"There are others?!" I try to shout as I jolt awake, but what comes out is an incomprehensible mumble. The images of a conversation with my father—one I don't remember having—linger in my mind, painting a vivid picture. This world isn't something I fully understand, which is a strangely pleasant realization. It's exactly what I need. Now I can seriously question whether this world is just a simulation.
Either the world has become conscious of my connection to its creator, or what my father said is true. One of those possibilities is infinitely more intriguing than the other. And since I have no way to prove which is true, I choose to believe in the more interesting one.
This is so much more than just a simulation. An entire universe with its own set of physics! So much to explore. And this time, with jally gally mally magic! It's a brand new world. A brand new world for me to explore! I don't even have to feel guilty about staying here for a few hundred—hell, why not a few thousand—years. If I can pull out new opportunities from this world, the impact could be on par with advancing civilization, just like I've done before! I could become a double legend!
Ugh. But then again, do I really want to burden myself with more responsibilities? If I figure it out, I figure it out. No need to suffer from success.
"You okay, baby? Did Daddy hurt you?" Wait—I can feel what my mother is saying?
What the hell happened while I was sleeping? What did you do, hatted man? Like the dizzying sensation after spinning in place, I can still faintly sense the thoughts of those who speak to me. I need to salvage this before it fades completely! I must make them talk to me more!
"Aaa!" I shout demandingly. Mother looks shocked, her eyes darting to her bondmate, who stares at me with a hint of betrayal.
She leans in close and whispers, "What did he do?"
It's a strange sensation—my ears don't pick up her words, but my mind does. I focus on her voice, trying to feel the subtle differences in the emotion-like information that the forehead-gem relays to me. I try to distinguish the vibrations, to get a sense of what she's really trying to say.
"Baby?" she asks again. I concentrate on the nuances—the tone of her voice, the body language, the intent behind her eyes. Hmm. It's not exactly reading thoughts; it's more like reading intentions.
"Aab." I whisper back and stare daggers at dad while looking for his emotional responses. He shakes his head slowly as he sweats profusely. I'm sorry. It's for the greater good.
"You motherfu-" I can hear his voice in my head almost drop a F-bomb on his own daughter before he controls himself. I lift my finger judgingly. Guilty. The wind picks up. I can hear his thoughts, told by his body language and emotions and if I focus deeper on the emotions I can feel the ripples in his soul, the origin of emotions.
He fears: "Ohfuck! Pleasegod! Think! Thinkthinkthinkthinkthink. Icantrytojumpfromthewindow. Surelyherloveisstrongerthanherhate. OhbutshemayjustletmefallbecausethatsajustpunishmentIdeserve. Thatsherthoughts. Sheknows. Thereisnohope. Doomisapproaching. Isthisthepricefordoubtingmydaughter? Shemustbereadingthis! Hey, please, sorry, you must save me. She has a very severe lack of fear of consequences. That is why no one dared to get personally close to her before. I have the patience to not get mad at her but that's because I will die if she attacks me for real. Please."
Wow. He thinks fast. I barely caught a third of that. It was like he was thinking at three times speed. His eyes were darting around so much, he might actually be processing that quickly. I can feel a sensation from the forehead gem—it's similar to smelling, but not quite. It's as if I can almost taste the air around my father. The taste is bland, yet somehow pleasing and familiar.
Intrigued, I explore this new trait of my sense further. I pick up traces of another taste carried by the wind. It's smooth and... confident? This is some strange form of synesthesia, where the sensation of tasting or smelling seems to mix with emotions. I wonder what this sensation signifies.
A blurry flashback of my painful hatching comes to mind. I remember tasting or smelling something sweet when my wounds were healed. Following the "confident" taste in the winds, I trace it back to its source. It's coming from Mother, who stands at the center of a small tornado, her hair riding the wind. That's her magic. This taste must be the essence of magic!
"Mercy," I can sense my father's desperate whisper, his voice trembling as he stares, shell-shocked, at Mother, who places a single hand on his shoulder. Oh yeah, I got lost on a tangent again.
"Aa aab! Aab!" I make attention-grabbing noises, demanding your focus, dear Mother!
The winds calm slightly as she turns around to look at me. I point at Dad, smile, and stick out my tongue.
