Wait.. What?

Elijah—formerly Wes—sighed inwardly. It had been about a week since the whole "born into a new world and promptly losing a hand" fiasco. He accepted his new name—no reason to be grainy about it. This was a new life, after all, and he'd make the best of it.

Since then, life had settled into the strange rhythm of newborn existence. Eat, sleep, cry, repeat. His days were a muffled symphony of gentle coos from nurses, the hum of mana-infused machines, and the soft, rhythmic breathing of his twin sister, Esther. The world outside their cribs was a blur of light and shadow, snippets of conversations, and the ever-present undercurrent of tension that clung to his mother.

He had thought things like breastfeeding and diaper changes would embarrass him, but survival instincts overrode his pride. When he was hungry, he cried. When he was wet, he cried. Simple. Primal. No room for ego when your body's needs were so immediate. He slipped into the role of an infant with surprising ease, the lines between acting and reality blurring.

When they left the hospital—a towering skyscraper with a shuttle pad jutting out halfway up—Elijah's curiosity ignited. Through the narrow windows of his capsule-like stroller, he glimpsed the world beyond.

Other races moved through the bustling halls—dark elves with silver eyes and skin like twilight, orcs broad and towering, halflings quick and light on their feet, and beastfolk whose animalistic features hinted at their true nature. Elijah noted it all, the flicker of mana tech in use, the subtle hierarchies in how people moved and interacted. Wherever they were, this place felt like a hub—a crossroads of worlds.

The shuttle ride was a lesson in restraint. The capsule he and Esther were placed in glided on mana-powered fields, no wheels, no visible propulsion—just smooth, silent motion. It felt like he was living in a sci-fi movie, and he had to focus hard not to let his eyes go wide with curiosity. Instead, he mimicked Esther, keeping his expressions soft and baby-like, a sleepy little doll with nothing behind his gaze.

He had to admit, it was tough not to slip. Victor's little stunt had rattled him, and he was certain Elena had been probing him with her own mana. The smart move was to keep his ideal hidden, to play the part of a normal, helpless infant. Nothing to see here, Mom—just a one-handed, perfectly ordinary baby!

Their mother, Elena, held them close during the ride. Her hands were gentle, but her knuckles stood white against her skin. She wore her calm like a mask, but Elijah felt the fear beneath it. Whatever world they had been born into, it was sharp-edged and dangerous.

When they arrived, the villa was a blend of natural beauty and advanced technology. Manicured gardens stretched out under the soft glow of mana lights, metallic architecture rose seamlessly from the earth, and drones hummed softly as they maintained the pristine surroundings. It was beautiful, but the way security drones flitted along the perimeter made Elijah uneasy.

A man waited at the entrance. Shorter than Victor but still imposing, he had thinning gray hair and a mechanical reticle over his right eye. Everything about him screamed "butler" with a side of "potential assassin." Elijah's interest piqued—mana tech wasn't just present here; it thrived. His mind raced with possibilities, even if his tiny body did nothing more than yawn.

The man greeted Elena with a respectful bow. "My Lady, I told you I should have been there with you."

Elena's sigh was soft, her weariness showing. "And what would that have done, Abel? We are short on allies. Ever since Adam's death, the rats have come out of hiding."

Abel's lips thinned into a line. "Adam shouldn't have shown mercy. When he returns, I am sure he will claim his blood price."

Elena's expression shifted, a brief flicker of hope under the exhaustion. "Yes… but until then, we must make do."

Elijah absorbed every word. Adam—his father, presumably—wasn't dead? The way Victor had spoken, he had made it sound like Adam was gone for good. But here, his mother and Abel spoke as if he were merely biding his time. The situation twisted tighter around him, layers of intrigue he couldn't yet peel back.

He was tired already. "This place sucks," he thought. "Let's go back to Earth. Way less complicated."

A sudden, uncomfortable sensation hit him. Gas. He felt the inevitable pressure, the betrayal of his own body, and then—the squishy, uncomfortable confirmation. Damn it.

Elijah did what any baby would—he cried. Loud, pitiful, and entirely genuine. Esther, ever the supportive twin, joined in, her little face scrunched up and red. Their cries filled the room, and despite the weight of the conversation, Elena moved swiftly, her touch gentle as she handled the situation.

As she laid him back next to Esther, his sister reached out, her tiny fingers brushing his cheek. A wave of warmth flowed through him, an odd but comforting sensation. She calmed, and so did he.

Elijah let his eyes drift closed, giving in to the pull of exhaustion. There was nothing more to learn, nothing more to do. He had played his part well enough for today.

