Chapter 1: Early Years(1)
The first sensation Dodo felt was not the warmth of blankets, but the immediate absence of pain.
One moment, his skull had been screaming against the cold pressure of his cheap, hard keyboard. The next, the noise—the relentless, throbbing, skull-splitting noise of his past life’s demise—stoped.
Okay. That’s new, Dodo thought.
He tried to stretch his neck. Nothing. He tried to open his eyes. The eyelids felt heavy, useless. He focused. He commanded his hand to move, to feel for the keyboard, the familiar plastic ridge.
A small, tightly bound limb twitched.
Wait. The limb was small. Too small. It moved with a disturbing lack of coordination.
He was not in his apartment. He was not on his keyboard. He was somewhere else, trapped inside a small, struggling body.
I'm not dead, Dodo registered, the idea both miraculous and horrifying. I am... what? A coma patient?
He pushed with all his mental force. He wanted to sit up. He wanted to shout. He wanted proof that his consciousness remained intact.
The result was a violent, pushing movement.
He was squeezed, pushed, and hauled out from warmth, to the freezing cold, the sharp smell of brine, and the choking, heavy perfume of an antique candle shop.
He gasped a deep breath, frustrated by how incredibly itchy the blankets were.
He tried to voice his complaint—Seriously, the doctors could have gave me a better bed—but the sound that emerged was a thin, frustrated, utterly humiliating shriek.
...Hmm?
...
Wait...
He kicked his thought process.
Okay. Fine. I’m a baby, he registered with a weary sigh. This is reincarnation. I got the full package. No cheat codes, no character sheet, just straight-up new life.
He was starting over.
Where is the welcome message? The tutorial zone?
He tried to look for a system but failed to do so as a face swamed into focus, blocking the harsh light. It was stunning—perfectly symmetrical but utterly wrecked by exhaustion and an unsettling mix of awe and terror. She wore so much gold embroidery that she looked like a walking bank vault.
"Oh, my sweet boy," the woman whispered, her voice cracking with emotional strain.
Dodo blinked, struggling to focus on the details of the stranger.
Who are you? he asked internally, projecting the question toward the woman’s intense gaze. I recognize the concept of ‘mother’ in this setting, but you need to introduce yourself.
The woman did not introduce herself. She simply stared at him. Her eyes were wide, deep pools of dark color.
A nervous, older woman, wearing the tired expression of someone who seemed to be holding him and showing the baby to his mother, leaned close. "What shall we call him, my Queen? The naming ceremony must commence."
The woman—the Queen, apparently—clutched him possessively. Her eyes darted around the massive, marble-columned room, as if expecting someone to take him away from her.
"He is from the heavens," she declared, her voice trembling, "His beauty is a gift from the Swan Queen. He shall be named for his fate."
She pressed a desperate, fierce kiss to his brow.
"He shall be Helenos."
Helenos? Dodo mentally repeated. Sounds like a brand of high-end olive oil or maybe a secondary villain from a low-budget fantasy movie. He shrugged internally. No one asked for my opinion on the name, obviously. At least it was better than Dodo.
He was wrapped in gold thread, a trophy before he could even crawl, sealed with a name that was, unbeknownst to him, a promise of war.
The Queen, her gaze still feverish, gently stroked the crown of his tiny head with a hand that trembled. The movement was possessive, desperate, like an owner protecting a perfect, valuable possession.
"He is too fragile for the common air," she announced, her voice pitched high with protectiveness. "See how the light hurts his eyes? He must be protected. Bring the embroidered curtain across the window and let no one approach him without my permission."
The older woman, the Nervous Manager, stepped forward again, her expression a careful mask of deference hiding deep, professional exhaustion.
"My Queen," Elara said softly, her tone laced with the careful, practiced firmness of someone used to managing powerful hysterics. "The infant must be cleaned. And he requires sustenance. The naming ceremony is one thing, but the feeding ritual is a more immediate and practical concern."