Got it?
I then turn to Dad to continue the unspoken communication. This is a good opportunity to better understand how this mind-reading thing works. As he speaks, I focus on his words, trying to grasp their deeper meaning.
"Our daughter has forgiven me! Right?" She looks at me. I show a thumbs up.
"So you did do something!" Mom turns back to father. The fire in her eyes unchanged.
Ooh, shit! I shrug as fathers eyes return to look at me. That's on you, man. You took the misstep.
"She… Our daughter forgave me for being a fool!" Father pleads. The man is going for an emotional approach, which works. Mother stops. Determination shines in fathers eyes. He found a hold.
"I admit. I wasn't sure that I could accept the being that I thought resided in our child's body. It made me feel conflicted, as you know." He says, carefully. The winds get violent as the words leave fathers mouth. Bangs ring out as the winds slam into the walls, floors, and ceilings of the room. I observe that she has left the furniture and decoration untouched. She has rage but not unreasonable rage. She still stands and listens.
"But without doubt she is only our daughter and nothing more, nothing less. And this… skill of hers is only to her benefit. I see that now, just like you always did!" He assures her. His body language is convincing and convincing. He is clearly a speaker. He knows how to get people to feel the emotions he wants and understand his point of view. He's the kind of speaker that you want to believe.
The winds bend and they push mother towards father. In less then a second she arrives before father and with a flap of her wings she stops her momentum. Her hands grab father into an embrace. I can see fathers relief on his face as he raises his hands to accept the embrace.
"Well spoken," Mother giggles. "But you are too judgmental," she adds.
"It is my job," Father sighs in relief.
I smile quietly in the background, just watching. Beyond them, I see the world tree and the city nestled around its roots. The slow rain of glowing green leaves falls gently, etching the scene into my memory. This is how it should be—beautiful.
Father and Mother begin to communicate as they embrace, but neither speaks, and no clear thoughts form. Instead, I sense an exchange of emotions flowing out of them like waves, expanding in every direction, like growing spheres. As the waves collide, they interact—changing speed, size, and direction with each encounter. When the waves get caught in patterns, pockets of emotional vibrations build up, becoming physical, gentle lights that interact with the surrounding waves. Just imagining the complexity of it all is difficult.
The complexity of this interaction makes reading thoughts seem simple by comparison. Thoughts are orderly and somewhat logical, but this—this is a chaotic mess. While I can sense the emotions, I can't begin to decipher the information being exchanged. Emotions carry deeper meanings, shaped by personal beliefs, and distinguishing them is far more difficult than interpreting thoughts translated into words.
We can read the "emotional state" of the brain, but is that the true essence of emotion? Or is it merely a reaction to an emotion that triggers the brain's state? Is the sensation of an emotion the effect or the cause of the brain's emotional state?
So, reading a discussion of emotions between two people is difficult. Incomprehensible to me right now.
The waves bounce and vibrate until they slowly come into balance. The pockets of emotional waves dissolve as all the waves align—same direction, size, and speed. In the end, only one emotion remains: love.
How sweet.
My parents turn as I giggle. They smile and approach me. As they come closer, I can feel my own emotions begin to vibrate. There's a noticeable difference between the emotions I sense through the forehead-gem and my own. The emotions of others feel more like thoughts—distant, almost abstract. But my own emotions, the ones I feel in my heart, body, and mind, are deeply personal.
So, it's a very strange sensation as that familiar interference starts to vibrate within me. My emotions react to my thoughts and vice versa, but now there's something else in the mix. As the emotions vibrate, so does my entire awareness. I begin to form abstract images and thoughts that can't be written or drawn. A calmness washes over me—a heartwarming sensation that makes seconds stretch out. Whatever this interference is doing, I like it.
My attention is fully in the moment. No thoughts, just pleasant sensations. It's so nice that I might just fall asleep.
I wake up to see a bearded child standing in front of me. He lowers his head, clearly offended. Right, these guys can read thoughts.
"Hello, I am daughter." I give a gentle bow, my gaze steady as I gesture toward the man. "And who are you?"
He just shakes his head at me and shouts, "She's at least half as offensive as you are, Vilkas!"
