Chapter 2 New Kid on the Block

An infant sat alone on a small pile of ash, his face fixed with an expression of severe annoyance. The vast red field around him swayed in the breeze, the deep crimsons of the stalks almost seemed to glow in the low light. [This is rather inconvenient], William thought, glaring up at the towering plants, which loomed around him like trees.

[Well, let’s see just how malleable this reality really is.]

The magic William had studied back on Earth allowed for limited manipulation of reality. But while that might sound like the stuff of comic books, it wasn’t nearly as overpowered as it seemed—there were quite a few constraints that kept magic use in check. For one, the reality of Earth was firm, as if the very nature of the world resisted change. The best even skilled mages could manage were low-impact spells similar in power level to something out of the first couple of books of Harry Potter. Magic required enough weight of will, known as Koupā, to push against reality and make it change. And most people, even naturally gifted ones, simply didn’t have enough of it to do much beyond parlour tricks. However, there were ways to cheat the system.

The first was straightforward: mantras and hand signs. Think of them as psychological shortcuts or a form of self hypnosis that help focus a caster’s will, priming their mind to link specific words or gestures to a desired effect. This was why old folklore had wizards muttering incantations and gesturing wildly.

Secondly was the much more powerful Ptolemy’s Theory of Tributary Magic. This theory, without getting too into the weeds, allowed a caster to borrow weight from the collective subconscious of humanity. Just as rivers and streams connect bodies of water symbolism, language, and Collective cultural ideas are able to connect the otherwise separate minds of humans. Instead of relying solely on ones own willpower, they could tap into the collective Koupā of humanity.

It was tributary magic that had allowed him to open the portal in the first place. By orchestrating a massive ritual and tapping into global dread and desperation to escape a nuclear apocalypse, he had manipulated enough Koupā to achieve his desired result.

Now, he needed to find out how this new world’s reality held up. He closed his eyes, his tiny, infant brow furrowing with concentration. A gentle pulse rippled from his mind outward, testing the boundaries of this world's reality. The air around him seemed to hum, the field of red grain shimmering in response.

With a bit of careful focus, William directed a soft but firm push against the downward pull of gravity. He felt himself lift up, a slight thrill sparking inside him as he floated a few inches off the ground, bobbing lightly like a cork on water. The ease of it was shocking. Back on Earth most Mages have the ability to levitate in infants but here it was practically effortless. Despite the fact that his new Artis had no connection to space-time manipulation—unlike his previous one, which had granted him a talent with telekinesis—this still felt leagues easier than what he’d expected. It was as if the world itself was yielding to his every whim, amplifying his ability without even trying.

With a cherubic smile, he began floating toward his belongings. His clothes, thank goodness, were right where he’d left them, untouched by whatever had transpired around him. With a gentle sweep of thought, he tugged his shirt, linen shorts, and cell phone toward him, wrapping himself in his things with a bit of makeshift swaddling. Ensuring his prized Hawaiian shirt remained on the outside, he tucked the phone securely into the bundle. With everything in place, he looked around at the unfamiliar world.

To ensure that his retirement was as entertaining as possible, William had carefully crafted some stipulations into his portal to guarantee that the world he entered would match his particular tastes. First and foremost, he required a reality that was weaker and far more malleable than Earth’s. Second, he wanted humans—or at least creatures close enough. Third, since he’d always been a huge nerd so he wanted something vaguely similar to what exists in Earth's pop culture yet alien enough to be fresh. Fourth he made sure that there wasn't a God, deity or any similarly powerful existence that could detect or care about his intrusion into their world.

Finally, he specified that this new realm should come with a pre-existing power system of its own. He wanted the use of his old world's magic to be a “cheat” ability, the kind of unfair advantage typically given to an isekai protagonist. Obviously there isn't a world in our universe with all these parameters but William hadn’t been trying to hop to a different place in our universe; he’d aimed for anywhere else in all of existence. Any plane of reality, any universe, or multiverse that could satisfy his conditions would do. And in an infinite sea of universes, there were bound to be infinite worlds that met his criteria.

After floating through the red fields with no distinct landmarks in sight, William decided to travel opposite the sun’s path to keep it out of his eyes. By midday, he’d gathered a few important facts about his new environment—and, more importantly, about his own capabilities. First, he’d resurrected at dawn. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant yet, but it seemed important. Second, he’d been able to test the limits of his powers, though he suspected his results were stunted by the “hardware” he was working with—the brain of an infant wasn’t exactly optimized for complex magical exertion. Regardless, the results were beyond his expectations. Telekinetically, he could exert a force of approximately 200 kilograms within a 50-meter radius, wielding this force as precisely as if he were using his own hands.

While trying to warm himself he was able to tell that his new Artis seemed to include control over temperature. Within a 10-meter radius, he had perfect control over the temperature. He could heat the area to the point where a hike through Death Valley comparably felt like a pleasant midwinter stroll or chill it to past the depths of the coldest Arctic night. When he focused on a smaller space, shrinking his area of influence to less than a meter, he found he could ignite the strange red grain around him with ease.

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As for conjuring? It was still a pain in the ass. He could only summon objects smaller than an adult’s fist—and only items he knew intimately, things he’d touched, held, and used daily for years, like his computer mouse. These conjurations lasted no more than a minute and required intense focus to sustain. Still, on Earth, he’d barely been able to conjure a grain of sand for even a second.

