My name was Nick Vale.At least, that's who I used to be.
Now I was a baby—barely a month old—and I didn't even know what name I carried in this new life. I lay inside a worn wooden crib lined with surprisingly clean pillows. Despite the rundown state of the house, someone had taken the time to give me comfort. I appreciated that more than I expected.
The room was dark, lit only by a single window that leaked in soft daylight. From my position, I could only see the trunk of a tree outside—nothing more. Voices drifted in from the street, the sound of children laughing and running past the house. Life went on around me, oblivious to the reborn soul trapped in an infant body.
Shock still clung to me like a second skin. I was thirty years old—mentally, anyway. A gaming addict, a shut-in, a man who died choking on an energy drink and panic. And now here I was, trapped in a body too weak to do anything but wiggle.
I tried to sit up to see more of the room, but my body refused. My mind screamed commands; my limbs refused every one of them.
All I can see is the ceiling and that damn window. Two hours and still no one's come for me. I'm a goddamn baby—someone at least pick me up, I grumbled internally.
I tried to shout my thoughts, to call out for help or attention, but the only sound that came out was a pitiful infant cry.
Footsteps approached.
The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside—a mature woman wearing an old dress and a faded checkered apron. Her face was lined with exhaustion yet softened by concern. She rushed to the crib and leaned over me.
She was beautiful, despite the hardship etched into her features. And somehow… familiar. Not from memory, but from a warm, instinctive feeling I couldn't explain. My crying stopped immediately as I stared up at her.
She smiled gently.
"What's the problem, Nick? Are you hungry? Is something hurting you?"
Nick.
She said Nick.
My mind froze. That was my name in my past life. And now, apparently, in this world too. Was this coincidence, destiny, or the winged woman's idea of a joke?
Before I could think too deeply, she lifted me and—without hesitation—brought me to her chest. My new mother breastfed me with practiced tenderness.
For a man who spent his thirties single, with only one high school girlfriend to speak of, the situation was… complicated. Embarrassing. Strange. Yet my infant body demanded nourishment, overpowering my awkward adult mind. Instinct won.
Fifteen minutes later, warm and full, I was hoisted upright as she gently tapped my back until a small, humiliating burp escaped me. She smiled, satisfied, and laid me back in the crib.
Then her expression shifted.
She looked at me with a sorrow heavy enough to fill the room. Holding my tiny fingers in her rough, trembling hand, she began to speak—soft at first, then breaking.
"Dear Nick… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought you into this world like this. We're poor—commoners of the lowest class. We don't even have a surname. Life will be hard for you. You'll see other children with things we can't give you. You'll be judged, mocked, punished just for being born poor."
Tears fell silently onto my blanket.
"But your father and I… we're still grateful. We're happy you're our son. I promise I'll do everything I can to give you at least a comfortable life as you grow up."
Her quiet tears turned into shaking sobs. She leaned down, kissed my forehead, and with the reluctance of a woman carrying far too many burdens, left the room.
Silence settled again.
So we're that poor… I thought. Poor enough to be ridiculed, persecuted, maybe even ignored by the records because we're not worth taxing.
My mother's worry made sense. A new baby in a house with no money and no status—she must be drowning in fear.
Don't worry, Mom, I promised silently. I'll change everything. I have modern knowledge, a second life, and no family waiting for me back in the old world. I'll give you and Dad the comfortable life you deserve—even if I have to claw my way up from nothing.
As I stared at the ceiling, exhaustion washed over my tiny body.
Sleep claimed me moments later.