My mother and father—Alice and Reynolds Leywin—seemed to be good people. Hell, possibly even the best. I suspected my mother was an angel; I’d never met such a kindhearted, warm person. She frequently took me with her to what she called a town, carrying me on her back in a baby cradle-strap of some sort. This town, called Ashber, was more like a glorified outpost in my opinion, seeing as there were no real roads or buildings. We walked along the main dirt trail, which featured tents on both sides with various merchants and salesmen selling all sorts of things—from common, everyday necessities to things I couldn’t help but raise a brow at, like weapons, armor, and rocks… shining rocks!

Probably in an attempt to help me learn the language faster, my mother talked to me while shopping for the day's groceries and exchanging pleasantries with various people passing by or working in the booths. But it was never long before my body turned against me once again and I fell asleep… Damn this useless infantile form of mine.

I woke in my mother’s lap. She was caressing me absently, intently focused on my father. He was reciting a chant, and continued for well over a minute, something that sounded like a prayer to the earth. I leaned in closer and closer, almost falling off my living seat, expecting some magical phenomenon like an earthquake splitting the ground or a giant stone golem emerging. After what seemed like an eternity—and for an infant with the attention span of a goldfish, it was—three boulders, each the size of an adult human, emerged from the ground and slammed against a nearby tree.

What in the name of… That was it?

I flailed my arms in anger, but my idiot father interpreted that as excitement. With a big grin on his face, he said, “Your daddy is awesome, huh?”

Whatever magic he had accomplished with the boulders, he was undoubtedly much better at fighting. When he put on his iron gauntlets, even I was impressed, despite my experience fighting top-notch experts in my past. With quick, firm movements that were surprising for his bulky build, his fists carried enough force to shatter boulders and topple down trees, but were fluid enough to not leave any openings for an opponent. In my former world, he would have been classed as a high-tier fighter, leading a squad of soldiers, but to me, he was just my father.

The days passed quickly, and I drank in as much information as I could, listening intently to my parents and observing everything I could see. Every day I devoted myself to honing my new body, mastering the motor functions residing deep within me.

That comfortable regimen soon changed.