Elvira stirred beneath the sheets, blinking away sleep as she rubbed her eyes. A mother's instinct pulled her gaze toward the crib—and her breath caught.
Empty.
Panic gripped her chest for a moment until she heard it—a faint, steady breathing. She turned her head, and there he was. Belial, her baby boy, curled up at the edge of the bed like a content little fox.
Relief flooded her face, quickly followed by confusion.
"How did you get up here?" she whispered, eyes wide as she stared at him in disbelief.
Belial, caught red-handed—or rather, red-footed—opened one eye slowly. Their gazes met.
Shit. I was supposed to sneak back in before she woke up...
He held his breath. Maybe if he stayed still, she'd lie back down and think it was a dream. But just then, his traitorous stomach let out a long, loud gurgle.
Elvira chuckled softly. "Well, that answers that," she said with a knowing smile. "Feeding time it is."
She reached down and scooped him into her arms. He was just starting to relax when he heard the words that sent dread creeping into his soul.
"But first… let's get that diaper changed."
No... Not the diaper.
His eyes shot open fully. Unhand me, woman! I demand my dignity!
She laid him down and began the ritual. He squirmed, kicked, twisted—every inch of his tiny body resisting her attempts.
"Come on, Bell," she giggled, holding his legs steady. "This will only take a minute."
That's what they always say before robbing you of your honor, he thought grimly.
With one last dramatic sigh, he surrendered, limbs going limp.
There goes my pride, he thought as the fresh diaper came down with finality.
Belial stared up at the ceiling, expression blank, soul bruised.
This world has magic, dragons, and ancient legacies… yet nothing prepared me for the humiliation of diaper duty.
Elvira finished the change with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior and fastened the clean diaper with a proud little hum. "See? All done. Was that so bad?"
He didn't answer. Not that he could. But the silence was pointed.
She scooped him up again and rested him against her shoulder, patting his back gently as she walked toward the kitchen.
Belial, still recovering from the indignity, allowed himself to nestle against her. Her warmth was comforting, and despite himself, his tiny fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.
"You're so dramatic this morning," Elvira said with a chuckle, brushing her hand through his soft white hair. "What were you even trying to do, little sneak?"
Learn magic. Escape. Discover the ancient secrets of this world. He wanted to say. But alas, fate had other plans—and they involved baby wipes.
She settled down into a wooden chair by the hearth and began nursing him. Hunger quickly silenced any remaining thoughts of rebellion, and he drank greedily.
Elvira watched him with a tender smile, her eyes soft and distant, as if remembering something from long ago.
"You're going to be a handful when you grow up," she whispered.
If I survive until then with my pride intact, Belial thought, closing his eyes. And maybe a little of my dignity.
But as warmth filled his belly
"There you go," Elvira said as she gently placed Belial on the sofa, adjusting the pillows around him. "And sit still, you little troublemaker," she added in a mock-scolding tone, though her voice held nothing but affection.
Belial stared up at her, feigning innocence, but the glint in his red eyes said otherwise.
She stood, gathering a small bundle of laundry into her arms. "Back in a minute," she mumbled, walking toward the back door. He followed her with his eyes, watching as the old wooden door creaked open, letting in a breeze and the soft glow of morning light.
The moment she stepped outside and the door shut behind her, Belial sat up like a soldier answering a silent call to duty.
He rolled onto his belly, his tiny legs pushing him forward across the couch until—plop—he landed softly on the rug.
"Ahhh—cold!" he hissed, flinching as his bare skin met the chilly floor. But he endured it. For knowledge, for power, for dignity lost to diapers.
He scanned the room. His target was just ahead—beneath the low wooden table, where Elvira kept a stack of worn books. He reached out, stretching his small arms with all his might. His fingers brushed the corner of a leather-bound tome.
With a final push, he grabbed it and dragged it toward himself.
The cover creaked open.
The pages were old, ink faded with time, but the words still pulsed faintly—as if the magic within them was alive. Symbols lined the edge of the parchment, and a diagram of the human body glowed in delicate golden lines.
"To awaken the mana veins," the text read, "one must enter the Breath of Stillness."
Belial blinked, focused, his mind sharpening despite his infant body.
"Sit in silence. Let your thoughts still. Breathe—not as the body does, but as the soul does. Feel the pulse beneath your ribs. That is where it lies. The first gate. The Heart Vein."
A faint warmth sparked in his chest, right where the book described.
"Focus there. Visualize a thread. A string of light, coiled and waiting. With each breath, let it unwind. Let it flow."
Belial closed his eyes, trying to mimic the instructions. His breathing slowed. The world dulled. Even the cold beneath him seemed to fade.
For a brief moment… he felt it.
A flicker. A spark. Like a sleeping serpent stretching in his core.
But just as the warmth spread slightly through his chest—
"Belial?"
The back door creaked open again.
His eyes snapped open.
Damn it! Not again!
The back door squealed open on its old hinges, a familiar sound that cut through the stillness.
"There's not enough time," Elvira muttered, stepping inside, breath short, arms full of laundry. Her eyes swept the room—and landed on the sight she'd already grown too used to.
Belial. On the floor. Again.
She exhaled, setting the laundry aside with a dramatic sigh. "What again?" she asked, her voice not angry but tired, soft with fond disbelief.
Crossing the room, she bent down and scooped him up. "One of these days, you're going to roll right into trouble," she said, placing him gently back onto the sofa. "Stay here this time."
If only you knew, Belial thought as he sulked quietly.
He looked toward the book just a few feet away under the table. It called to him—not just as a curiosity, but like a whisper in the back of his soul.
I want to learn it. That book… it's important.
He clenched his tiny fists. Then, the idea hit him. The classic move. A time-honored strategy passed down from infant to infant.
He started crying.
Not the full-on wail—just the soft, pitiful kind. The kind that pierced the hearts of caretakers like a dagger of guilt.
Elvira turned, concerned. "What now?" she said, walking back over.
Belial sniffled and pointed one finger dramatically toward the table.
She followed his gaze—then chuckled, eyes lighting up. "Oh, so this is what you wanted?"
He blinked innocently, letting out a single, pathetic hiccup for good measure.
Elvira burst into laughter. "You manipulative little bean," she said, picking up the book and opening it as she placed it beside him on the sofa. "Alright, here. But stay still, please. I don't want you toppling over like last time."
With that, she walked toward her bedroom to fetch the rest of the clothes.
He heard the creak of her wardrobe door, then her voice: "Oh no—forgot this dress in the corner—oops-a-daisy!"
Oops-a-daisy? Belial blinked. Even in this world, adults say the weirdest things.
The bedroom door clicked closed.
He turned back to the book, heart pounding with anticipation.
This time he opened it carefully, reverently, his small hands brushing the ancient pages. The runes shimmered faintly, more vibrant now—as if they recognized him.
The next passage called to him, not with sound, but with a sensation. Words faded into symbols, then into understanding.
"Breathe through the soul. Find the current beneath your breath—not air, but energy. Let it flow through your spine. Trace the thread behind your heart."
He sat still.
Inhale. Exhale.
Then deeper. Slower.
The room blurred at the edges. All that existed was the page before him and the fire warming his chest.
And then—it happened.
A soft warmth bloomed beneath his ribs. Not burning. Not bright.
But alive.
A current.
He opened his eyes slowly, and for a moment—just a heartbeat—his irises shimmered with faint golden light.
The mana was beginning to answer.