2 Starting all over again

Under the serene embrace of the moonlit sky, a picturesque village exuded an air of tranquility as the silver glow of the celestial sphere graced a modest yet inviting home.

Now, you might wonder why the inhabitants of this dwelling were wide awake at such a late hour, but this was no mere coincidence.

Fate had woven its threads intricately, orchestrating not one, but two remarkable miracles to grace this untouched world.

Inside the cozy interior of the house, a woman with flowing blonde locks was immersed in the laborious dance of childbirth.

Beside her stood a man with earnest brown hair, unwavering in his support – a rock of strength.

A skilled maid, well-versed in the art of midwifery, stood ready to assist in this miracle of life. "Just a little more, Madam. Push," she offered her gentle guidance, facilitating the arrival of the newborn.

"Keep going, Zenith," the man encouraged his wife, his grip steady, a grounding force.

As the woman labored, her cries punctuated the air, each breath a testament to her unwavering determination, an unspoken pledge to welcome a new life into existence.

Finally, the maid cradled the newborn in her arms. "Congratulations, Madam. It's a boy."

With utmost care, she placed the precious bundle into the awaiting hands of the proud father. This newborn bore the same hue of hair and eyes as his father, yet his features carried the delicate traces of his mother.

As the birthing process neared its climax, another cry resonated through the room.

"Wait, there's another one. Madam, focus on your breathing and push," the maid calmly directed, poised to welcome the arrival of the second child.

"Another one?" The father's astonishment was palpable, his heart racing at the revelation of a twin.

Amidst a chorus of cries, the woman summoned her strength once more, channeling every ounce of energy to bring her second child into the world.

"It's another success, Madam. The baby is a girl," the maid announced, cradling the second miracle before gently placing her in her mother's embrace.

"Oh my, her hair is just like her brother's," a hint of disappointment laced the woman's voice as she noticed the shared hair color between the two newborns.

"Don't worry, Zenith. Look at her adorable face, she takes after you," the father reassured, his finger tracing the shape of their daughter's delicate features and her enchanting teal eyes.

As the couple marveled at their newfound blessings, the maid quietly tidied up, leaving the new family to relish their private moment.

"Honey, what shall we name our children?" the woman turned to her husband and asked.

The man contemplated for a moment before a decision solidified in his mind, a name that would encapsulate the promise and love harbored within these two precious lives.

"Let's name our son Rudeus," he said, gazing at the baby boy in his arms.

"And for our daughter, how about Reine?" she proposed, her eyes glowing with tenderness as she cradled their baby girl.

And so, beneath the moon's tender gaze, Rudeus and Reine embarked on their journey, two intertwined destinies poised to leave an indelible mark on a world awaiting their unique gifts.

-----------------------------------------

Where... am I?

I blink, my surroundings gradually coming into focus. It's like waking from a foggy dream, but the details remain elusive. The last thing I remember is... the impact, the collision. Can it be? Did I actually...?

I glance around, half-expecting to see angels with harps or demons with pitchforks. But instead, I'm bathed in a gentle, warm light that seems oddly reassuring.

"Alright, either I've hit heaven or stumbled into a really weird corner of hell," I attempt a joke, but the words that escape my lips aren't my own. They're delicate, high-pitched, and utterly foreign.

No, something's not right. My voice... it's not my voice. It's soft and feeble, like a mere whisper.

I attempt to lift a hand to rub my eyes, but my movements are sluggish, uncoordinated. Panic surges within me, my heart racing as I struggle to comprehend the situation.

Why can't I move properly? Why is my vision so blurred?

My hand flops back down beside me, and that's when I see it – a tiny, plump hand, unmistakably not my own. My heart skips a beat as realization crashes over me like a tidal wave.

No... this can't be.

I wiggle my fingers, or at least I try to, emitting a frustrated sound that is far from coherent. The noise that escapes me resembles more of a whimper, an infantile cry.

My eyes widen, and a mix of shock and bewilderment tightens my chest. This isn't heaven or hell. This is something entirely different.

And then, like a lightning bolt of understanding, the thought races through my mind.

I'm a baby again....

The world around me starts to take form, blurry shapes morphing into distinct objects. I'm lying on something soft, and above me, mobiles gently sway. Soft pastels, plush textures – the air is filled with... baby things.

'WHY AM I A BABY?!' I whimper, trying to sit up, but my body doesn't obey. I'm stuck, trapped in this tiny, helpless form.

A blend of frustration and trepidation bubbles up inside me, and the only thing I can do now was crying. I wail and squirm, my tiny limbs flailing as I struggle to come to terms with the reality that I'm a baby... again.

