Floating.
Still floating in that endless light, suspended like a thought that couldn't find its way home. Time had no meaning here. Hours? Days? Years? Mick couldn't tell anymore. The light wrapped around him like warm honey, but it was getting old fast.
'What the hell is taking so long? Angela promised me a new life, not an eternity of floating around like a lost balloon.'
He tried to move, tried to call out, but his voice was swallowed by the brightness. Maybe this was some kind of joke. Maybe she was just messing with him, letting him drift here while she laughed with her stone servants.
'Come on, Angela. I accepted your deal. Where's my new world?'
Then the light exploded.
Not gradually, not gently. It burst apart like a bomb going off inside his skull, and suddenly there was cold air rushing into lungs he didn't know he had. His chest expanded, contracted, and a sound tore out of him.
A wail.
'What the fuck was that? Did I just...'
Hands. Large hands that felt like they could crush him, lifting him up into brightness that wasn't mystical light but actual sunlight streaming through a window. He blinked, tried to focus, but everything was blurry and too big.
"It's a healthy child, Cassandra." The voice was soft, gentle, filled with relief. A woman's voice, speaking words that made no sense.
'Child? What child?'
"Let me see him." Another voice, this one edged with concern but warming quickly.
Something soft wrapped around him, cloth that smelled clean and warm. Then different hands took hold of him, smaller but more confident. He found himself looking up at a face framed by dark hair that caught the afternoon light.
She was beautiful. Not Angela Rose beautiful, not the impossible perfection of dreams, but real beautiful. The kind of beauty that lived in the world and made it better just by existing. Her eyes were dark, worried at first, but they softened as she looked down at him.
'Damn, she's gorgeous. But wait... why does everything look so huge? Why am I so tiny?'
She held him close, studying his face with wonder. "My little precious child," she whispered, and her voice was like music.
'Little precious what? What does she mean by that?'
The woman rocked him gently, and he could see tears forming in her eyes. Happy tears, he realized. She looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world.
"I'm your mother," she said softly, as if she could read the confusion on his tiny face.
'Mother? How? When? Wait, is this... is this how being reborn works? I thought I'd be myself again, just in a different world. Not a fucking baby!'
The reality hit him like a sledgehammer. All those years building muscle, all that time perfecting his body, gone in a blink. Everything he'd worked for, reduced to this tiny, helpless form.
'Fuck!'
"Clara, come here," his mother called to the other woman. "I want you to meet him properly."
The second woman moved closer, and Mick got his first real look at her. Where his mother was elegantly beautiful, this woman was... abundant. Her curves strained against her dress in ways that made his infant brain fire in directions it definitely shouldn't. Her hips swayed as she approached, and her smile was warm honey poured over sin.
'Jesus Christ, even as a baby I'm thinking dirty thoughts. What is wrong with me?'
"This is Clara," his mother said, adjusting him so he could see both women. "Your sweet aunty. She's been taking care of you when you were still in my little stomach."
Clara's face lit up with joy. "Hello there, little angel," she cooed, reaching out to gently touch his cheek. "I've been waiting so long to meet you."
She began making faces at him, silly expressions that would probably delight any normal baby. Her finger traced along his tiny palm, and she giggled when his hand reflexively closed around it.
'Okay, that's... actually kind of sweet.'
Clara kept playing with him, making gentle tickling motions on his stomach, speaking in that high-pitched voice adults used with infants. At first it was charming, but after several minutes of non-stop baby talk and tickling...
'Alright, Clara, I get it. You like babies. Maybe dial it back a notch?'
"Won't he be hungry?" Clara asked, still playing with his fingers. "You should probably feed him."
His mother nodded. "You're right. He must be starving after all this."
She began to unbutton her dress, and Mick's tiny heart started hammering. When she freed her breast, he couldn't help but stare. It wasn't huge like Angela's impossible assets, but it was perfect in its own way. Round, soft, with a pink nipple that looked exactly as good as nature intended.
He tried to reach for it, his mind screaming commands at his body, but his hands wouldn't respond. They just waved in the air like tiny flags of surrender.
"My little star is so hungry," she cooed, guiding him toward her.
The moment her nipple touched his lips, something primal took over. Warm, sweet milk flowed into his mouth, and despite every rational thought in his head screaming at the situation, it was incredibly satisfying.
'Well, this is happening. I'm nursing from my new mother. If anyone from my old life could see me now...'
The milk was warm and comforting, filling his tiny stomach. But more than that, there was something deeply peaceful about the whole experience. His mother's heartbeat, steady and strong. Her scent, clean and maternal. The gentle way she held him.
As he nursed, Clara leaned closer, watching with obvious delight. "Cassandra," she said softly, "what are you going to name him? We can't keep calling him 'little angel' forever."
His mother looked down at him thoughtfully, her fingers gently stroking his tiny head. "I've been thinking about that," she said. "I want something strong but gentle. Something that suits him."
She was quiet for a moment, studying his face as he continued to nurse. "Shaun," she said finally, her voice filled with certainty. "His name is Shaun Smith."
'So that's my name now. Shaun Smith.' He rolled the name around in his mind, getting used to the sound of it. 'Well, it does have a nice ring to it. Shaun Smith... sounds like a rhyme, almost. Simple, but it flows well.'
Clara smiled warmly. "Shaun Smith. I love it, Cassandra. It's perfect for him."
'Why are my eyes getting heavy? This is so weird, but I can't seem to... to keep...'
His eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and despite his best efforts to stay alert and process everything that was happening to him, sleep pulled him under like a gentle tide.
When he woke, everything had changed.
He was lying in what looked like a crib, surrounded by soft blankets that smelled like lavender. Above him, colorful balls hung from strings, spinning slowly in the air currents. They were bright and cheerful, designed to entertain babies, but they made his eyes feel dizzy trying to track their movement.
'Where am I? This isn't the same room.'
The light coming through the windows was different too. Softer, more golden. Evening light, he realized. He'd slept through most of the day.
'So this is real. I'm actually reborn in another world. Not just transported, not just given a new body. Actually born again, starting from scratch. And I'm Shaun Smith now. That's who I am in this life.'
The thought was both terrifying and oddly exciting. A complete do-over. A chance to build something from the ground up, with the knowledge he'd gained from his previous life and whatever power Angela had given him.
The room was quiet now, peaceful. He could hear voices from somewhere else in the house, probably his mother and Clara talking about normal things. Adult things he couldn't participate in yet.
As he lay there, watching the spinning toys above him and trying to process everything that had happened, the air in front of him suddenly shimmered.
Blue light erupted in his vision, forming words and symbols that hung in the darkness.
[Welcome to the New World, Host. Don't shit yourself too often - it's bad for charisma.]
'There you are. I was wondering when you'd show up.'
[Time to know your stats.]
The screen expanded, filling his vision with information that would determine his new life.