[Name: Caelum Alaric / Alexander Cage]
Abilities:
Kairoptic Vision
Description: Ability to see beyond the veil of reality
I blinked, once, twice, still absorbing the sight in front of me. A glowing, semi-transparent panel hovered in my line of vision, almost unreal yet solid in a way I couldn't deny. Somehow, here in this new existence, I'd been given a system, laid out like the character sheet in an RPG.
An instinctive response might've been to dismiss it as a figment of a young mind still struggling to understand its surroundings. But I knew it was real. Everything about this panel felt grounded in a logic I couldn't yet explain, but understood with unshakeable certainty.
I took another look. This wasn't a list of meaningless numbers or baby stats—it was something else entirely. Just one entry. One ability.
Kairoptic Vision.
The words pulsed faintly, carrying a weight far greater than their simple description: Ability to see beyond the veil of reality.
For a newborn, that was… absurd. I wasn't even sure what "beyond the veil of reality" meant, but the phrasing alone made my tiny heart race. Was it insight? Foresight? Some way of perceiving truths hidden from others?
Even now, when most infants would be content to drift in and out of sleep, I felt that burning resolve again—stronger than ever. If this was the starting point of my new life, then I wasn't just some helpless baby waiting for the world to shape me. I had been given eyes to see what others could not.
The days here followed a gentle, almost ritualistic routine. My new world was a haze of enormous faces, soft voices, and constant movement, punctuated by brief intervals of quiet. Most days, I was carried about the vast halls and chambers of what I could only assume was a noble estate. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming at first, even to someone with memories of a previous life. The ceilings soared impossibly high, decorated with tapestries and chandeliers, while stone floors echoed under every footstep.
The beautiful maids who attended me—all dressed in fine, understated uniforms—moved with a quiet efficiency, keeping their voices low but their movements purposeful. Among them, one stood out: Charlotte, the head maid.
There was something different about her, something that set her apart from the others beyond just her position. While the other maids were certainly competent, Charlotte moved with a precision and confidence that spoke of years of experience. Every gesture was deliberate, every task completed with an almost militaristic efficiency that impressed even my adult mind trapped in this infant body.
What struck me most, though, was her relationship with my mother, Mira. I'd observed enough interactions between them to notice the subtle familiarity—not the distant respect of servant to master, but something closer to genuine friendship. Charlotte would linger just a moment longer when speaking with Mother, her formal posture relaxing slightly. There were shared glances, the kind that suggested years of trust and understanding.
She was reliable in a way that went beyond mere duty. When Mira seemed tired or overwhelmed—which happened more often than I suspected she'd admit—Charlotte would anticipate her needs before they were voiced. A cup of tea would appear at exactly the right moment, or she'd quietly redirect the other staff to handle tasks that might otherwise demand Mira's attention. Her work ethic was flawless, never missing a detail, never allowing standards to slip even slightly.
It made me wonder about their history together. Had Charlotte been with the family long? Was she perhaps Mira's confidante as much as her head maid? The way she carried herself suggested someone who had earned her position through more than just competence—there was an air of absolute trustworthiness about her that seemed to put Mira completely at ease.
I observed Charlotte as much as I could, studying her expressions, her mannerisms, trying to understand the subtleties of her presence. There was something restrained about her, a quiet intensity that went beyond mere professionalism. It felt as though she could read far more than others might expect... almost as if she could sense my curiosity, perhaps even my awareness. And she always looked at me with this subtle, enigmatic expression, as if weighing the possibility that I wasn't just an ordinary infant.
Still, I was far from being able to understand the dynamics of this household. But even without full understanding, I'd picked up on one central theme: the Alaric family held significant power, enough to command an army of staff and enough respect to be spoken of in hushed tones.
The details I picked up in passing conversations began to add up. The Empire had a well-defined hierarchy, with my father at the level just beneath the Emperor himself. The chain of command was extensive: Archdukes, Grand Dukes, Princes, and all the way down to barons and lords. Yet, within this system, the Alarics were clearly respected—and perhaps even feared. Whatever role my family played, it wasn't one of idle prestige. There was weight behind our name, a weight that would one day be mine to bear.
My father was an Archduke, a title that came with immense power and responsibility. Even though I couldn't fully grasp all that this meant yet, I had a feeling that it was going to shape my entire life. Archdukes weren't just nobility—they were the kind of people whose names carried weight, whose actions were scrutinized, and whose decisions had far-reaching consequences. And the family had its own reputation, something to do with a legacy of skilled swordsmen. The Alarics were highly regarded—and highly expected to be formidable. The idea made sense; I could see it reflected in the demeanor of those who served us, and in the restrained vigilance that Charlotte carried, even in the simple act of holding a child.
I might have felt daunted, had I been the type to cower. But instead, I felt a spark, a tiny ember of determination beginning to glow. This life, for all its bizarre rules and expectations, was a blank canvas. I would rise to meet whatever was required of me, and if this family demanded excellence, then I would embody it.
Most of my days were spent in the care of Charlotte and the other maids, who spoke in soft voices, referring to me with a blend of awe and duty. They used terms like "young master" and "heir," words heavy with implication. It was hard to think of myself in such terms, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome.
As I grew accustomed to this strange, new existence, I began testing the boundaries of my senses. I focused on the light filtering through the room, the muted sounds of life echoing through the walls, and the subtle warmth of the sun spilling through tall, arched windows. The world around me felt vast and overwhelming, but also remarkably… real. And that "realness" only sharpened my curiosity.
One evening, while Charlotte carried me along a corridor, I tried focusing on the shapes and lines of my surroundings, attempting to engage what I'd come to think of as my "Kairoptic Vision." The name sounded grand, maybe even a little presumptuous, for what appeared to be basic heightened perception. But I had a feeling it was more than that, perhaps an ability that would only reveal itself with time. For now, though, it didn't show me much—just a vague sharpening of edges, a hint of depth to shadows.
The Alaric household held threads of history woven into every hall and corridor. And while I was aware of my own insignificance within these walls, there was an undeniable allure to the legacy that surrounded me. Each face in the paintings lining the hall stared back with an expression of solemn pride, as if silently judging my worth.
I would've laughed at the irony if my vocal cords were up to it. I'd been given a second life, but not a single word to explain myself. So be it. For now, I would observe, absorb, and remember.
In moments of quiet, I would feel the subtle pulse of that pressure, a reminder of what lay ahead. I wasn't here to live a simple life. I was meant to be more. And if this system was any indication, then I had a long road to becoming the kind of man the Alaric name demanded.
As I lay there in Charlotte's arms, staring up at the towering walls and faces painted in legacy, I made a silent vow. This world—whatever its rules, whatever its expectations—I would meet it head-on. I would carve my own place within the Alaric legacy, rising to meet whatever challenges came my way.