My vision blurs once more, this time with tears.

I want to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but all that escapes me are those same wails, the cries of a newborn who's utterly bewildered and utterly lost.

-----------------------------------------------------

And there I am, just lying there in a tangled mess of confusion and frustration, when suddenly, my attention gets hijacked by this utterly unfamiliar character.

This guy – seriously, his expression is like this weird blend of determination and goofiness – starts pulling the most absurd faces I've ever seen.

I mean, we're talking top-tier silliness here, with a dash of strange charm that I can't quite put my baby-finger on.

And you know what? I'm just there, watching this whole spectacle unfold, my baby-brows furrowed in a mix of irritation and intrigue.

Like, really? Is this guy for real, attempting to crack me up while I'm stuck in this... whatever this utterly bizarre situation is?

I swear, universe, are you pranking me? I'm already grappling with the whole "baby again" revelation, and now I'm front-row audience to Mr. Goofball's comedy hour?

Naturally, my initial reaction is to give him the best scowl a baby can muster, or perhaps even roll my baby-eyes – if that's even a thing. But, you know, I'm kind of locked inside this miniature, helpless package.

So, all I can do is give him a look, accompanied by a tiny, irritated huff. If only I could communicate to him just how utterly insane this whole situation feels.

Yet, amid my internal turmoil, a strange tranquility seeps in. It's not because of Goofball over there – it's because of someone else in the room.

A woman, her hair a cascade of golden waves, emanates this aura of serenity and care. Her presence envelops the room like a warm embrace, as if she's cocooning me in a blanket of comfort. There's just something about her that exudes... calm.

My heartbeat does this weird, fluttery dance, and a surge of unexpected emotion wells up within me.

It's a mix of bitter and sweet, a pull at my insides that's hard to pinpoint. It's almost as if her mere presence is stirring up memories, evoking a sense of familiarity.

And then it hits me – like a whisper of a whisper, a vague recognition. She reminds me of someone. Someone from a different existence, a distant and blurry past.

My lips part, and though my voice is nothing more than a baby-murmur, a wave of emotion accompanies it. I wish I could articulate it, convey the whirlwind of feelings churning inside my tiny baby-heart.

She's like this soothing beam of light, a reminder of a motherly figure from the world I left behind – my real mom who passed away before.

Her presence triggers emotions and recollections I can't quite grasp, like I'm catching glimpses of another reality.

I find myself gazing at her, studying her every movement. It's as if the universe decided to place her here, a source of comforting vibes amidst this sea of baby chaos.

And I can't help it – a small, contented sigh escapes me, a minuscule reflection of the connection I'm sensing within this little baby form of mine.

Lastly, my gaze shifts to the side, where another baby lies, just like me. My baby-mind churns with thoughts, and I can't help but wonder.

Could this baby... be my sibling? Given the circumstances, it seems plausible. Yet the haziness of infant logic in my head prevents any definite conclusions.

And then, something catches my attention, something that flips the entire scene from puzzling to downright absurd.

As the woman – who I assume is my mother – picks up the other baby, a curious sight unfolds before me.

The baby, potentially my sibling, contorts their tiny features into an incredibly lecherous expression, a mischievous grin plastered on their miniature face.

My baby-brows furrow in a mixture of bewilderment and repulsion. Seriously? Is this for real? And to make matters more cringe-worthy, his gaze zeroes in on our mother's huge bosoms.

Eew, really? My infant-self practically shudders with disgust. This is beyond strange, it's like I've stepped into a nursery of miniature, diaper-clad rascals.

I mean, come on, I might be a baby, but even I know that's not how you're supposed to behave. And to think, I was worried about Mr. Goofball and his silly antics.

My focus snaps back to my mother, who appears blissfully unaware of the baby's rather improper fixation.

She coos and cuddles, entirely oblivious to the mini-farce unraveling right under – or above, in this case – her nose.

I emit a soft, exasperated sigh, a miniature version of an eye-roll. Could this day get any weirder?

And just like that, my baby-brain shifts gears. From puzzlement and confusion to sheer disbelief and a hearty serving of second-hand embarrassment.

If this is the standard behavior for babies around here, then I'm in for quite a wild adventure.

But here's the thing – mark my words, I'm going to be the exception. No inappropriate expressions, no awkward ogling. None of that on my watch. I'm here to set some serious baby behavior benchmarks.

With a determined baby-fist, which is essentially a tiny flail, I silently pledge to uphold some semblance of dignity. Even if it means initiating a one-baby campaign against the cringe-inducing antics of my potential sibling.

Ah, life as a baby – who would've thought it could be this eventful, and... strangely amusing?