Yes! Dodo screamed internally, flailing his swaddled fist once more. Finally, a sensible NPC! Get me off this gold pedestal and into the kitchen!
He felt the heavy, silken weight of the blanket shift as Elara began to carefully unpeel the expensive, itchy layers.
As the thick, perfumed air hit his newly exposed skin, Dodo felt a wave of immediate, visceral discomfort. The chamber was not just beautiful; it was cold, a cavernous hall of marble columns, tapestries, and stone that seemed designed to project power, not maintain a cozy nursery temperature.
This place is a nightmare, Dodo concluded, his initial surge of frustration turning into a profound sense of injustice. No HUD, no health bar, no inventory, and no way to fast-travel out of here. Where even is the debuff notification for 'Extreme Discomfort and Low Quality of Life'?
He was trying to scream this complaint—to make a logical, adult argument about the appalling lack of sensible parenting in this high-end dungeon—but all that came out was a series of weak, pathetic whimpers. The whimper, however, seemed to have an instant, high-level aggro effect on his royal mother.
"See, Elara? He is distressed already!" the Queen gasped, leaning in again, her collar brushing Dodo’s cheek.
Elara sighed, a tiny, almost imperceptible exhalation of professional despair.
Dodo watched their interaction.
He closed his eyes against the chandelier's brutal light, already anticipating the long, uncomfortable grind of his life's first, forced quest line.
Just give me a phone with a working internet source, he begged to the world. I need to Google this place.
The room filled with servants. Women in dark tunics moved with a quiet efficiency Dodo found unnerving. He was scrubbed, examined, and redressed. The process was thorough, ritualistic, and totally impersonal. He was handled like a delicate piece of pottery that required specific cleaning agents.
His mother, the Queen, watched the entire process from a velvet-covered throne placed a few feet away. She gave instructions with sharp, anxious commands. She spoke of his skin, his hair, his limbs, but never of his comfort or his personhood.
The cleaning ended. Elara wrapped him in a new blanket, this one soft linen, which Dodo approved of. A small victory.
Then came the feeding.
A nurse, a plump woman with kind eyes, approached. As she prepared to feed him, the Queen waved her away.
"No," the Queen commanded. "I will handle this. No other hands touch him unless necessary."
Ah, good, Dodo thought. Direct maternal care. Excellent for bonding. Maybe we can discuss my future allowance.
The Queen took him. Her grip was firm - Ouch- and painful. Her eyes, still feverish with motherly love, never left his face. She fed him in silence, the act stripped of natural warmth and rendered purely functional, another ritual of ownership.
Dodo was fed quickly. He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep.
The Queen did not place him in a cradle. She held him, still sitting on the chair next to him.
Seriously, the incense budget in this place is astronomical. Does no one here believe in simple locks and guards?
Hours passed. The room grew darker, lit only by oil lamps and the burning offerings. The Queen never moved. She watched him sleep.
Dodo woke once. He saw the ceiling high above, painted with figures of women flying on the backs of enormous, white birds. The imagery was confusing, powerful, and deeply strange.
The next morning, the cycle began again. Wash, oil, dress in new, expensive fabrics. The days blurred into weeks. Dodo lost count of time. He only knew he was bored, confined, and observed.
At three months old, he learned to control his limbs better.
He reached for a dangling tapestry. The Queen slapped his hand away. Not hard, but firmly enough to deliver the message.
Do not touch things. Do not move without permission.
He began to listen to the sounds of the palace. The clatter of armor, the voices of women shouting commands, the nervous chatter of diplomats. Those were examples proving that this is a medieval fantasy world.
Although...
System!
System!
Dodo was not given a system; it was still a fantasy world.
It's still fine, Dodo once thought after his eleventh try to open his system. This is a fantasy world.
Thank you for reading this. I know it is now good enough, but I highly appreciate your support. I shall try my best to please you, the reader with this web novel.
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