The ceiling was simple, consisting of little more than beams of wood, interlaced with larger beams below it. Straight lines mixed with more curved lines. All brown, and not much to look at. Boring.

Tilting his head, he could see other aspects of the ceiling, like how it connected to the wall.

Ahh, the wall. Now that was interesting! That was where the excitement was! The complex rocks and shapes, the gritty looking mortar that looked like tiny mountains interspersed above snowy valleys. He could get lost in the patterns as he imagined himself trekking though the valleys, with his trusty Sherpa who had no name.

He had forgotten how boring being a baby and a toddler was. After a few moments of useless mountaineering fantasy, he became aware of how quiet the floor was. Standing up on shaky legs and he looked over his crib. Jotting his head back and forth, no one seemed to be around. He could make a break for it!

The climb over the edge proved easier than the last time, but still far more difficult than the two-foot-tall fence had a right to be. Of course, getting over the top was easy, the fall is what would hurt.

“Omf.” Landing on the hard wood floor wasn’t particularly soft, but his light and squishy body took the fall well. For a moment he stared at the ceiling once more, both agitated and amused by the situation he was in. The absurdity elicited a momentary giggle, which masked the minor pain he felt in his legs and head.

It was hard to believe he had reincarnated in the body of an infant. At least he assumed it was reincarnation, not much else seemed to make sense. If it was a fever dream or lack of oxygen it should have all ended already. At least, that’s the reasoning he came up with. There were others of course, like being a brain in a jar, but at that point all arguments descended into straight non-sense.

Slowly on those same shaky legs he stood and wandered away from his confining cradle. Walking still proved somewhat of a challenge, he wasn’t sure if that was due to his limited muscle mass, new nervous system, or if a part of his mind just didn’t come with him in full.

That last thought bothered him immensely. Who was he anymore? He remembered his old life, all of it, or at least he thought it was all of it. He could remember his job, college, high school, middle school, elementary school, he could even remember a handful of vague memories of being a toddler once before. But those last ones were very vague, more like feelings than full memories. Well, aside from one memory, the time when he was about 3 and ate a box of pop tarts causing him to throw up. It was the reason why he couldn’t stomach them in his youth.

He scouted from the doorway of his room. Left, right no one there. Still, he paused for a moment, listening just to be sure, he couldn’t hear anything much. There were just the sounds of his father slamming a sword into something outside, no one was on the 2nd floor though. That sound of swords clashing against metal triggered another thought, his father. Who was his real father? What it this man outside, this soldier or maybe he was a mercenary? What exactly was he anyway, how do sword fighters make any sense in the 21st century?

Maybe this wasn’t the 21st century anymore, and perhaps this man wasn’t truly his father. After all he was his mind, a mind which was shaped by his old father, the bartender and closet bibliophile. Equally strong, but in a different way. The man who would stay up at night and debate life and philosophy with him. The man who he couldn’t even be present for in his last moments. That last thought hurt in a way that could not just be rubbed away..

What about his mother? Who was she, this woman with the soft smile and eyes that spoke unspoken trauma. How talked to him about silly things like dragons, cats the size of horses, goblins and other non-sense. Or his old mother, who sang to him when he was younger, and confided in him when he was older, until he ignored her? That also hurt.

He didn’t know. He didn’t even know if there was an answer. Was this even his first reincarnation? At the very least, he couldn’t remember anything of a past one, though something about it all felt familiar like a deep echo inside of him reverberated off his memories and soul. Not a memory, but the faint echo of one. Maybe there was a problem this time round, something that let him remember? There was that strange voice he could just barely recall. Something about building things, for them? It was fuzzy.

Walking the hallway of this cold wood and stone house was still odd. This place seemed old. Not that it was built long ago so much that it felt out of place in the modern world. Stone, and wood beams. A rough wood floor, that looked freshly cut, and put together without any nails, at least any he could see. Clearly the house wasn’t old, but the design and how it was built certainly was.

The hallways were somewhat narrow, clearly out of code and there were no light fixtures, no outlets. Some hooks occasionally that would hold a lantern, but no light source beyond an 18th century ideas. Though there were those occasional and rare odd stones that seemed to glow? LEDs maybe? Was he resurrected in a house of luddites? If that was the case, why swords and bows? The food too, smelled bland. Not bad, just limited in spices.

‘Clang’ The sound of metal hitting metal echoed for a moment from outside. Subtle words could be heard in the strange language that was just barely able to understand. It felt like a mix of German, of which he knew a few words and English which as an American he did technically know.

“I told you. You need to keep your side up. If you don’t you leave yourself open to a hit! This is basic stuff people! Don’t make me go back to wooden swords for all of you!”

It was his current father out the open window, yelling at someone else, probably a fellow sword fighter. Stopping for another moment, he grew curious. The window wasn’t too high up, he could probably make it. Struggling, he managed to climb up and braced himself on the ledge.

Outside he could see a man with short light brown almost blond hair, a thick that while full beard that remained oddly short, his green eyes would hold steady, hiding his constant observation of everything around him. At this distance, the various small scars on his face and body remained hidden. It was his father along with a small group of others all dressed in various levels of armor. The sight would be surprising if it was the first time seeing, but of course he had seen it before. He still couldn’t get over the near even split of women to men in the group. It seemed so odd. If this was the past, as he was growing more convinced of, why would there be so many women? One or two maybe, but an even split just seemed historically inaccurate.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

‘Clang, clang, clang.’

More banging as swords, shields and armor impacted each other. Some of their movements seemed impossibly fast. One moment a soldier would be in front of another, the next second behind them. He, still couldn’t make sense of it. He tried to convince himself it was just skill, but it just seemed beyond what a human should be capable of.

