I believed that if you died once, you would die completely. That's what I thought... but I think it's wrong because of the rare occurrences where people, after waking from near-death experiences, would exclaim about their experiences.
I can feel the warmth of hands, but I cannot remember anything about myself—who I am, why I am here, and what's happening in this world. My last memory was my mother giving me a crown with spikes. I wore it, and lots of blood came from my head. That's the only memory I remember.
Why did she give me that crown, and how was I killed in my previous life? What did I do that was so terrible? Maybe I was very cruel in my previous life, and that's why I experienced what I did after death.
I don't understand how I still have consciousness. Maybe these are just previous memories flashing after complete death. Right now, I feel the warmth of the end.
Well, this is the end after all... After 12 minutes—why is this taking so long? What's happening right now? I don't know.
"Congratulations to both of you, sir and madam! He is a healthy boy..." Wait, I'm born? So the screams I heard were from my mother, not my past memories.
Normally, anyone would think, "Well, shit, I'm a baby." But I don't feel that way. I don't know why, but I'm super relaxed, like after relaxing so many times I'm tired and could sleep for a long time. This sensation gives me a chill experience. I think I want to sleep peacefully...
But I think peace is not in my dictionary. I don't know who this she is who came out of nowhere, but she hung me upside down and slapped my bottom. Why? I think she is a doctor.
If in my previous life anyone had dared to do that, I would have killed that person mercilessly and hung them in the street. After that, I wanted to cry, but why did I want to cry? I don't know, and I started crying like a baby—well, I am a baby, and I cannot do anything besides poop.
This is the hospital room. I have zero hope in this life. Seriously, there are only some candles in the room to light it up.
Besides that, I see the hospital room closely, and one thing I appreciate is that the hospital ladies—well, I'm not lying—are super beautiful. The lady who continuously talks to my mother is the main doctor here who helped deliver me into this world.
She is super beautiful. I have to admit her eyelashes and lips are so beautiful. If I use the word "gorgeous," then it's not wrong.
But wait a second. I just realized that I have no sexual sensations in my body and no dirty feelings in my mind. I have only three feelings: sleep, eat, and poop. That's it—maybe due to this child's body.
But the sensation I'm feeling is motherly, like when this lady picks me up and holds me in her hands. I feel a smooth sensation that I cannot explain in words.
I realized why babies are so attached to their mothers.
Suddenly, I hear a voice: "Hey baby, I'm dada. Say dada!" I have zero time to understand that this person is my father, and I have a question for him: how could a baby who was just born be able to speak "dada"? Is he crazy or something?
He suddenly takes me in his lap, and I'm worried. I look at my mother and the sweet doctor to do something, and my mother says, "Honey, he was just born. How can he say anything?" Well, I have zero belief in this life.
I have my father's hair; both look silver in color. My father suddenly gives me to my mother and goes to complete the necessary hospital documents.
One thing I strangely noticed is that this hospital has no light bulbs. What happened? Is the bulb fused or something? Or maybe the hospital is so poor that it cannot afford a bulb?
Well, I don't think so. Then what happened? Maybe this is the 1600s or something where bulbs haven't been invented yet. Or something else.
Well, my father has returned, and when I look closely, I understand very well why all the ladies in the hospital look at him. He looks so handsome with a muscular body and is a very charismatic man. If I had to score my father, I'd give him 9/10.
But my mother is not ugly either; she is one of the most beautiful ladies among all the hospital ladies, after the doctor. I have to protect my mother from this beautiful lady doctor so she doesn't steal my father, but I think the doctor is not that kind of person.
When I look closely at my father, I can understand why he is so excited. He looks so happy, with excitement all over his face. I looked...
Here's your revised version with **smoother transitions** between scenes and dialogues, more **natural flow**, and **cohesive narrative structure**:
Next, the lady doctor approached and gently reassured my mother.
"Don't worry about the baby. He's healthy," she said with a calm smile.
My mother, still shaken, looked at her with watery eyes. "But doctor… you know what they say—when a baby doesn't cry after birth, it means he's deaf…" Her voice trembled, and she was on the verge of tears.
