looked at us, annoyed by the commotion.

My parents were practically passing me back and forth; then they pushed me in front of Lyra, held by Reyna on my right side and Thorskil on my left.

“Neh, neh, Kyro!” Both my parents beamed.

I looked at Lyra, the girl who had always been flicking my forehead. I crossed my arms and looked away.

Lyra did not take that lightly. Her eye twitched, and she voluntarily flicked my forehead in front of our parents.

“Ah!” I yelped, clutching my forehead.

That one actually hurt! Ow... she must have put more force into it than she usually did.

Reyna immediately checked, noticing the red spot on my forehead. She turned to my sister. “LYRA!”

***

By the age of three, I could comprehend basic vocabulary now, such as fire, water, danger, food, sleep, stop, come, and a few more. But following complex, rapid conversations remained difficult. My persistent silence clearly unnerved my parents. Reyna would often place a gentle hand on my white hair, her eyes filled with a lingering anxiety.

However, Lyra continued to tease me. Calling me ‘Kyro the quiet’ or ‘Kyro the dumb’. I didn’t respond to her teasing, which also irritated her. She really wants a reaction from me, and I’m not going to let it happen so easily.

Hmph, whatever.

I also noticed during my years in this new life, Lyra grew louder and more formidable. At seven years old, I heard my father mention her age, she spent her days running amok with the local village children, sometimes covered in mud and wielding wooden swords. Whenever they stormed through the house, I would quietly retreat into the corners, observing them in silence. The kids paid me no mind, viewing me as a bizarre mute who simply avoids human interaction.

Eh... Kids are scary.

Our family name, as I had recently decoded from my parents, was Samsworth. Reyna Samsworth. Thorskil Samsworth. Lyra Samsworth.. And myself, Kyro Samsworth. The name carried an elegant, almost noble vibe, entirely too sophisticated for just a normal family.

I had also fully mastered the mechanics of walking. I could run, stumble, crash into furniture, and get right back up like any normal child. More importantly, my increased height allowed me to finally reach the door latches by jumping, reaching with both of my hands. I would grab the latch and twist it using my weight.

Hehe, genuis!

On a peaceful morning, I was walking casually on the second floor. The first door led to my parents’ room, then to Lyra’s, and finally to mine. All of our doors are on the left side of the corridor. There were fourth and fifth, now on the right side.

Curious, I used my method of opening doors to the fourth; it was just a plain room, no furniture but just dust. Probably another room for a future sibling?

“What about this next door?”

I opened it, and it wasn’t the plain room I originally expected. It was actually a study room.

“Woah...” I walked in.

There were six bookshelves, three per side. I observed, but the majority of them were empty. On the right side of the room, however, there was one shelf that wasn’t completely empty, with only two compartments full of books. There was a decent-sized table and three chairs in the center of the room, and a blackboard was sandwiched between the shelves on the left. When I turned to look at the bookshelf, it was out of reach. So I pushed a chair over and climbed on it, humming as I studied the books.

“1, 2, 3..” I counted them all, and there were approximately twelve books in the two compartments. I skimmed the title, and as expected, I couldn’t understand a single syllable while frowning.

How am I supposed to read this?

“Kyro?”

I instinctively turned to the door; it was Reyna, my mother. She smiled, walking up to me.

“Hefa justa?”

She gently grabbed the book I was holding and let out a laugh. She must have recognized the book I was holding.

“Neh, Kyro. Quadramo-hals, no?” She smiled and placed the book back where I had found it. Her hand grabbed a different book—thinner this time, with a yellow cover and text I could not understand—then scooped me into her arms. She sat on the chair I had pulled out and put me on her lap. After opening the book, she started reading it to me.

“Hamosagadan, a lomfthson tel kai...” She began to point to each syllable as I observed. During this, my mother would look at me as if I followed her words. I then realized it was a basic wordbook.

Eventually, this became a routine for us. Every morning after Mom finished her chores, she would read to me from the books inside the study room. Weeks, then months, went by, and I was beginning to understand more words. Slowly but surely, I could comprehend the sentences she read me.

One morning. Reyna was preparing to read me a children’s book. But before she could start, I held her massive hand and turned her attention towards me.

I looked up at Mother and smiled. “Gashlamat, Mama."

I told her, "Thank you, Mama."

Reyna gasped, “KYRO~! MWHAMWAHWMAHH~!”

[End]