A very well armored and tall woman stood next to his father. He had seen her before, she seemed to follow Fortus, his father, around like a lost puppy. He guessed she was his second in command? Which just made the idea that this was the past, even less tenable.

Her normally shoulder length orange hair was hidden in her helmet. She was unusually fair skin, he could remember hearing someone say she was half breed of a 'Human Ice Skin’ and a word that sounded liked Ross, her ears were unusually pointy and long and her blue eyes did feel like ice when they glared at you. She was quite pretty, when it came down to it.

Seeing the soldiers suffering through sword training, she had better idea. “Fortus. Maybe we should focus on something easier, like a run around the village parameter?”

An almost cruel smile crossed his father's lips, "Excellent idea Athena. Already people, you don't want to train with swords, then lets train our legs. Run!"

With the sound of some groans, they all proceed to head off in a direction behind the house and through some fields.

The show was over for now. Dropping from the window, he continued his journey down the long hallway. Well, it wasn’t that long, maybe 30 feet. At the end of it would be his prize. A small office-like space, with a desk, some books, and paper! There was also an assortment of dried plants and what looked like a mortar and pestle. Like an apothecary.

Who did the office belong to anyway? Was it his father’s or his mother’s? He wasn’t sure, but for the most part on his mother used it. Again, the gender roles weren’t what he had expected. His mother often cooked and cleaned, but it seemed like she did something else too. Maybe some kind of therapist or a priestess? His father helped with the chores too, so it wasn’t like she did all of them. He even cooked sometimes. It was very modern, for what seemed like an old world.

The office space was much smaller than his room. Barely enough room for the desk and wicker chair, yet somehow they managed a small bookshelf too. A bookshelf which seemed sparse for what he was used to but would probably have been well stocked in whatever this place actually was.

Mulling over the various bindings, he still couldn’t read any of this language. It all looked like some messy fusion of Cyrillic, German, English, and strange letters he had never seen before. In total he had counted 90 different letters and symbols, but some seemed very similar to each other so maybe there was actually less, and he was just looking at different styles. Like capital verse lower case letters.

One book in particular caught his attention, on the binding were six symbols he had seen before that were treated like words, rather than letters. Pulling the book off the shelf wasn’t too challenging, even in his smaller body. It did help that it was on the lower shelf.

Dropping it to the floor, he could see the cover which was quite ornate, for a book. Those same six symbols, arranged into two triangles on top of each other, linked with gold foil colored lines. It was quite pretty. He had no idea what it meant though. At the very top of the cover was almost certainly a title written in actual, if indecipherable, letters. As he opened the book he was greeted with shapes, and patterns, and more of the language. Exactly what he was looking for, he just needed paper now.

The desk next to him had some parchment and some charcoal pencils on top of it. He just needed to get to them. It wasn’t tall by an adult’s point of view, but for his current height, it might as well have been a mountain of wicker and wood.

Climbing the chair was no easy task. It was just heavy enough to be difficult to move, but still light enough that his weight threatened to topple it over, as he scaled the side of his makeshift ladder. Once he stood atop the surprisingly soft wooden seat, he felt triumph. To silent applause from the nonexistent spectators, he lifted his arms into the air! With a smile and slight laugh, he gathered his prize of paper and drawing charcoals.

Dropping back to the floor he began his task, as he tried to copy the shapes and symbols in the book to the paper. Making notes in his old tongue that looked much like the blathering scribbles of a young child. Really, it was no different from how he used to write.

Time passed and pages filled. Some connections were made but it was all so elusive. His focus on studying blinded him to the patter of feet next to him, as him mother and an older child suddenly joined him.

“Reese, what are you doing?”

Unlike the written text, the spoken language had come easily enough. He knew his name was Reese. His father’s name was Fortus, and his mother was Lillith. Her skin was a sublet tan, like a woman who worked outside but she never did. The shoulder length brown hair complemented her hazel colored eyes. He was always told he had his father's face, but his mother's eyes. She was kind of pretty, he thought as she picked him up.

“See, I told you Reese was out of his crib again. Babies should stay in their crib!”

And this bratty little girl was his sister, Neomsadi, Nemi for short. Unlike Reese, she had their mother's face and their father's green eyes. Reese wasn’t quite sure why, but she seemed to hate him. Younger sibling problems he guessed. Reese knew what the appropriate response was and stuck his tongue out at her.

“Mom! See what he did!”

“He’s a baby honey but thank you for telling me he was in the study. Now, what were you trying to do you silly child?”

Lillith picked up the paper on the floor and could only shake her head. “Oh, Reese. This is good paper. Don’t scribble on it.” She sighed.

Reese was tempted to sigh too. How dare she call his handwriting scribbles. Still, he knew it was unlikely she’d understand his old language. But scribbles, really? “They’re not scribbles”, he tried to speak. The words came out, but like everything else about him, they came out wobbly and infantile. He had a hard time not laughing at his own voice.

She sighed again as she looked over the book he had opened. Half expecting more scribbles in it. Did this child know how expensive paper and books were? But she was pleasantly surprised. The book was unharmed. She looked it over. “The fundamentals of elemental magic.” She read the title out loud. “Honey, this book is way to advance for you.” She bounced him in her arms as she put the text away.

So that’s what it said. Reese made a mental note of the title. He could still remember the symbols on the front, and tried to force the connection. “It looked pretty”. It was true, the cover was quite lovely.

Behind them the door latched shut “So, you like books sweetie?”

He nodded. It was one of the few forms of entertainment here.

“I’ll see if I can find something better for you. I suppose you’ll just escape if I put you back in your crib?” Her face had a knowing smirk of a smile that made him blush and smile back. This mother already knew him too well.

“I don’t have any appointments left, why not come downstairs and you can keep me company? I’ll see if I can get some cheap parchment too.”

Success! He thought, as the three of them walked to the kitchen on the lower level.