Before the doctor could respond, my father stepped forward. "Don't worry," he said firmly. "Our baby is not weak. He is strong."
The doctor nodded in agreement. "Yes, he's perfectly fine. His condition is stable, and he's in good health. You'll be discharged after a few days of observation."
After those few days, I was brought home. At first glance, I thought the house was small—just another ordinary home. But as I became more aware, I realized I had been wrong. The house was big—much bigger than it seemed from the outside.
It wasn't quite a royal palace, but definitely not a commoner's home either. A place somewhere in between. And the guards stationed outside? That only confirmed my suspicion: my father was someone important.
I wasn't sure what exactly he did, but I had a feeling he worked in the king's palace. The presence of multiple maids, the rich furnishing, and the air of quiet luxury—it all hinted that I had been born into a wealthy family.
One morning, I overheard my parents speaking near my crib.
"Honey, are you going to work?" my mother asked gently.
"Yes, sweetheart, I am," he replied as he buttoned his coat.
"Honey, please… don't kiss me in front of Shlok," she said in a half-scolding tone.
"Shlok is just a baby," my father laughed. "Can we continue?" Then came the unmistakable sounds: *smooch smooch smooch*.
I groaned internally. *Eww, so disgusting. Please stop it. If you both want to do that, go to your room, not in front of me.* But I couldn't say a word. I was, after all, still just a baby. A baby with memories.
Anyway, I was starting to get used to their nightly affection. I suppose it's a sign of a loving relationship.
Despite everything, one thing frustrated me endlessly: I had **zero control over my body**. I pooped several times a day. It was embarrassing. I wanted to grab things, to move, to explore—but my body simply wouldn't cooperate. Every attempt ended in failure. My limbs flailed like wet noodles.
But even that had its upsides.
There's something magical about being a baby. If you flip a coin, there are always two sides—and being a child has its perks. I live like a little king. When I poop, someone changes my diaper immediately. When I cry, someone runs to hold me.
When I'm hungry, I'm breastfed—and let me be honest here, the milk is delicious. I say this with a straight face: **no ulterior motive**.
And my mother... if you've ever wondered what an angel looks like, you should meet her. She takes such good care of me, day and night. That love, that warmth—that's something I longed for in my previous life.
Her name is **Lyra**, and my father's name is **Kiarles**. Both of them are kind, caring, and deeply loving. They've given me something I never had before: a place where I belong.
One evening, my father returned home later than usual. He looked tired, yet oddly content. He wore his usual elegant coat, carried documents, and had a faint trace of ink on his fingers. Ten guards had accompanied him, like always.
He must hold a high-ranking position. Maybe a royal adviser? Or a noble?
He smiled when he saw me. Lifting me gently into his arms, he said, "Hi baby, you look so cute. Did you miss me?"
I wanted to say no. But strangely… yes. Whenever someone leaves me alone, I cry. Is it a baby's instinct—or something more?
That night, one of the maids prepared to leave.
"Madam, my work is complete. I will go home now."
My mother nodded. "Yes, you may leave."
The maid bent over to kiss me. "Hi baby, I'll come tomorrow." *smooch*
She always did that. Honestly, sometimes I feel like she's my second mother. Her care and affection are genuine.
Later that night, my father headed to take a bath… and, unsurprisingly, mother went with him. I have some *guesses* about why that is, but let's leave that alone for now.
The more I observe, the clearer it becomes—this world is nothing like Earth. People hunt monsters. Kings, queens, and noble houses rule the lands.
Still, I'm slowly piecing together how things work. For instance, my mother paid one of the maids **100 copper coins** as salary—and apparently, that's enough to run a household. From that, I can guess that 100 copper coins are roughly equivalent to **30,000 rupees** in Earth's value. And since **1 gold = 1,000 copper**, and my father earns in gold… well, we're definitely not poor.
With each passing day, my control improves. I can move better. My sight is clearer. Sounds make more sense.
I'm beginning to understand the rhythm of this new life, the structure of this unfamiliar world, and—most of all—the feeling of being genuinely loved.
And slowly, one truth becomes clearer:
**This time, my life might be different.**