There are few things more humbling than realizing you've forgotten how to speak.
In my divine years, a single thought could weave language across civilizations. Now, I was stuck gurgling incoherently while my parents debated whether I was saying "Ma" or just choking on my own drool.
Still, progress is progress.
By my best estimation, nearly a year had passed since my reincarnation. Time moved strangely when half of it was spent sleeping, drooling, and occasionally being tossed in the air by my overenthusiastic father.
Ah yes — father.The man was impossible to ignore.
His name, as I'd finally pieced together from my mother's voice, was Galen. A former adventurer, now working as the local guard captain. A tall, broad-shouldered man with the kind of confidence usually found in people who've wrestled monsters and won. His hands were calloused, his laugh infectious, and his sense of subtlety nonexistent.
He was, to put it bluntly, loud.
"Up you go, little champ!" he'd announce each morning, hoisting me into the air as if presenting me to the gods — which, admittedly, was ironic. "Look at that smile! Already strong like his old man!"
I didn't have the heart (or the verbal capacity) to tell him that I once created constellations with my mind.
Still… there was something comforting about his presence. The way he'd hum tunelessly while mending his leather armor, or tell stories to my mother about his old party — the Flamebinders — as though the past was still an open book.
And my mother — Elara.
If Galen was a storm, Elara was the calm that followed it. Graceful but strong, with hair the color of chestnuts and eyes that caught the firelight like amber. A healer by trade, and once, according to Father's boasts, a mage who could out-cast half the guild.
She had a quiet determination about her — the kind that didn't need shouting to be powerful. When she wasn't tending to me, she worked on potions or patched Father's armor with quiet efficiency. And when she smiled… it was the kind of smile that made the world feel less broken.
They were opposites, really. But together, they fit.
Their home reflected that balance — practical yet warm. A wooden table scarred by a thousand meals. Walls lined with maps, old blades, and a few curious trinkets that faintly hummed with residual mana. I could feel it whenever Elara passed them — soft pulses of energy, like heartbeats in the air.
Magic, I realized, wasn't just a tool here. It was alive.
Sometimes, I'd catch them talking late at night — whispers through the thin walls. I couldn't understand every word, but fragments stood out.
"...since the last raid, the roads haven't been safe...""...I'll train again when Auren's older...""...maybe he'll grow up with your gift..."
That last one always made my mother laugh softly. "Let's just hope he doesn't burn the house down first."
Too late.
I may or may not have reignited my "tiny campfire spell" one night just to see if I could control it better. The result? A faint scorch mark on my blanket, a very confused Galen sniffing for smoke, and me pretending to sleep with the innocence of a saint.
So yes — progress, of a sort.
By now, I was starting to pick up on their language more clearly. Human tongues were so… clumsy compared to divine speech, but endearing in their own way. Each word carried emotion. When Elara said "my love," it sounded like warmth itself. When Galen said "danger," it echoed with a protective weight that made my chest tighten.
I wanted to speak. Desperately. Not just coo or babble — speak.
So I practiced. In silence. In my head."Mama.""Dada."Simple syllables, the building blocks of connection.
One morning, as sunlight spilled through the shutters and my father strapped on his worn leather armor, I decided to try.
"Da…" I croaked.
Both of them froze.
Elara's eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth. "Galen… did he just—?"
"Say it again, son!" Galen leaned over the crib, eyes sparkling like a child's.
I blinked up at him, took a deep breath, and summoned all the divine authority I could muster into my baby lungs.
"...Da!"
The explosion of joy that followed could've woken the dead.
"That's my boy!" Galen roared, scooping me up and spinning me around until my vision blurred. Elara laughed, tears in her eyes, clapping her hands in delight.
I was dizzy, embarrassed, and oddly proud.So this was what mortals called happiness — messy, loud, and completely illogical.
That night, as they tucked me into my cradle, I caught Elara whispering softly to Galen.
"He's growing fast," she said. "Too fast, maybe."
Galen kissed her forehead. "Then we'll just enjoy every moment."
I closed my eyes, listening to their voices blend with the crackling hearth. The air was thick with mana, the scent of woodsmoke and herbs soothing me to sleep.
I'd learned their names, their voices, their laughter.And maybe — just maybe — I was beginning to learn what it meant to be human.