Morning had left the library behind, trailing dust and tiny flecks of floating neon light like confetti from a miniature victory parade.
By midday, Lilith had me back in the nursery. The room smelled of lavender and polished wood. Plush toys sat like obedient soldiers on the shelves. The sunlight through the windows cut soft stripes across the floor, landing on my chubby arms and legs.
I was exhausted, but not really. Babies have terrible schedules, apparently.
"Alright, Master Lex," Lilith cooed, lifting me gently. "Time for a nap. You've had quite the morning."
I tried to make my tiny legs cooperate. They didn't. Wobbly noodles are inherently uncooperative.
● Third-Person
Lilith's hands were warm and steady, a rare anchor in a world that had betrayed me four times already. Even in my fifth life, I'd remembered her loyalty — the one constant through all the flames and blood.
She placed me carefully in my cradle. The bedding was soft, like clouds gathered from some otherworldly dimension. I could smell the faint aura of old magic woven into the threads, like even the fabrics were aware I was no ordinary baby.
"Sleep tight, little one," Lilith whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead.
I yawned theatrically, puffing my cheeks and closing my eyes… a master of deception.
Pretend sleep: Level expert.
Lilith hummed softly as she straightened up, glancing back once more to make sure the room was secure. "Sweet dreams…"
Step out. Click. Door closed.
● Lex's Baby POV
As soon as the faint echo of her footsteps disappeared, my tiny eyes snapped open.
"Finally," I muttered under my breath, the sound just a squeak — but perfectly understandable to someone like me.
(Breathe… & Activate.)
The system popped up in my tiny skull with a soft chime. The glow of its interface wrapped around my pudgy little head like an aura crown.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATION… BABY MODE CONFIRMED]
I leaned back in the cradle, balancing on squishy legs that could barely hold me upright. My fingers fumbled, but the system responded anyway.
● System Stats — Baby Lex
LEX LOCKHART
Title: Regressor
Apex Swordmaster (Locked — requires Level 99)
Level: 5 (Cap: 445)
Stats:
Strength — 3
Speed — 0.6
Mind — Meta-Aware
Abilities:
Rewind
Continuous Authority (Locked — requires lvl 79)
System Points: 0
Daily Quests:
Accumulate Aether — 5% complete
Meditate — 0%
I stared at the stats and let out a tiny squeak-laugh.
"Strength… 3? Hah. Speed… 0.6?" I shook my tiny fists. "I am the Apex Swordmaster, and I can barely crawl properly!"
The irony wasn't lost on me. Even a baby knows the universe enjoys mocking prodigies.
Threads of neon light rose lazily from my chubby little arms, forming miniature spirals around me. They shimmered against the pastel-colored nursery, cutting through the domestic tranquility like tiny streaks of destiny.
The ceremonial blade from the library hum came faintly through the walls — a reminder that anomalies didn't respect nap time.
I poked at my stats again, trying to memorize them, pretending not to notice the faint aura reacting to me. Every microthread of Aether in the room seemed to lean closer, whispering possibilities only I could feel.
Even as a wobbly toddler, I could sense the tapestry of worlds stretching beyond this cradle.
I sighed dramatically, flopping back into the cushions.
"Level 5… out of 445…" I muttered, staring at the ceiling. "And they all say babies have it easy. Hah. Try plotting multiverse outcomes while teething."
A tiny tear threatened to escape, but I smirked instead. Humor always hides the sharp edges. Even a baby must hide disappointment behind puffed cheeks and wobbling limbs.
With a soft squeak, I curled my fingers around the edge of the cradle.
"Don't worry, world," I whispered. "Lex Lockhart is awake. And watching. And calculating."
I blinked, stretched my chubby arms, and yawned so wide I worried my jaw might unhinge.
Even wobbling on stubby legs, the air around me stirred as if aware of my intent.
Threads of neon light slithered along the floor like liquid fire, coiling around toys, spilling across carpets, bending the shadows of the room into faint arcs of impossible geometry.
The ceremonial blade, still resting in the display by the library door, hummed faintly. A small pulse, like it remembered me.
The Aura detector by the hallway chimed softly. Not broken this time. Something… curious.
And I had ideas. Dangerous, toddler-sized ideas.
I shuffled to the small play mat I'd commandeered as a "training arena."
Tiny hands gripped the toy sword I had pilfered from my dad's display — not heavy, obviously, but perfect for a baby with apex ambitions.
"Step one," I squeaked to myself, "Master the grip… or at least pretend to."
I raised the blade. Wobbled. Nearly toppled over.
I fell. Flat on my face.
…Fine. Dramatic flair. Always important.
(Breathe… & Combust.)
This time, my neon threads tightened, lifting me just slightly off the floor. A tiny floating baby, wielding a toy sword like it was the fate of the universe.
I slashed, and the threads responded, creating miniature afterimages of me — wobbling clones that mimicked my exaggerated, pudgy movements.
Even a baby can create micro-dimensions if they try hard enough.
The clones flailed across the room, one crashing into a stuffed tiger, another bouncing off a pile of cushions.
"Perfect," I whispered, puffing my cheeks. "Just like Hysteria Academy… if everyone were toddlers and the world was made of marshmallows."
A tiny flicker of neon light caught my eye. One clone shimmered a little too bright. Something was… off.
Past lives whispered: "That's not normal, Lex. Keep an eye on it."
I grinned. Even as a baby, I could recognize the anomaly before the disaster.