The world grows a little larger each day.
At first, my universe was only warmth, arms, and lullabies. Now it includes the faint glow of morning sunlight slipping between window shutters, the rhythmic chop of firewood outside, and the mingling scents of herbs, stew, and smoke.
I'm no longer just lying in a cradle all day. My neck holds steady most of the time. My hands no longer behave like confused sea creatures. And when my parents talk, I recognize more than just their voices—I recognize the tones behind their words.
Their laughter.
Their worry.
Their love.
And slowly… the world beyond our walls begins to reveal itself too.
One chilly morning, sunlight stretches across the floor in long, pale beams. My mother wraps me in a thicker blanket than usual, humming softly as she tucks it around my body.
"It's colder today," she murmurs. "Got to keep you warm."
Outside, the wind whistles faintly—just enough to make the window shutters clack.
There's a knock at the door.
My father stiffens instinctively, hand drifting toward the small hunting knife on the table. But the tension melts away when a familiar voice calls through the wood.
"It's me, Vereen! Open up!"
My mother brightens. "Ah, that's Lira."
She moves to the door while still holding me, opening it to reveal a woman bundled in a wool cloak. Snow clings to her boots, and her cheeks flush from the cold. Her hair—dark and braided—falls over her shoulder.
Lira steps inside, immediately leaning toward me with an excited grin.
"There he is," she coos. "The village miracle."
My mother laughs lightly. "He's no miracle, just fast-growing."
Lira shakes her head. "You don't lie well. Look at him—he's only months old but his eyes are sharp as a hawk's."
Sharp.
If only she knew.
Lira reaches a finger toward me. I move mine, brushing the tip.
She gasps. "See?! He reached for me! He's attentive!"
My mother beams with pride.
My father, who has been quietly sharpening a spear near the fire, glances over with a smile. "He likes people," he says. "Always watching."
"That's a good trait," Lira replies. "He'll grow into a smart young man. Spirits willing, he'll be someone great."
My mother flushes slightly. "Let's hope he grows safely first."
The two women share a soft laugh, then begin speaking about the village—words meant for adult ears, but spoken in the presence of a very attentive infant.
"The Guild has called for more volunteer guards," Lira says, unfastening her cloak. "They said the tremors are becoming frequent in the deeper woods."
My father pauses in mid-scrape of the spearhead. "How frequent?"
"Four nights in a row."
My mother's brows knit with concern. "That's… unusual."
"Unusual and worrying," Lira agrees. "The elder thinks something is moving deeper inside."
My father resumes sharpening, jaw set. "I'll join the next patrol."
My mother immediately tenses. "Vereen—"
"It's necessary," he says gently. "We have to know what's happening."
Lira sighs, looking toward the window. "Let's pray it's nothing serious."
The tension in the room lingers even after the conversation shifts to lighter topics—harvest trades, winter preparations, the neighbor's runaway goat.
As Lira lifts me gently to rub my cheek with her finger, the chatter fades behind a familiar whisper in my mind.
Status.
————————————
STATUS
————————————
Name: Lucifer
Energy: 8
— Measures vitality and stamina
Strength: 4
— Measures physical power
Speed: 4
— Measures movement and reaction speed
Will: 2
— Measures determination and mental fortitude
Mind: 4
— Measures cognition, perception, and magical capacity
Dominion: 0%
— Permanently increases all stats by this number as a percent
Resonance: 0%
— Description Blocked
[Blank Cards: 2]
Skills: None
Locked Skill: ?????
————————————
It's steady progress. Natural. Supported by the System but not carried by it.
The kind of growth that makes sense in a world where survival demands strength.
Lira bounces me gently before handing me back to my mother.
"He's warm," she says softly. "Healthy. You're doing everything right."
My mother's smile is small and grateful. "We're trying."
After Lira leaves, my mother sits in her chair by the fire, hugging me close.
"She worries," she murmurs. "We all do."
Her fingers stroke my hair.
"But you're safe here. As long as we can help it."
Later that afternoon, the wind stills, leaving the air crisp and quiet. My father steps inside holding a thick, fur-lined sling—one big enough to keep me safely strapped against his chest while he works outdoors.
"You want to come see the village, little guy?" he asks with a smile.
My mother raises a brow. "It's cold."
"I'll wrap him properly."
She hesitates, but finally nods. "Okay. But immediately bring him back in if the wind picks up."
My father grins at her protectiveness, fastens the sling, and gently settles me inside. Thick cloth presses me comfortably against his heartbeat.
Warm. Safe.