As William telekinetically stamped out the latest patch of fire—his third of the day—he finally spotted something on the horizon: smoke. [Surely, the blaze hadn’t spread that far.] After about an hour’s travel, with only a slight detour to ensure he’d snuffed out the remnants of his unintentional prairie fire, he arrived at what seemed to be a village.

The buildings here were timber-framed, their walls coated in a pale layer of quicklime, giving them an almost ghostly brightness under the afternoon sun. The roofs were steeply angled and layered with dark slate, giving the village a hardy, weathered look that hinted at rough winters.

The people looked remarkably ordinary as they went about their evening routines, chatting gibberish amicably with neighbours, and the savoury aroma of cooking filled the air. It was only then that William realized an immediate problem: as an infant, he couldn’t exactly eat solid food. For the first time, he regretted his disinterest in anything related to dealing with children as he had no clue about a baby’s dietary requirements.

Refusing even to consider the idea of nursing, he made up his mind to search for some kind of milk-producing animal. Floating just above the ground, hidden by the tall grass, he surveyed the local pastures, hoping to spot a suitable creature. Soon enough, he found one: a creature with broad shoulders, four legs, and hooves—similar enough to a cow in purpose, though not in appearance. Its head was shaped differently, adorned with sweeping horns that resembled those of a rhinoceros more than cattle, and its muscles bulged like a Belgian Blue under a thick coat of hide. Though it lacked udders as he knew them, its milk-producing organ was close enough in design, as evidenced by the young calves nursing nearby.

After briefly startling a "cow" he was able to use his telekinesis to acquire his dinner.

With that problem sorted, William pondered his next move regarding the village. Judging by the architecture and the simplicity of life he’d observed, it was either extremely rural or perhaps pre-Industrial Revolution—either way, there was little chance the villagers would welcome a random, mysterious baby appearing out of nowhere. And, of course, he had no intention of actually playing the helpless infant role any longer than necessary.

The language barrier, however, was an issue. He hadn’t understood a single word they’d spoken, which meant he’d need to learn it somehow. For now, though, he’d wing it: Just act the part of an abandoned child, and if things go south, slip out.

****

Eliza had just stepped out to fetch a pail of water when her foot snagged on a basket placed right in her doorway. She was about to scold whichever family member had been daft enough to leave it there when she caught sight of what was inside. It was a crudely woven basket of crimson containing the last thing she ever expected: an infant, swaddled in the most bizarre cloth pattern she had ever seen.

The child, a little thing with piercing green eyes, stared up at her. Eliza’s breath hitched. In her many years in the village, she had seen her fair share of peculiar things but never anything quite like this. The baby didn’t make a sound; it simply gazed at her.

After a moment’s hesitation, she bent down, gently lifting the basket with a wary glance around, half-expecting to see some mischievous neighbours watching from the bushes. But no one was there. She brought the basket closer, studying the child’s cloth, a bright, riotous pattern that seemed more fitting for a festive tapestry than an infant’s blanket.

“Well, little one,” she murmured, brushing a strand of her greying hair back. “Who left you on my porch?” The baby blinked, its face suddenly the picture of innocence.

Inside, Eliza’s mind raced. No family in the village had recently had a child, and even if they had, no one would’ve left it here like this, something about this smells fishy. She would need to bring the infant inside, and then convene a town meeting to decide what to make of this. The baby kept its gaze fixed on her, there was something... a little unnerving about its eyes.

"Petra!" Eliza called as she stepped back inside, carefully holding the basket. At the sound of her name, a young woman appeared from the next room. Wilma carefully set the basket on the table, brushing her hands on her apron before looking Petra in the eye. "Take care of this little one, will you? I need to gather the neighbours. I found it just sitting on our porch."

Petra, a petite woman with a shock of blonde curls, furrowed her brow as she peered into the basket. "Who is this?"

"Not a clue," Eliza replied, already halfway out the door. "Why do you think I'm gathering the neighbours?"

Petra glanced back at the baby, who was watching her with a steady, almost unnervingly calm gaze. "Well, alright then, little mystery," she murmured, picking up the basket and swaying slightly to calm the child. "I guess it’s just you and me for now."

The infant didn’t fuss, only continued staring at her, its wide green eyes bright with an intensity that set Petra slightly on edge. Still, she cradled the basket, giving a soft chuckle. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a baby quite like you.”

As Petra rocked the basket gently, she looked around, uncertain of what to do with the strange baby. Most infants she’d met were fussy or cried for attention, but this one simply watched her with an unsettling calmness.

"You’re a peculiar little thing, aren’t you?” she murmured, pulling a small blanket over the baby to keep him warm. Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the air as several villagers shuffled into the small home. They gathered around the table, their eyes widening as they took in the strange infant wrapped in colourful fabric.

"Did you say you found him on your porch?" asked a tall bearded man, scratching his chin.

Eliza nodded. "Right there, just waiting. No note, no nothing. Not a soul in sight."

Another villager, an older woman with a wiry frame and a weathered face, leaned over and peered down at William. "Can’t say I’ve ever seen a baby swaddled in such strange cloth before. Looks like something from one of the travelling merchants, maybe?"

Petra shrugged. "I thought the same, but… no caravan’s been through here in weeks."

The voices grew louder as William simply listened, his gaze moving from person to person, quietly assessing. It didn’t take long for the gathered villagers to start talking logistics: who should take him in, how to feed him, and what they would do if no one decided to claim him.