"Congratulations, Your Grace. It's a healthy baby boy," the doctor announced, his voice carrying both gentleness and deep respect.
'What the hell?!' My mind reeled even as my new body could only manage a weak squirm. 'I'm actually a baby? This is really happening?'
The surreal nature of my situation hit me like a sledgehammer. Here I was, a twenty-year-old man's consciousness trapped in an infant's body, somehow understanding every word around me with perfect clarity. In my previous life, I'd read about reincarnation in fantasy novels, but experiencing it firsthand was completely different.
"And the girl?" a woman's voice asked nearby, melodious yet carrying an undertone of authority I recognized from my Climber days. Only the truly powerful spoke with that kind of quiet confidence.
"She's just as healthy, Your Grace," the doctor replied with obvious relief. "You have twins—a boy and a girl."
The woman let out a soft sigh, and I could hear the tension leaving her voice. "Let me see them."
Gentle hands lifted me from wherever I'd been placed, and suddenly I was cradled against warmth and softness. The woman adjusted my position so I could see her face properly, and if my infant vocal cords had been capable, I would have gasped.
She was stunning, but not in the conventional sense. This was the beauty of a warrior—someone who'd seen battle and emerged victorious. Silver hair cascaded down her shoulders like liquid moonlight, framing features that were both elegant and strong. But it was her eyes that truly captured my attention. Crimson as fresh blood, they held depths that spoke of immense power barely restrained.
When she looked down at me, those terrifying eyes softened with an emotion I couldn't quite place. Love? Pride? Whatever it was, it sent an unexpected warmth through my chest—some primal recognition that this woman would protect me with her life.
A soft cry from beside me drew my attention. My twin sister lay in a matching bundle of blankets, tiny fists waving in the air. The concept still felt foreign. In my past life, I'd been an only child. Now I had a sister—someone who'd shared the womb with me, who'd enter this world at my side.
'Why twins?' I wondered, studying her small face. 'What kind of story am I being reborn into?'
Our mother—and she was our mother now, that much was becoming clear—shifted to hold us both more comfortably. Her heartbeat was steady and strong beneath my ear, a rhythm that somehow eased the chaos in my reborn mind.
The room around us screamed wealth and status. Glowing crystals embedded in the walls provided warm illumination, while the high vaulted ceiling was decorated with intricate carvings that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light. This wasn't just nobility—this was high nobility.
"Your Grace, both children show remarkable vitality," the doctor said, bowing slightly. "Should you require anything further, please don't hesitate to call."
"Thank you, Doctor Aldrich. Your service is appreciated as always."
The formal tone, the doctor's deference, the title of 'Your Grace'—it all painted a clear picture. I'd been reborn as the child of a duchess, possibly higher.
As exhaustion began to creep in—apparently infant bodies tired easily—I found myself relaxing despite my confusion. Whatever world this was, whatever story I'd been thrust into, at least I wouldn't be starting from the bottom this time.
My new mother's crimson eyes met mine one last time before sleep claimed me, and I could swear I saw something ancient and powerful stir in their depths.
Several months had passed since my rather dramatic entrance into this new world, and I'd learned a few important things. First, being a baby was absolutely terrible, and anyone who claimed otherwise was either lying or had never experienced consciousness during infancy.
Currently, my mother was poking at my palm again, waiting for me to grab her finger with that pleased expression adults always wore when babies did something "adorable."
'It's a reflex!' I wanted to scream, but all that came out was a gurgling sound that only made her smile wider. 'I'm not doing this because I'm charmed by your finger! My nervous system is just hardwired to grab things!'
Still, as much as I hated to admit it, these little interactions had helped me gather crucial information about my new circumstances.
My mother was powerful—really powerful. Now that my senses had developed enough to pick up on such things, I could feel the aura radiating from her. It was subtle, controlled, but unmistakably there. Comparing her presence to the Climbers from my past life, she was easily S-class, possibly higher.
This revelation had massive implications. If this world had people with that level of power, it almost certainly had mana. Either this world had naturally evolved with magical energy, or it had its own version of the Tower phenomenon. Given what I knew about mana theory from my previous life, the former seemed more likely.
The existence of mana also explained the advanced amenities I'd observed. Despite the medieval aesthetic, the plumbing worked perfectly, the lighting was consistent, and medical care seemed far more advanced than what Earth's middle ages had offered. Magic made civilization much more pleasant.
My mother's title of "Your Grace" confirmed she held ducal rank, placing our family among the highest nobility. The way servants and attendants spoke to her suggested she wasn't just any duchess either—there was genuine fear mixed with respect in their voices.
But perhaps the most challenging aspect of my new life was sharing a cradle with my twin sister.
Celia—I'd learned her name during one of mother's nighttime visits—was apparently a restless sleeper. Every night became a battle for space as her tiny limbs encroached on my half of our shared bed. For someone who'd spent twenty years sleeping alone, this constant physical contact was... an adjustment.
'Personal space,' I thought as her foot found my ribs again. 'Do babies not understand personal space?'
Of course, she was just an infant acting on instinct, but my adult mind found the whole situation bizarre. Here I was, the former strongest human alive, reduced to silent protests about cradle real estate.
As evening approached, the familiar sound of footsteps announced our mother's arrival. The crystals in the walls dimmed to a softer glow, casting everything in warm amber light.
She approached our cradle with that same careful grace I'd come to associate with her—every movement precise and controlled, as if she were constantly aware of her own strength. Her silver hair caught the light as she leaned over us, and those crimson eyes softened in a way that still surprised me.
Mother lifted Celia first, cradling her with practiced ease. My sister immediately reached for a strand of silver hair, her tiny fingers tangling in the silky strands. The sight drew a rare chuckle from our mother—a sound both warm and surprisingly gentle for someone so intimidating.
"Celia," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my sister's forehead. "Sleep well, my little star."
After settling Celia back down, those powerful arms reached for me. Being held by her was always an odd experience—like being cradled by a barely restrained force of nature. Yet her touch was infinitely gentle, as if she were handling the most precious thing in the world.
"Lancelot," she whispered, and I felt something stir in my chest at the name. "My little knight."
'Lancelot.' The name felt weighty, significant somehow. In my previous life, I'd been Marcus Chen—a perfectly ordinary name for a perfectly ordinary student who'd been thrust into extraordinary circumstances. But Lancelot carried expectations, legend, a sense of destiny that made my reborn soul uneasy.
Her smile was soft as she gazed down at me, and for a moment I forgot about power levels and political implications. This woman, this duchess who could probably level a city block, was looking at me like I was her entire world.
"Goodnight, my little stars," she whispered as she placed me back beside Celia.
She lingered by our cradle for several minutes, watching over us with an expression I couldn't quite read. Protection, certainly, but something deeper too. As if she were memorizing this moment, storing it away against some future need.
Finally, she stepped back into the shadows, but I could still feel her presence—a warm, powerful guardian standing watch over our dreams.
Beside me, Celia had already drifted off, her breathing soft and even. Despite my adult mind, my infant body was succumbing to drowsiness as well.
'Tomorrow I'll try to learn more about this world,' I promised myself as consciousness faded. 'About the political situation, about magic, about what kind of story I've been reborn into.'