He steps outside.
And for the first time—
—I see the village.
The air is sharp and clean, filled with the scent of snow and pine. The houses are built from stacked logs, roofs slanted steeply to shed snowfall. Smoke curls from chimneys in wispy, grey ribbons.
Villagers move through the cold, bundled in tough wool, carrying water, chopping wood, sweeping pathways cleared of snow.
And every person who passes looks at me.
Some smile.
Some wave.
Some gasp softly at my golden eyes.
My father lifts a hand in greeting each time, pride rising visibly in his chest.
"This is my son," his posture seems to say. "Look at him. Isn't he wonderful?"
My heart tightens—not painfully, but full of something precious.
He walks toward the fence near the forest edge. From here, the trees loom tall—massive, ancient things with trunks as thick as pillars and canopies so dense they darken the ground beneath.
The forest hums with a quiet, unsettling life.
My father adjusts the sling. "That's the Monster Forest, Lucifer," he says softly. "You'll hear a lot about it growing up. Half of our stories come from it."
The trees sway gently even though the wind is calm.
"Monsters live there," he continues. "Some are mild. Some vicious. All powerful."
Powerful.
My eyes widen.
One day, I'll step into that forest myself.
One day, I'll meet Rimuru there.
One day, everything will begin.
But right now…
I'm a baby tucked against my father's chest, staring at an emerald wall of mystery.
My father shifts, clearing a fallen branch from the snow.
"We keep an eye on it," he says. "So danger never catches us sleeping."
His words echo quietly in my mind.
Danger.
Even as a newborn, I can sense it. A subtle tension, like the forest itself is holding its breath.
My father finishes clearing snow and heads back toward the house. As we approach, my mother opens the door before he can even knock.
Her eyes soften with relief when she sees us.
"There you are," she sighs, immediately reaching for me. "You didn't stay out too long, did you?"
"Not at all," my father chuckles. "Showed him the village. And the forest."
She narrows her eyes at him playfully. "You would."
She presses her cheek to mine, warming my cold nose.
"Did you like it?" she whispers.
I make a soft noise in response—she interprets it as a yes.
"Of course he liked it," she laughs. "He's curious about everything."
My father smiles. "Just wait. Soon he'll be crawling under tables trying to grab my tools."
"Spirits forbid," she mutters.
They laugh together, and my world feels warm again.
That night, after the fire dims and the house quiets, I lie in my cradle watching shadows dance on the ceiling.
My parents sleep peacefully nearby.
A gentle breeze slips through the window crack.
Then—
A tremor.
Very faint. So small that the wooden bowls barely rattle.
But I feel it.
The forest.
It shifted again.
A soft animal cry echoes from far away—lonely.
Frightened.
My father stirs but doesn't wake.
My mother only tightens her arms around her blanket.
I blink up at the ceiling, absorbing the quiet tension of the moment.
I don't know what's happening in that forest.
I don't know the monsters.
I don't know the dangers.
But I feel something.
A faint stirring in the depths of my soul.
Like the world is whispering,
not yet… but soon.
I don't understand it.
And I can't do anything yet.
Except wait.
The System agrees.
Main Quest Chain Started
Part 1: Wait
Reward Upon Chain Completion: +1 Blank Card
I close my eyes.
Waiting is easy in this tiny body.
Waiting is natural.
And someday…
Waiting will be over.
For now, wrapped in the soft glow of firelight and the warmth of a loving home, the world feels peaceful—even if danger lurks beyond the trees.
I drift into sleep with a newborn's calm, unaware of how quickly everything will change.
Morning comes with soft light and the faint clatter of dishes.
I wake to the smell of warm bread and simmering vegetables. My tiny body feels heavier than before—not in a bad way, but in that subtle way that says, You've grown. A little.
My mother hums as she moves around the house, her song light and wandering. The door is cracked slightly to let out some of the cooking steam, and the air inside feels warm and comforting.
I blink slowly, adjusting to the light. My cradle creaks softly as I shift.
My mother turns at the sound.
"There you are," she says with a smile that fills the room. "Good morning, Lucifer."
She crosses the room and leans over my cradle. Her hair falls forward, brushing my forehead. I reach up without thinking, fingers curling.
They don't flail wildly like before.
They reach.
Her eyes widen.
"Oh," she breathes. "You grabbed my hair."
Not hard. Not painful. Just enough to wrap my small hand in one of the loose strands.
Her expression softens into something impossibly warm.
"You're getting better at that…"
A faint notice flickers in my mind.