But just as he felt sleep taking him, that all-too-familiar pressure built again. His eyes shot open, the sensation impossible to ignore. Damn it, not again.

He opened his mouth and wailed, as loud and obnoxious as he could. "Daddy needs a new diaper!" he thought with a mix of annoyance and resignation.

Yeah, this new life had its downsides, but he'd manage. For now, he'd do what he did best—adapt, survive, and keep quiet. The future could wait.

Elijah was drifting off, a fresh diaper swaddling his tiny body, the world a warm, muffled haze. His eyelids felt like weights, every blink slower than the last. He had just settled into the soft rhythm of his mother's heartbeat when her words pierced through the veil of sleep.

"I am leaving Earth." He heard his mother say.

Wait, what?

Elijah's eyes snapped open, an instinctual reaction. He tried to turn his head toward her, but his infant body betrayed him—muscles weak, neck uncooperative. He couldn't even manage a proper squirm. Damn it. He could see only a sliver of the room, the soft glow of mana lights, the hazy outlines of his sister beside him. Maybe if he cried, it would draw her attention…

Elena sat nearby, her gaze alternating between her children. Esther was already lost to the world, her breathing deep and steady as she slept. But Elijah—she watched as his eyes popped open at the mention of Earth. A small, puzzled smile crossed her lips.

"Startled, are we?" she murmured, a finger brushing over his cheek. She had tried to probe him a couple of times over the last week, subtle nudges with her mana, but had felt nothing. Still, that moment in the hospital lingered in her mind. Had Elijah really released an ideal? Was it just a figment of her imagination? She had felt something—something impossible.

Elijah didn't have time to wonder if his act was too obvious. He did the one thing a baby could do—he cried. His wail filled the room, small lungs pushing out every ounce of air. Elena scooped him up, her touch gentle, and continued her conversation, swaying him as if he were just an ordinary fussy child.

"Leaving Earth, my lady?" Abel's voice was a cautious whisper, his reticle eye blinking with a soft blue light.

"The Earth Defense Force reached out my lady," Abel said. "They want to hire you as a tactical advisor."

Her laugh cut through the room—light, airy, and filled with venom. Even Elijah could hear the contempt. He quieted, the rhythmic rocking easing his cries into soft whimpers.

"Where were they when we needed them?" she asked. Her voice dropped, heavy with bitterness.

Abel's response was careful. "You know they hold little sway in the Empire, my lady. Perhaps we should consider the Republic?"

"No." Elena's answer was immediate, final. "I am commissioning a battleship. As long as I remain on Earth, my cultivation will stay restricted. If I leave, I can remove it. They think it's about the restriction, but we both know better. They want my influence gone."

Abel hesitated, his expression a mask of propriety that couldn't quite hide the concern in his eyes. "If you remove your restriction early, you cannot return to Earth. The planet needs people like you. We lost so much in the last surge. They say another surge is due within fifteen to twenty years."

The butler's voice grew softer, a thread of desperation woven through. "The Earth Defense Council is setting stricter laws to prevent repeats of the past, so there isn't another Adam, they cannot score to loose another like him. Earth's cultivation community needs stability."

Elena rocked Elijah, her gaze distant. "I tire of their games. I am committing myself to raising and training my children. Adam's blood flows in their veins—they are his heirs. You know as well as I do that his children will not be ordinary."

Elijah felt her words vibrate through him, a gentle rumble against his tiny form. His thoughts were a tangle—Adam, his supposed father, wasn't dead? Heirs to what? His half-lidded eyes took in the room, the quiet strength in his mother's stance, the shadow of worry on Abel's face.

"And what will you do, my lady?" Abel pressed. "We can afford to start the endeavor, but how shall we maintain it?"

Elena's lips curled into a grin. "We shall join the Collectors."

Abel's breath caught. "My lady…" His voice was thick with scandal, as if she had proposed coming some kind of scandal.

Elijah's mind whirred. Collectors? Empire? Republic? Earth Defense Force? It sounded like Earth was still dealing with mana surges, still a contested land. How many years had passed since his previous life? What kind of world had he been born into?

Questions clawed at his tired mind, each one heavier than the last. But his body, small and soft, had its limits. His eyelids drooped, the pull of sleep undeniable. His mother's gentle rocking drew him under, the warmth of her hold a blanket against the chaos.

As he drifted off, the world narrowed to the steady thrum of her heartbeat, a lullaby he couldn't resist. His last coherent thought was an echo of his old self, a whisper in the quiet of his newborn mind.

One step at a time. He would unravel this new world. He would find his path. But for now… he slept.