The ground was blanketed — bodies stacked up like little hills.
The creatures appeared bizarre and strange, their forms a weird blend of various beings.
They sported toad-like faces, tough crocodile skin, and limbs resembling humans that ended in sharp green claws, shining even in the low light.
Their lengthy tongues — still quivering a bit — were strewn across the ground like severed ropes, sliced perfectly in two by my mom's blows.
I gazed in quiet amazement.
This is so awesome!
She had just battled and triumphed over a whole pack of beasts — all while cradling a newborn baby. Me!
How cool is that!
It's not every day you come across a powerful female warrior, even in stories, right? But here I was, witnessing one in real life — and she happened to be my mom!
I understood that what she did was reckless and incredibly dangerous, but… I couldn't help it.
I immediately became her biggest fan.
Fighting monsters with swords and magic — that's the essence of every fantasy world I've ever adored. And now, my mom was living that dream right in front of me.
Could I… achieve that too one day?
The thought made my heart race.
Maybe when I grow up, I can handle all sorts of weapons — swords, maces, bows — you name it!
Just thinking about it sent waves of excitement through me. Saying I was excited would be an understatement.
My mom must've noticed my endless giggling because her face lit up with pure happiness.
She chuckled softly and started to spin me around again, playfully twirling as we wandered through the forest.
The world swirled with colors — the green of the trees, and the silver of the mist.
We walked along the riverside for what felt like an hour before finally making our way back home.
Just as the soothing rhythm of our footsteps settled in, a deep, resonating "Mooooooow!" shattered the tranquility of the forest.
It sounded like an ox. Or perhaps a bull?
My mom paused for a moment, her ears twitching slightly, then turned toward the direction of the sound.
We crept closer through the fog, the air vibrating gently with the heavy thud of footsteps. Then, among the trees, I heard a familiar male voice — calm, strong, and warm.
Father.
A small smile graced my mom's lips as she stepped into the clearing and lifted me up in her arms, presenting me forward.
And that's when I saw it.
My dad was perched on a gigantic bull, easily three times the size of any regular one I'd ever encountered in my previous life.
Its physique was incredible — strong and wide, with its entire skin draped in emerald-green, vein-like fur that seemed to pulse gently.
Its enormous horns were wrapped in living vines, and from those vines sprouted otherworldly flowers that glowed softly, even in the filtered sunlight.
Each flower sparkled with shades of pale gold and white, giving the creature an almost celestial look.
Its blazing golden eyes radiated intelligence and strength — molten amber pools that appeared to observe everything with both rage and wisdom.
The earth beneath its hooves quaked softly with each step it took. Yet, in spite of its fearsome presence, the creature radiated a serene, natural grandeur.
Watching my dad sitting calmly on such a stunning creature, I couldn't help but be filled with wonder.
My mom is a warrior. My dad rides a cool looking beast.
Trailing behind the enormous bull was a whole bunch of others — an entire herd.
Huge bulls and sleek cows, their coats glimmering softly with hints of green and gold as they glided through the misty woods.
At the forefront sat my dad, riding the leading bull. His face was tense, brow knitted as his sharp eyes focused on my mom.
I could sense the intensity of his gaze — not quite anger, but a mix of deep concern and frustration.
He looked so different from my mom, yet somehow they complemented each other perfectly.
My dad was tall and lean, but his broad shoulders gave him a solid, grounded vibe.
His golden-blond hair, a bit tousled, fell just past his shoulders, loosely tied behind his neck with a simple strip of cloth.
He was dressed in simple, practical attire — a worn linen shirt tucked into rugged pants, sturdy leather boots that had clearly seen better days, and a long, brown coat with a few small tools and metal trinkets stashed in its many pockets.
Not exactly warrior gear… more like that of a craftsman.
But the moment his boots hit the ground, he moved with a speed and urgency that suggested otherwise.
Without a moment's pause, he dashed toward us, his voice strained and anxious. I couldn't grasp the words, but the tone was unmistakable — worry.
He quickly but gently lifted me from my mom's arms, holding me tightly against his chest as if to ensure I was really safe.
His heartbeat was strong and rapid against my small frame.
And then it started — the argument.
Their voices rose and fell, the words sharp and quick, though I couldn't decipher their meaning. It wasn't the first time I'd heard people argue, but this… this felt weightier.
My dad's tone was firm, almost reprimanding, while my mom's was steady yet defensive.
Was he upset because she took me outside?
Or perhaps it was due to the monsters she battled while carrying me?
Whatever the reason, I wasn't a fan of it.
The atmosphere around them felt thick and heavy.
My little chest tightened, and before I realized it, my instincts kicked in.
"Whaaa! Whaa!"
My wail sliced through their argument. They both halted mid-sentence, their gazes snapping to me right away.
The tension between them evaporated in an instant, replaced by concern and gentle love.
My dad let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he exchanged a tired glance with my mom.
She offered a faint smile.
Together, they turned and started heading back toward the house.
The herd of bulls and cows quietly scattered behind them, their distant calls resonating through the misty woods as we went to home.
The outside world faded away, replaced by the soft creak of the wooden door as we stepped inside — back into the cozy, familiar safety of home.
After that, my parents never shouted at each other again.
The tension that used to fill the air disappeared, replaced by a soothing warmth.
That night, I drifted off to sleep peacefully, wrapped in my mother's gentle hug, a soft smile still on my face.
The images of the glowing forest, the strange lights, and the powerful creatures danced in my mind as I fell asleep.
I couldn't help but be excited about what the next day would bring.
*Eight Months Since My Birth*
Time flowed softly in this tranquil world.
It had been almost eight months since I came into the world, and I had already adapted to my new life.
My little world — this home tucked away in a mysterious forest — had become second nature to me.
During these months, I spent most of my time either being cradled by my parents or lying on the cozy furs that covered the wooden floor, listening closely to their voices.
I made it my goal to grasp the language they spoke.
At first, it was just a jumble of sounds.
But as days turned into weeks, patterns started to show — tones, inflections, familiar words that were repeated often. Gradually, I began to piece it all together.
Honestly, I was never particularly good at picking up new languages in my previous life. My grades in that subject were always below average. But this time… something felt different.
Maybe it was this new body — this young, developing brain that absorbed information like a sponge. Or perhaps my rebirth came with a little bonus: a sharper memory.
Whatever the reason, I found myself recalling words and meanings much more easily than before.
Around the same time, I began to crawl.
Being able to move independently — to actually go wherever I wanted, even if it was just from one side of the room to the other — felt like the most freeing experience ever.
Every little movement was an adventure. Each small victory felt huge.
But after being stuck in this delicate, helpless body for months, finally gaining control over my own limbs felt nothing short of miraculous.
As I crawled and listened, I absorbed more — not just about words, but about my surroundings.
By closely following my parents' chats, I started to piece together bits of information. The forest we called home was named Whisperwillow Grove, a vast, misty woodland that extended for miles.
Just its name sparked feelings of mystery and enchantment.
Beyond the grove was a magnificent city — Astralis Verge, the capital.
My parents often referred to it casually, though I didn't yet understand what kind of place it was.
From what I could gather, my dad wasn't a warrior like my mom. He was something entirely different — a veterinarian, but not the typical kind.
No, he focused on caring for magical creatures.
***