Daily Quest Added: Grip
Reward: +1 Strength
I squeeze just a little tighter—not enough to hurt, just enough to test my control.
She laughs.
"Careful now. I need that."
I let go.
Daily Quest Completed
Strength +1
Reward: Minor Grip Control Increase
A light warmth runs through my fingers, as if my muscles and nerves are aligning more cleanly. My tiny hand feels… more mine.
My mother lifts me out of the cradle, pressing me to her chest. I feel the steady beat of her heart, the warmth of her skin through the fabric, the rise and fall of her breathing.
"Your father is with the Guild this morning," she explains softly while she sways side to side. "They're organizing more patrols. The forest has been too noisy."
Noisy.
I remember the faint tremor last night. The howl. The deep, distant shiver of something large shifting within the trees.
"What do you think, hm?" she asks, tapping my nose lightly. "Does the forest make you nervous?"
I stare into her eyes, and for a moment, I see the worry she's trying to hide.
She brushes her thumb over my cheek.
"It's all right," she whispers. "We'll keep you safe."
The first time someone told me that in my last life, it was a lie.
Here, I believe it.
Not because danger doesn't exist—but because my parents will fight it with everything they have.
And so will I, when I can.
Later that day, while the sun hangs high and pale in the winter sky, there's another knock at the door.
My mother tenses slightly, then relaxes as she recognizes the pattern.
"Come in," she calls.
The door opens with a creak, letting in a crisp whistle of cold air. The village elder steps inside—an old man with a thick grey beard and a carved walking stick. His back is slightly bent, but his eyes are sharp.
"Afternoon," he greets.
My mother bows her head slightly. "Elder. Please, come sit by the fire."
He chuckles. "I won't say no to warmth."
He settles carefully onto a low stool, hand resting atop his cane. His gaze flicks to me, wrapped in my mother's arms.
"There he is," the elder murmurs. "The boy with golden eyes."
"His name is Lucifer," my mother says, pride in her voice.
The elder nods. "A strong name. He'll need it."
My mother's fingers unconsciously tighten around me. "Has there been news?"
The elder sighs, eyes drifting toward the shuttered window.
"Tracks," he says. "Many. Different kinds. Too close together. Something is pushing monsters out of their usual territories. Wolves moving south. Boars digging near the outer fields. Even lesser lizards have been spotted on the riverbank."
My mother's brow furrows. "What could push them?"
"Something stronger," the elder answers quietly. "Or several things competing. The forest is… unsettled."
He turns his gaze back to me, studying me with quiet curiosity.
"Children born in unsettled times often grow quickly," he muses. "Spirits give strength where it is needed."
My mother smiles faintly, though the worry still lingers.
"He's been holding his own head up, reaching, even rolling over."
The elder chuckles softly. "Already trying to stand, are you, boy?"
I stare at him, wide-eyed.
He nods to himself. "Good. You'll need spine, living near this forest."
My mother shifts uncomfortably.
He notices. His expression softens.
"Don't let my words frighten you," he says gently. "It has always been like this. The forest grows loud, then quiet again. But this time… we're more prepared. The Guild is stronger. The guards more experienced."
"And my husband?" she asks quietly. "Will he be safe?"
"As safe as any man can be, wandering between a village and a monster's nest," the elder replies honestly. "But he is capable. He has good instincts. That has kept him alive so far."
She exhales slowly.
The elder leans on his cane and slowly rises.
"I wanted to see the boy myself," he admits. "The one everyone keeps talking about. Golden eyes, strong grip."
My mother laughs softly, some tension leaving her shoulders. "He's just a baby."
"For now," the elder replies. "Children become men before you realize it. Especially in times like these."
He shuffles toward the door.
"If you need anything," he adds, "ask. The village looks after its own."
My mother nods. "Thank you, Elder."
He leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.
For a moment, only the crackle of the fire remains.
Then my mother looks down at me, brushing a curl of hair from my face.
"Did you hear all that?" she whispers. "You're going to grow strong, aren't you?"
Her voice is soft, but the hope in it is sharp and clear.
"You have to."
The next few days, my mother starts giving me a little more freedom. Not much—just small steps.
Instead of only holding me or leaving me in the cradle, she spreads a thick blanket on the floor and lays me there on my stomach.
"All right, little Lucifer," she says one chilly afternoon. "Show me what you can do."
The room is warm, even if frost still clings to the window edges. Light from the fire flickers across the floorboards.
I feel the blanket beneath my fingers. Rough fabric. Solid earth.
I try to push.
My arms tremble.
