The world was a soft blur, a muted painting of shadow and light. Outside the small cabin, snow whispered silently against the windows, settling in delicate layers on the cold earth. Inside, warmth hummed from a flickering hearth, but the air was still tinged with a sharp bite of winter's breath.
He lay swaddled in thick, woolen blankets, his tiny body curled tightly like a fragile seed tucked deep in the frozen soil. His eyes, barely open, caught faint flickers of pale blue and silver light, like shards of ice catching the sun.
Though his body was small and helpless, his mind felt vast and alive. Memories of another life fluttered just beneath the surface — a life where he was not this fragile infant but a loner who had read every page of the Percy Jackson saga, who had watched the heroes face gods and monsters and survive. That knowledge, though locked inside his baby mind, was a secret fire burning in the darkness.
His first breaths were shallow, uneven. The cold air made his lungs ache, unfamiliar and harsh against the warmth of his mother's embrace. But there was comfort too — a pulse beneath his cheek, steady and strong, the rhythm of life itself.
His mother's voice was a soft murmur, barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
"Khione's son," she whispered, "born under the first snow."
The words felt like a blessing and a weight all at once. Somewhere deep inside, a quiet frost began to spread — not a cold that numbed, but one that sharpened, awakened.
He tried to move, to stretch his tiny fingers and toes, but the effort was clumsy, a slow awakening of muscles not yet trained. His limbs flailed in tiny arcs, touching the soft fabric around him, feeling the coarse texture of the wool, the smoothness of the wooden cradle beneath.
Then, faint and strange, the shimmer appeared again — a translucent glow overlaying his vision, like a window into a world no one else could see. Words and numbers flickered, half-formed and mysterious, waiting to be understood.
Stats. Skills. Level: 1.
The baby blinked, an unconscious movement, but in his mind, a small spark of understanding sparked. This was his power — the Gamer system, the secret gift that separated him from ordinary demigods.
He was not just the son of Khione; he was something more.
The first days passed in a haze of sounds and sensations. His mother's hands were gentle but firm, guiding him through each fragile movement. Her voice sang songs of frost and wind, ancient and beautiful, stories told before the mountains themselves had risen.
Though he could not speak, his mind roamed freely, observing everything with the clarity of an adult trapped in a child's body. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, each one a monster or a hero from the tales he knew so well.
He felt the subtle changes in his own body: a warmth in his chest when he cried, a cooling tingle on his skin when he closed his eyes and imagined snowflakes drifting down. He was learning already — even without understanding how.
His intellect buzzed, questions spinning like the winter storm outside. What did it mean to be Khione's child? What dangers lurked beyond the cabin walls? How could he protect himself when even a breeze made his tiny body shiver?
And most of all, what was this strange glowing interface? How could he make it work?
One evening, as the sky outside deepened into a velvet black, the glow appeared stronger. This time, words formed clearly.
"Welcome, Frostborn. Level 1. Skills unlocked: Cry, Grip, Perception."
A strange calm settled over him. He could feel the system working, a steady heartbeat beneath his skin. It was like a game he had played in another life — a world of quests, powers, and progression.
But this was no game. This was reality, raw and unforgiving.
The snow outside began to fall heavier, thick flakes swirling against the window. His mother wrapped him tighter, her touch soothing and sure.
"Rest now," she whispered. "The world is cold, but you are stronger than you know."
The hours stretched long, and the baby drifted between moments of sleep and sharp awareness. Each twitch of his fingers, each flutter of his lashes, was a step into this new life. His senses grew keener; the faintest sounds—the crackle of the fire, the rustle of fabric, the soft sigh of the wind—were etched deeply into his memory.
He was a newborn, yes, but with the mind of a strategist. Every feeling, every sensation, was a clue.
What would tomorrow bring?
Attributes
Strength: 2 (newborn baby)
Dexterity: 1 (uncoordinated infant)
Constitution: 3
Intelligence: 6 (Adult trapped in baby body)
Wisdom: 4 (Overwhelmed but aware)
Charisma: 1
Luck: 6 (+1)
As the night deepened, the frost on the windows thickened, and the world outside lay silent under its winter blanket.
Inside, beneath the blankets and the fire's glow, a demigod stirred. Slowly, carefully, he began to learn what it meant to be Frostborn.