Consciousness returned not as a shock, but as a slow, suffocating rise through layers of thick syrup. My thoughts were muffled, my senses blurred and overwhelmed. I became aware of a profound smallness. A terrifying lack of control. I was encased in something soft, my limbs heavy and uncoordinated.
I woke up in a baby form.
The realization was a cold splash of clarity in the mental fog. It wasn't a thought formed in words, but a pure, instinctual knowing. This tiny, weak vessel, with its pounding, rapid heartbeat and desperate need for air… this was me.
Is this… me?
I tried to move an arm. It flopped uselessly against my side, a soft, padded thing. A wave of sheer, claustrophobic panic threatened to swallow me. Huh?.... The confusion was absolute.
My body betrayed me. A sharp, involuntary spasm in my diaphragm. My new, untested lungs seized and expelled air through a tiny throat and mouth I didn't know how to use.
Uwahhh!
The sound was a weak, reedy cry. It was mine. I did it again, helpless against the biological imperative. Uwahh! The cries were pathetic. The sound of absolute vulnerability.
Fighting the panic, I forced myself to look. I managed to turn my head slightly, to look down the length of the soft, embroidered blanket I was swaddled in. I saw them: tiny, pudgy hands, fingers curled into loose fists, the skin pink and pristine. I could wiggle the fingers. They responded, but with a lag, like operating a clumsy robotic arm via a faulty signal.
A shadow fell over me.
Before I could process it, large hands slid beneath me. They were impossibly strong, yet their grip was precise, almost delicate. They lifted me from the cushioned surface as if I weighed nothing. The world tilted, a dizzying swoop of color and light.
I was cradled against a broad, firm chest, draped in fabric that felt like liquid metal—cool and smooth. My blurry infant vision swam, then slowly began to focus as I was held up to face the one who held me.
A man. He had hair the color of spun gold, so bright and perfect it seemed to generate its own light, swept back from a high, intelligent forehead. His features were sharp, aristocratic, breathtakingly handsome. He was looking down at me with an expression that should have been warmth. A smile touched his lips.
But it stopped at his mouth. It did not reach his eyes.
His eyes were the same pale gold as his hair, like chips of frozen, polished citrine. They held no paternal softness, no wonder, no joy at new life. They were analytical. Assessing. They scanned my face with a detached, unnerving focus, as if checking the specifications of a newly delivered tool.
I look into his eyes. He smiles… eerily still.
A chill, deeper and more fundamental than any physical cold, seeped into my tiny core. My infant heart, already beating fast, gave a frightened flutter. Huh… I instinctively closed my eyes, a weak defense against that gaze.
That was not a smile… that was something so dark it made goosebumps, even though I was a baby… The impression was primal, pre-verbal. It was the smile of a chess master who has seen his opponent's opening move and already knows every path to checkmate. It was a smile of absolute, quiet ownership.
What the …. Is this man my father? Why is he smiling like that??! The questions screamed silently in my skull. Where the-... Am I?
He spoke. His voice was a deep, resonant baritone, melodic yet devoid of true melody. The words were a flowing, alien stream of sound, utterly incomprehensible. They held a rhythmic, almost ceremonial cadence.
"Kullim gitat lem… Vreth'an…"
The sounds meant nothing. They were strange, guttural in places, sibilant in others. Not a single syllable correlated with any language I'd ever heard—not Japanese, not English, nothing. A fresh wave of terror joined the cold. I was not just physically helpless. I was linguistically deaf and mute.
What is that language?? I don't understand a single word or syllable of it…
He smiled again, and this time it shifted. The eerie stillness melted into something softer, more conventionally paternal. It was a masterful performance. But having seen the truth behind it moments before, this new smile was even more horrifying. It was a mask, and he had chosen to put it on.
The door to the room—a grand archway of pale, polished wood—opened, and others entered. Three more adults, two men and a woman, all with the same magnificent golden hair, all dressed in clothes of breathtaking elegance and subtle, intimidating opulence. They gathered around, looking down at me with polite, distant curiosity. They spoke to the man holding me, their language that same beautiful, incomprehensible music.
That… man… will he kill me? The thought was cold and clear. Oh… so this is EXTREME NIGHTMARE… I have just woken up… and I had to see that sight… This wasn't a world of monsters and fire. The horror was subtler. It was being utterly powerless in the hands of a person whose intentions were a complete mystery, whose very affection was a pantomime. The difficulty wasn't the environment; it was the people in it. I have to be wary of him.
With a final, murmured word to the others, the golden-haired man—my supposed father—leaned down and placed me back into a small, ornate crib carved from what looked like white wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. His movements were flawless. Not a single jostle.