My head wobbles.
My legs kick uselessly behind me.
My mother laughs, the sound bright.
"There you go. Move just like that."
A notice rises, gentle as always.
Daily Quest Added: Push Up
Reward: +1 Strength
I focus.
It's clumsy. My elbows splay. My fingers dig into the blanket without much effect. But I still try to lift my chest off the floor.
Just a little.
Just enough that, for a brief second, my upper body isn't fully resting on the blanket.
Daily Quest Completed
Strength +1
Reward: Slight Upper Body Stability Increase
My arms almost buckle, but they don't.
My mother gasps softly. "Did you see that?"
Of course I didn't. My face is pointed down.
She scoops me up excitedly, hugging me against her chest.
"You're really determined…" she murmurs, kissing my temple. "You're going to be unstoppable someday, aren't you?"
Her words settle into me like seeds.
Unstoppable.
Maybe.
Someday.
For now, I'm a baby who just barely managed a half-second of push-up form.
But it's a start.
That night, my father returns late. Later than usual.
My mother's worry is etched into the lines of her face by the time the door finally creaks open.
He steps inside, a tired grin on his face.
"Sorry," he sighs, closing the door behind him. "The Guild meeting ran long."
My mother stands, relief visible in every movement. "You could have sent someone to tell me."
"We were all out there," he replies, then moves quickly to her side, pressing his forehead lightly to hers. "I'm here now."
His eyes—brown and steady—shift toward me as I lie on a folded blanket near the fire.
"How's he doing?" he asks, voice softening.
My mother smiles, tension easing. "He tried to push himself up today."
My father's expression lights up.
"Did he?"
She nods. "Only for a moment. But it was real."
He hunkers down beside me, bringing his face level with mine.
"Is that true?" he asks. "You already trying to stand tall?"
I stare at him. My fingers curl around the edge of the blanket.
His smile softens.
"Listen, little one," he says quietly, voice only for me. "The world out there isn't easy. You'll see it someday. Monsters. Cold winters. Hard soil. But it's also beautiful. People worth protecting. Places worth seeing."
He reaches out and gently touches his finger to my tiny hand.
"I promise you," he murmurs, "I'll do everything I can to make sure you live long enough to see it all."
My fingers tighten around his.
It's not a conscious decision.
Just instinct.
But it feels like an answer anyway.
He laughs under his breath. "See? He agrees."
My mother sits beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"We'll raise him well," she says softly. "Teach him everything we can."
"Everything I know," my father agrees. "And hopefully, he'll have teachers better than me one day."
He doesn't know how right he is.
One day, I'll stand beside beings from stories, heroes and monsters both. One day, I'll step into worlds beyond this one.
But right now?
I'm their son.
And that is enough.
That night, the tremors didn't come.
The forest is quiet.
Too quiet.
But for the village, quiet feels like a blessing.
My parents fall asleep close to the fire, as they often do. My father lies on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. My mother curls slightly toward me, hand resting on the side of my cradle.
I stare up at the ceiling, watching the faint glow of embers dance across the beams.
The System hums faintly in the back of my awareness.
Present.
Patient.
Unobtrusive.
I whisper mentally:
Status.
————————————
STATUS
————————————
Name: Lucifer
Energy: 9
— Measures vitality and stamina
Strength: 5
— Measures physical power
Speed: 4
— Measures movement and reaction speed
Will: 2
— Measures determination and mental fortitude
Mind: 5
— Measures cognition, perception, and magical capacity
Dominion: 0%
— Permanently increases all stats by this number as a percent
Resonance: 0%
— Description Blocked
[Blank Cards: 2]
Skills: None
Locked Skill: ?????
————————————
I'm still weak.
Still tiny.
Still dependent on the two people sleeping beside me.
But I'm stronger than I was yesterday.
And tomorrow, I'll be stronger than today.
The Main Quest Chain sits quietly in the back of my mind.
Part 1: Wait
Reward Upon Chain Completion: +1 Blank Card
I don't know when that chain will move forward. I don't know what event the System is waiting for.
But I'm not anxious.
Waiting feels… right.
Like the world itself is preparing the pieces for something bigger.
The forest trembles in the distance.
The Guild organizes patrols.
The village whispers about unusual tracks.
And I lie here, cradled in warmth and love, slowly gathering the strength I'll need when my time finally comes.
For now…
I close the Status screen.
I close my eyes.
And I sleep.
Because the first step on any path—even a path that leads to gods and other worlds—is simple.
Live.
Grow.
Wait.
And that… I can do.