"It's a boy!"
A loud voice pierced through the dense fog of darkness.
Modret's mind was murky, his thoughts crawling sluggishly as his senses adjusted. The world around him felt distant, muffled, and surreal.
Yet, he understood the words.
'Why can I understand them?' he wondered in confusion.
'Why am I so small?'
His thoughts stirred slowly as he glanced around with difficulty, only to realize that the people surrounding him looked like towering giants.
His body was weak, his limbs unable to move freely. His vision wavered like ripples on water as he was gently passed into someone's arms.
The woman holding him looked pale, her forehead slick with sweat. Her breathing was faint, but her expression radiated relief. Despite her exhaustion, her lips curled into a tender smile.
She looked down at him, her voice soft and soothing as she whispered, "My boy…"
The sound carried warmth so gentle that it washed over Modret's senses like a lullaby.
His mind froze for a moment. He stared at the woman blankly, his eyes clouded in a daze.
She was beautiful, too beautiful. Her presence struck him like lightning.
Her hair was a delicate shade of pale blue, flowing down like silken threads. Her eyes were the same color, crystalline and ethereal, like frozen lakes under moonlight.
Her facial features were flawlessly sculpted, and a thin strand of her hair drifted downward, coming close enough to brush against Modret's tiny hand.
She smelled like blooming peach blossoms on a spring morning.
'Is this my mother?' he thought in awe.
The warmth of her arms cradled him as she began to sway gently, humming a soft tune. Her voice was airy and melodic, filled with joy and motherly affection.
Around them, the maids stood in silent formation along the marble walls of the chamber. Clad in pristine white gowns lined with gold thread, they resembled priestesses rather than servants.
Their eyes remained downcast in respect, trained to avoid witnessing private moments between royalty. Their hair was neatly coiled in traditional spirals, secured with crystalline pins that reflected the dim lighting of the chamber.
The caretakers were older women with gentle hands and auras that radiated decades of experience. They carried cloths, herbs, and incense trays, prepared for every need of the royal mother and child. Each movement they made was calculated and fluid, the result of years of service within the Axarel palace.
They smelled faintly of chamomile and sandalwood, and though their expressions remained professional, they stole the occasional glance at the newborn with curiosity and awe.
Then, the door suddenly flung open. A gust of wind swept through the room, and a tall, muscular figure stepped inside.
Modret, who had been lulled to the edge of sleep, was startled awake. His wide eyes turned curiously toward the door, watching the man approach.
"Wife…" the man said in a low voice as he walked toward the bed.
He had a commanding presence, with a heavily built frame and battle scars etched across his arms and face. His crew-cut hair was black, and his eyes were dark brown, deep and piercing.
Donald was a mountain of a man—tall, broad, and hardened by countless battles.
His muscles rippled beneath a half-open leather vest etched with faded sigils, and numerous scars ran across his body, each a silent testimony of past wars. One scar ran diagonally from his temple to his cheekbone, yet rather than marring his face, it gave him the air of a seasoned warrior.
His skin was sun-kissed, roughened by years in the harsh elements, and his dark brown eyes carried a quiet intensity that demanded attention. His hair was cropped close to his skull, giving him a disciplined, military appearance.
Reaching out, he pinched Modret's cheeks roughly, the calluses on his hand scraping against the baby's skin like sanded wood.
"You'll damage his skin!" Anna, Modret's mother, scolded sharply and slapped his hand away.
The man let out a low chuckle and withdrew his hand. "Have you named him yet?" he asked.
Anna shook her head slowly. "I was waiting for you… but I've thought of something."
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Modret," she said.
"Modret?" the man repeated, his deep voice echoing slightly in the room.
"Yes. What do you think?" Anna looked into his eyes, waiting for his approval.
He paused for a moment, considering the name, before nodding in agreement.
"Modret Axarel," he declared with a satisfied tone. "Welcome to the Axarel Royal Family."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
At that moment, Modret raised his tiny hand, hovering it above his parents as though trying to reach for them, trying to understand the unfamiliar warmth surrounding him.
'It seems this name is fated to me in both lifetimes.'
[Yes, I think so too. Truly amusing.]
'Huh?'
Modret's mind jolted. A voice had echoed inside his head.
'How am I hearing things? Is someone there?'
He glanced toward the maids in the corner, but none of them appeared to have spoken. Their mouths remained still.
'Besides, for someone to respond to me, they'd have to be able to hear my thoughts…'
[Smart. That's right. I can perfectly read your thoughts.]
'Who are you? And how can you read my thoughts?'
As if in response, a figure floated gently into view.
A fairy.
That was the only word Modret could use to describe her.
She was barely the size of a clenched fist; the fairy floated effortlessly through the air, trailing wisps of starlight behind her like a comet's tail. Her wings resembled those of a dragonfly but were translucent and ever-shifting, like mirrored glass under moonlight.
Her body emitted a soft blue glow, gentle enough not to disturb, yet bright enough to draw all attention. Her eyes were twin stars—crystal blue, intelligent, and filled with mischief. Her hair was a cascade of luminous silver-blue strands, drifting freely as if suspended in water.
She wore no gown, but her body was wrapped in soft layers of radiant mist, constantly shifting, concealing just enough to leave her form untouched by immodesty.
Her voice echoed directly into Modret's mind. It was musical, a perfect blend of youth, allure, and artificial intelligence. She radiated confidence, curiosity, and an almost cheeky sense of familiarity, as though she had known Modret long before he was born.
'You… who are you?' he asked, his voice still trapped in thought.
The fairy flew closer and landed lightly on his nose, making him feel a ticklish sensation that made him blink.
[I am the Cosmic Shadow System.]
His eyes widened. His mother noticed his sudden expression and reached to gently touch his face.
Her fingers brushed through the fairy's glowing form as though she wasn't there, her hand continuing to rest softly on Modret's nose.
He felt the warm contact, but his focus was elsewhere.
'The Cosmic Shadow System… one of the seven treasures I received from Noctis, that damned trickster.'
He narrowed his eyes at the fairy.
'Aren't you supposed to appear as a panel or something? Why do you have a physical form?'
[This is the virtual representation of the system, designed based on the host's subconscious preferences for the type of lady he would find appealing.]
A strange look appeared on Modret's face. Surely, the system wasn't going to expose his lonely thoughts from a past life.
[There's nothing to be ashamed of, host. It's only natural that you—]
'Stop!' he interrupted immediately, aware of where the conversation was heading.
'So you're really the system. How do I view my stats? Does the system support that?'
[Yes. Just say the word "stats" in your thoughts.]
Modret mentally nodded and whispered within, Stats.
Immediately, glowing text appeared before him, translucent and hovering in the air.
[Host: Modret Axarel]
[Status: Injured. While unborn, you were poisoned to death. Though you managed to survive, you have been crippled and are currently unable to awaken an ability.]
His eyes froze on the second sentence.
'What???' he tried to scream, but only gurgling sounds left his lips.
Anna, misinterpreting his reaction, gently lowered her dress and brought him closer to nurse.
Warm liquid trickled into his mouth.
Yet Modret couldn't focus on the sensation or the taste.
'Noctis, you damn bastard… This is your doing. Throwing me straight into Abyssal Sage-level difficulty… this is death!'