"Fuck you, MIDGET!" Mother's voice rings out from the middle of the room, somewhere behind the midget. The midget turns to look at me, his eyes cold. I can sense that he's debating whether to slap the child in front of him, weighing if he can handle the consequences. Mother now looms above him. Ahh, the midget fears. Now, now, don't look at Dad laughing. Yes, midget, here I am. Now that you understand the hierarchy, perhaps you can introduce yourself properly.
'Albert, it's a displeasure.'
Albert. I look him up and down. He's wearing a lab coat. A physicist, perhaps?
'I research the reality I live in, so yes, I do study physics as well.'
"Hah," I chuckle lowly, making Albert raise an eyebrow. Your name is a reference.
'Your memory is a reference.'
Fair enough. I still can't believe that the memories of the hatted old man could just be a fabrication.
'Yeah, disbelief is common with your kind. Was your world named Earth?'
Yes. Yes, it was.
"Aaah!" I scream. There are others from Earth?! Is it my Earth? Can I meet them? Albert laughs, a sound laced with frustration and a hint of anger.
'No, you cannot. There are none of them here. Barely anyone in the history books, either. And, well, your situation is not ideal.' His laugh turns bitter.
Father places a chair next to Albert and sits down, his bony face weighed down by a heavy expression.
Do you know where I could find another… Earth man, also known as human? Both Albert and Father raise their eyebrows.
No? I mean, I'm fine now, really. Pretty hungry, though—I didn't get to eat properly earlier. But what I really want to know is if I can meet those other residents of Earth. It could be crucial for understanding the nature of existence in this world. After all, in my memories, I was—if I may be so bold—a very successful scientist. I have a deep understanding of how that world worked, and I could use it as a comparison to learn more about the nature of this one!
'Hmm, that could be interesting…' Albert muses.
"Albert!" Father shouts, clearly shocked at how easily Albert sweeps the issue under the rug after I've shown such keen interest.
"Ah, right." Albert coughs, his voice rasping like that of a 15-year-old smoker. What does she even mean? Albert turns to look at Father, who gives him a pointed look. Reluctantly, Albert gets back on track.
'Argh, anyway. You are what we've come to call a "reincarnated person." Our inspectors discovered that you possess a unique skill called "The Wisdom of the Earth" and a title known as "The Incarnation of The First Server." From this, we can deduce that you have memories of your past life.'
Interesting. I lift my left hand to my chin. But I don't see how that's bad for me.
'Well, it isn't. Or it shouldn't be. But sadly, our people—the Dragon Folk—really, and I mean reeeally don't like anyone tarnishing their name.' Albert's thoughts are laced with anger and hate, and he throws his hands around to emphasize his point.
'The Dragon Folk lead very privileged lives as beings with natural, high magical talent and a special organ for perceiving reality in ways most other races can't—called the third eye.' Albert gestures toward the gem on his forehead. Yeah, I should have expected that.
'Not to mention, we are few in number, which makes us rare, and thanks to our natural abilities, highly valued. This creates a sense of respect from other species toward the Dragon Folk. To maintain our reputation as exceptional individuals, we have very strict rules. Of course, these rules are tailored to fit the typical personality of Dragon Folk, so following them usually isn't an issue. But what if there's a Dragon Folk whose personality doesn't fit the mould? So far, they've managed to restrict these abnormal individuals by limiting their freedom.' Albert raises his head and lifts his long beard, revealing a metal restraint around his neck, covered in runes arranged in a symmetric pattern.
'Still, in the end, even the strangest Dragon Folk is still one of us. Even the council won't go too far without a solid reason. And here—', he points at me, '—is a reason good enough for them.'
'A reincarnated person who received a title from the World simply by being born. An abnormality among abnormalities. Too unpredictable. Too heavy a coin for the carefully balanced scales the council has designed. They don't want to take the risk.' Albert pats Father on the back. Father takes a deep breath, and I can hear his words in my mind—deep and filled with sorrow.
'In another species, you would have been celebrated as a savior. A world-changing hero. But here, among our people, you are branded and hated. The council has decided to make sure you won't become an issue. They have decided to execute you.' Father looks at me, anger and helplessness burning in his eyes.