As the golden-haired people conversed in low, musical tones above me, I forced my racing mind to stall and instead took in my surroundings. The panic was a luxury I couldn't afford. Information was my only weapon.
My eyes look around. It was a superb luxurious room.
It was beyond any luxury I'd ever conceived. The scale was vast, the ceiling vaulted and painted with a breathtaking fresco of a celestial battle. The walls were paneled in the same pale, luminous wood, hung with tapestries that seemed to shimmer with threaded gold and silver. The furniture was sparse but monumental—a writing desk, a few chairs, a large wardrobe—each piece a work of art. The air smelled faintly of polished stone, rare wood, and a delicate, floral fragrance. The design of the room was so beautiful I couldn't take my eyes off it… It was a gilded cage of unimaginable wealth.
Soon the golden-haired people leave one by one. The woman gave me one last, unreadable glance before following the men out. The door closed with a soft, definitive click.
I was left alone with a maid. She was a young woman with ordinary brown hair tied back neatly, dressed in a simple, clean grey dress. She did not have the otherworldly beauty or presence of the golden ones. She looked… human. She stood silently by the crib, her hands folded, her eyes lowered.
I breathe a sigh of relief when that man- my father leaves the room. The oppressive, scrutinizing pressure lifted slightly. Let's calm down… Ah… I am already calm. A strange detachment was settling over me. The initial shock was metabolizing into a cold, focused survival instinct. I can't speak for now. Well that's expected…
Then, a new and deeply humiliating sensation. A warm, pressing discomfort in my lower half. A biological process, entirely beyond my control, initiated.
Ah… shit.. I pooped. A wave of sheer, absurd frustration washed over me. Here I was, grappling with existential terror and cosmic transference, and my new body had the audacity to require a diaper change. The indignity of it was almost funny.
The maid, alerted by some cue I hadn't noticed, stepped forward. Her expression was neutral, efficient. She didn't coo or speak. She simply went about her task with a quiet, practiced competence. As she cleaned me, I was grateful for her silence and her lack of disturbing, false smiles.
Lifted in her capable hands, I had a clearer view through the large, arched window. She turned slightly, and I saw it.
Oh… my … god…. Amazing…
The view was not of a garden or a city street, but of a landscape that defied my old world's physics. We were high up, in a tower perhaps. Below and beyond sprawled a complex of structures so elegant they seemed grown rather than built—spires of pearlescent stone that twisted like unicorn horns, bridges of crystalline lattice connecting them, all set against a forest of trees with silver-blue leaves. In the distance, twin moons hung in a lavender-tinged sky, one large and pale cream, the other smaller and a dusky rose. I have not seen something as beautiful as this… It was a vista from the most ambitious fantasy game I'd ever designed. And I was inside it.
Slowly she put me in the crib… My mind, starved for data, began making connections. Golden hair… This magnificent building… Maids… that man… The evidence assembled into a likely, terrifying conclusion. It seems like my revival has been put into a noble family.
A spark of desperate, irrational hope ignited. Yes.! Yes!!! Yes!!! Even though it's an 'extreme nightmare' difficulty. I have my noble power… At least something worked… Resources. Safety. Status. These were tools. Maybe I could use them.
But the memory of that first smile snuffed the spark. But that man had a lunatic smile… it still creeps me out… The foundation of this new life was rotten. My primary guardian was my greatest apparent threat.
What is this world… it just looks… like my soul has been transferred… I had no context. No history. No future knowledge. But I need to be super careful. Because I am not a reincarnator nor a regressor , I need to be prepared and perfect because I don't know anything about this world, not its past nor its future nor its people, absolutely nothing about it…
The game interface from the white chamber was gone. I can't speak. So saying 'status bar' is useless… What happened to the status bar at the start… Perhaps it was a one-time administration menu. Now, I was in the game itself, with no HUD, no tutorial.
Now in this form I can't do anything, for now. But the most important thing is information gathering. My eyes and ears were my only sensors. I had to observe everything. The routines, the language tones, the interactions between the golden-haired ones and the maids. I had to find patterns, learn the language from scratch, understand the rules of this gilded nightmare.
And I can't do anything for now because I'm just born..
The maid finished her duties and resumed her silent post by the door. Left alone with my thoughts in the magnificent, silent room, the exhaustion of the traumatic birth, the psychic shock, and the sheer mental effort of assessment crashed down on my infant physiology.
I stay in a position for hours. Ahhh! This is so boring! The frustration was immense, trapped in a body that demanded sleep, that couldn't even roll over. My eyes grew heavy, the beautiful, terrifying room blurring at the edges.
My eyes become heavy as I doze off to sleep… The last thought before oblivion claimed me was a vow, made not with words, but with the core of my being: I would learn. I would watch. And I would understand the rules of this Extreme Nightmare, before it consumed me.