#Attempt 472
I tried to lift myself out of the crib with mana, seeing as the stubby legs attached to me weren't quite the most useful thing here.
It failed.
I am a hero. I will keep trying. I do not falter.
#Attempt 473
I tried again, this time using mana while also attempting to hook my arms over the wooden railing.
It failed.
I am a hero. I will keep trying. I do not falter.
#Attempt 912
It failed.
I faltered.
I stopped trying.
And I relinquished my hero-dom without hesitation.
I then attempted to eat the corner of the pillow.
I was unsuccessful.
The pillow did not yield.
In fact, it tasted vaguely of detergent and betrayal.
I spat it out immediately.
So much for conquering household objects.
I lay there for a moment, glaring at the ceiling, recalibrating my expectations.
Two thousand years ago, I had commanded armies. Countries bowed in my wake.
Now I couldn't escape a crib.
This was not a fair trade.
My pride would not allow me to give up.
I reached back for the pillow, unwilling to accept defeat, and engaged in physical combat with the fabric.
I was halfway through attempting a tactical sideways roll when the door creaked open.
I froze.
The pillow froze.
Neither of us trusted the other.
Elias peeked in.
"…why are you upside-down?"
I chose not to answer.
He stared for a moment, glancing between me and the uncooperative composite of cotton and synthetic arrogance.
Then nodded slowly.
"Yeah. That tracks."
He fixed the blanket, righted me, and left without elaboration.
The pillow and I immediately resumed hostilities.
***
From outside the room, I heard Elena's voice, not even trying to hide her blatant attempt at tying me down.
"…yes, full perimeter. I don't care how 'excessive' you think it is, after you've seen babies fly, nothing's excessive anymore."
Followed by a chuckle from Elias, a solid 'clonk' (presumably his skull), and... footsteps.
Approaching my room, quickly.
I didn't have much time, if any, to escape.
This was my only chance for probably all of 6 months.
Instead of trying to care about my mana exhaustion, I was just gonna send it.
Go big or go home.
I'm already at home and I wouldn't quite define myself as big but that isn't quite the point.
I drew mana into my chest and held it there, forcing it to settle while my heart fought the intrusion, then pushed it inward anyway, letting it seep directly into the muscle and rhythm of it, synchronizing the flow for just long enough that it stopped rejecting me outright, before dragging it back out through my veins and into my blood, down my spine and along every nerve pathway I could force open, flooding my limbs, soaking into muscle fibers, bleeding into bone.
My body responded immediately.
My lungs locked halfway through a breath.
My vision narrowed until the edges of the world began to dim.
Something in my shoulder popped.
I didn't stop, I couldn't stop.
I pulled everything back.
Not gently.
I reversed everything at once, ripping the mana back inward with no finesse, tearing it out of nerves and marrow alike while compressing it as it returned, forcing it to collapse toward my chest while my heart stuttered and struggled to maintain rhythm against the foreign pressure.
The pressure built fast.
Too fast.
Something inside me resisted.
At the same time, something else yielded.
Then I felt it.
A second pulse.
Weak.
Unstable.
Artificial.
But real.
A new core formed just beside my heart, barely holding its shape as mana circulated through it in broken waves.
Mana Core.
One of his techniques.
Not a spell.
Not reinforcement.
I had forcibly constructed an auxiliary core inside my own body and prayed my organs didn't object too violently.
Even at my peak, I had only ever managed to create one.
And even that had nearly killed me the first time.
A fact I had conveniently forgotten in my quest for freedom.
The strain arrived all at once.
My ribs felt too tight.
My muscles locked and pulled.
Cold crawled into my fingers while heat burned through my spine.
Every movement became agonizing, as if my body was arguing with biology itself, but I forced mana through the artificial circuit anyway, stabilizing the core just enough to function.
Just enough.
All of it would be worth it if I could escape this forsaken crib.
Moments later, my legs gave out.
My concentration shattered.
The artificial core collapsed in on itself like a black hole.
I fell onto the floor, shaking, lungs pulling air as if they'd forgotten how breathing worked, every muscle trembling with delayed shock.
I couldn't feel my left hand.
Then pain arrived.
Slow.
Hot.
Comprehensive.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, chest rising in uneven spasms, profoundly aware that I had just attempted an enhancement technique using a body that still struggled with basic motor function.
Good news: I had successfully escaped the crib.
Bad news: I was on the floor, alongside the fact that I had burnt through all the mana I had and then some, and now everything burned.
Damn.
…
Click.
Footsteps.
"Hey, Elena, I found your—"
Elias rounded the corner mid-sentence.
He stopped.
Looked down at me.
Then at the crib.
Then back at me.
There was a long, thoughtful pause.
"…why are you on the floor?"
I stared back at him.
My lungs wheezed.
My left hand still didn't exist.
Internally, I was somewhere between divine fury and neurological reboot.
Outwardly, I managed:
"Guh."
He nodded slowly.
"Yeah. That checks out."
He stepped over a collapsed pillow, crouched, and scooped me up with one arm like I was misplaced laundry.
No urgency.
No panic.
Just a casual retrieval.
The world tilted.
My spine protested.
Every nerve lit up like I had personally offended them.
He adjusted his grip once, thoughtfully.
"You know," he said conversationally, carrying me back toward the crib, "most kids your age just roll off beds. They don't usually attempt whatever this was."
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to explain artificial cores.
I wanted to lecture him on mana circulation collapse.
Instead, my mouth produced a weak, traitorous:
"Gah."
He placed me back into the crib with practiced ease, pulled the blanket up, and gave my forehead a gentle pat.
"There we go."
He straightened.
Looked at me.
Then at the scorch mark on the wall.
Then back at me.
"…we're gonna pretend that didn't happen."
He turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I lay there.
Re-cribbed.
Mana empty.
Soul tired.
Staring at the ceiling.
I closed my eyes.
One day, Elias.
One day.
***
I woke up sore.
Not the noble, distant soreness of overworked muscles after a long march.
Not the clean ache of having pushed past your limits and earned it.
This was the ugly kind.
The kind that lived in the joints. The kind that crawled behind the eyes. The kind that made every attempt at movement feel like negotiating with a very hostile committee of tendons.
My left hand still wasn't cooperating.
It lay beside me on the mattress, fingers curled slightly inward, as if it had decided to take the rest of the day off without consulting me.
I tried to flex it.
Nothing.
I stared at it.
It stared back, unmoved.
Fantastic.
I shifted my focus inward, probing carefully for mana.
There was some.
Not much.
It felt thin. Threadbare. Like I'd scooped most of it out with a rusty spoon and forgotten to put it back.
The artificial core was gone.
Of course it was.
All that remained was a faint echo in my chest, a residual hollowness where something unstable had briefly existed. My heart felt heavy around that spot, like it remembered being crowded and wasn't sure how it felt about the sudden vacancy.
So.
That experiment had been a qualified disaster.
I considered the results.
Conclusion one: the technique still worked.
Conclusion two: using it in a one-year-old body was approximately equivalent to strapping a siege engine to a wet paper bag.
Conclusion three: I was lucky I hadn't exploded in the most literal sense.
I let my head fall back against the pillow.
Two thousand years ago, I had taken direct hits from cursed artillery, shrugged it off, and kept walking.
Now I was bedridden because I tried to stand up with ambition.
Progress.
The door creaked open.
I didn't bother turning my head. The footstep pattern was familiar by now.
Elena.
She crossed the room quietly, the way people do when they're trying not to wake someone, even though I was already awake and staring at the ceiling with the thousand-yard gaze of a veteran who had lost a war against furniture.
She leaned over the crib rail, studying me.
Her eyes moved slowly, tracking from my face to my hands, then to my legs, then back again. There was no panic in them this time. No maternal fury. Just focused assessment.
That worried me more.
"How long has he been like this?" she asked quietly.
Elias answered from somewhere behind her. "Since he stopped screaming."
"That narrows it down to several possible apocalypses."
I attempted to roll onto my side.
My body vetoed the motion.
Elena noticed.
Her jaw tightened.
She reached in and gently lifted my left hand, rotating it slightly between her fingers. I didn't resist. There was no point. Her touch carried a faint trace of mana, warm and controlled, the way experienced mages let it bleed into their movements without thinking.
She frowned.
"Temporary neural overload," she murmured. "Mana backlash. Mild, but not insignificant."
Elias leaned closer. "In normal terms?"
"He tried something very stupid."
Elias nodded. "That checks out."
She let go of my hand and straightened.
"He needs rest," Elena continued. "No exertion. No more… acrobatics. And absolutely no mana manipulation for at least a day."
Elias made a vague gesture. "I was gonna suggest maybe not letting him attempt a... baby-sized portable furnace? Probably until he's learned how to use stairs, give or take."
"That too."
They stood there for a moment, both looking down at me.
I met Elena's gaze.
She held it.
There was something unreadable in her expression. Concern, yes. Relief, probably. But also calculation. She wasn't just seeing a baby in a crib.
She was seeing deeper. Past the huge eyes and overwhelming cuteness.
That was new.
She brushed a thumb lightly over my forehead, then turned away.
"I'll have a healer take a look later," she said. "Quiet house until then."
"Got it," Elias replied.
She paused at the door.
"And Elias?"
"Yes?"
"If he floats again, I'm grounding you too."
He winced. "That seems unfair."
She gave him a look.
He immediately revised his stance. "Completely fair. Extremely fair."
The door closed.
Silence settled back over the room.
I exhaled slowly.
So.
They had noticed.
Not everything. Not the core. Not the intent. But they had felt the aftermath, and that was enough to put me on a watch list.
That complicated things.
I remained still for a while, letting sensation return piece by piece. Pins and needles crept through my fingers. My legs felt heavy, like they were filled with sand instead of muscle. My chest still carried a dull pressure, as if my heart was sulking.
I didn't push it.
Instead, I thought.
First priority: stop attempting high-tier combat techniques in a body that still drooled occasionally.
Second priority: build a foundation.
Raw mana manipulation was possible. That much was clear. The flow was weak, but responsive. The body didn't reject it outright, which meant I could train it—slowly. Carefully. No more brute-force core construction until I had bones that could handle it.
Aura would have to wait.
Spirit energy was off the table entirely.
For now, I was stuck with observation and micro-adjustments.
Which meant watching.
Learning.
Letting the world reveal itself while I pretended to be harmless.
Not ideal.
But workable.
I flexed my fingers again.
This time, they moved.
Barely.
Enough.
Good.
Outside the window, I could faintly hear the training yard again—steel meeting steel, instructors shouting corrections that nobody seemed particularly committed to following, boots thudding against packed earth in uneven rhythm.
Their timing was off.
Their spacing was worse.
Too much force, not enough thought. Everyone trying to hit harder instead of stand smarter.
Two thousand years, and apparently the art of not overcommitting had gone out of fashion.
I closed my eyes.
Whatever.
Not my problem right now.
At the moment, I was exhausted, mana-starved, grounded, and under direct medical orders not to attempt any further architectural renovations using biological explosives utilising myself as the fuel.
Which felt unfair, but fine.
I let myself sink back into the mattress.
Recovery first.
Planning second.
Revenge on Elias somewhere further down the list.
Preferably when I had full motor control and at least one tooth, maybe two.
There was time.
Unfortunately.