The first few weeks of my new life were a blur of color, warmth, and strange sounds. Being a baby again was humiliating, sure—but it had its perks. I didn't have to worry about dying, not yet. I was warm, fed, and most importantly... watched.
Too closely, if you asked me.
"Her eyes opened again. That's the third time in one hour," a voice whispered.
I tried to look in the direction of the sound, but my neck flopped uselessly to the side like a broken puppet.
"She's only a month old. No child should be focusing like that."
Another voice joined in. Male. Deeper. Edged with caution. "She's aware. Far too aware."
No sh*t, Sherlock, I thought bitterly.
They were right. I was aware. Every nerve in my infant body buzzed with energy—raw, unshaped, but terrifyingly real. The first time I sneezed, the windows cracked. The second time, the nurse caught fire. She didn't die, thank the gods. But now she wore fireproof robes and avoided eye contact like I was a cursed demon.
And maybe I was.
The word "Manaborn" floated around me often—always said in hushed tones, like a curse someone didn't want to invoke.
What I gathered was this: in this world, magic wasn't learned. It was inherited. But not equally. Some families carried ancient bloodlines rich with mana, while others couldn't summon a spark even with a wand rammed down their throat.
But even among the elite, I was... unnatural.
The Manaborn were rare. One in every few centuries. Born with a soul that could bend magic without incantation, without training. The last one supposedly blew a hole through a mountain before he was five and was later crowned an Emperor.
Me? I couldn't even hold my own head up without assistance.
Great.
"Aria," a soft voice cooed.
My head turned automatically. It was her. The woman who first held me in the light of the moon. My new mother.
Lady Selene Valemir.
Beautiful. Regal. And terrifying in a smile-and-I'll-still-kill-you sort of way.
"You mustn't cry," she whispered, touching my cheek. "You're strong, aren't you? My little spark."
I didn't cry. I never cried, actually. Not even once since I was born.
Crying was for people who didn't already die once.
But I did scream.
Not in fear.
In power.
It happened the day someone tried to assassinate me.
It was my naming day. A bizarre celebration where nobles gathered to fawn over an infant and kiss political ass in the same breath. The halls of House Valemir were filled with laughter, jewels, and the ever-present perfume of false intentions.
Lady Selene had dressed me in violet silk embroidered with runes. Not that I had a say in it. I looked like a very expensive cabbage roll.
"She's beautiful," crooned some duchess with more rings than fingers.
"A miracle," another said.
"A weapon," someone else whispered when they thought no one could hear.
And then—amidst all the sycophants—a figure moved unnaturally.
Too fast.
Too quiet.
My instincts screamed before my mouth could.
A dagger. Poison-laced. Hidden beneath velvet gloves. Meant for me.
At four months old, I shouldn't have been able to do anything.
But I did.
I raised my hand and screamed.
Magic exploded.
It wasn't controlled. It wasn't elegant. But it was pure.
Lightning, not from the sky, but from me, ripped through the air and struck the would-be assassin mid-step. His body convulsed before he hit the ground, twitching like a marionette with cut strings.
Dead.
Silence followed.
Not shock. Not fear.
Reverence.
"She awakened her core," someone gasped.
"At four months old?"
"She didn't even use a chant... not a sigil... not a focus..."
"She is the Manaborn."
Later that night, in the quiet of my nursery, Selene held me close and whispered words only I understood—maybe because her voice trembled.
"I was going to use you, you know... as a symbol, as leverage. But you're more than that. You're alive. You chose to live."
She placed a pendant around my neck. It pulsed faintly, attuned to the magic in my veins.
"They'll come for you now. All of them. But I promise, no matter what, I'll never let them take you. You're mine."
In my past life, no one ever called me theirs.
Not with love. Not with awe.
For the first time, I think I smiled.
But deep down, I knew—this world would not let me stay a child for long.
And I would not be able to stay innocent.
Not when I was born with the power to reshape kingdoms.