“Tyrants have had all of you in a stranglehold for too long. You are powerless against them and they are subject only to their whims. What can you, as mere men, do against wicked deus? Against flames that burn mountains and boil seas? You snuff them out before they can grow. This is what I ask to everyone, and most of all, to the future parents of Tyrants, to which this will become the heaviest of burdens. Destroy the Tyrants when they’re still weak, when they are still mere children. I have devised a system, a set of rules that will help detect Tyrants, use it well. As proof to all of you that I am serious, my execution will be publicly siared to all. Prosperity to Sorus and her people.” 

- 1 A.S. Ernst Steitz, Tyrant of Tyrants. 

Cancer. 

Didn’t smoke. Didn’t over drink. Didn’t overeat. 

Still cancer. 

The doctors said it was too late. It was spreading fast. Started in my lungs, got into my throat and now in my stomach. I might as well be dead. 

They said it was genetical, that my grandfather died of cancer and that’s possibly why I got cancer at twenty-five. Bullshit, I say. But they said it themselves, cancer can sometimes just happen. 

Either way, both options I couldn’t control. I would die and the doctors didn’t give me a good chance I’ll survive whatever treatments they had. Even if I did, I’ll be stuck working my ass off to pay off my hospital bills in addition to my student loans. 

And I just got an ‘entry-level’ job two months ago. 

I’m tired. 

I feel like an old man that had lived through so much and just wanted to die. 

It’s bullshit. 

And I don’t give a fuck anymore. 

People died of the pandemic and here I got cancer. 

Now I felt bad for even thinking that. No matter what the cause, dying was dying. 

Just a load of crap. 

I didn’t want to worry my parents. I didn’t want to worry my sister. I didn’t want to worry my friends. I’ll just live the last of my days, die, and hopefully my boss doesn’t fuck me out of my work life insurance. 

I got home, smashed the door shut, didn’t bother locking it, and looked out the window facing the city. 

A year ago, the city looked dazzling. I felt wonder the first time I enjoyed the view and without thinking about it, I started imagining what I would make of myself in the city. I pictured penthouses, sport cars, nice restaurants. The dream. 

Cancer never even crossed my mind. 

“This is fucked.” 

It felt like I just started staring out the window but the sun was already coming out. Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel sleepy, the cancer fucking me up, probably. Heh, if it only did that, I would have welcomed it.  

I closed the window, got dressed, and left for work. 

I fell asleep on my desk. 

When I woke up, it was to a stranger’s face smiling at me with tears in her eyes. 

What the fuck? 

***** 

I was born again? 

How? 

Why? 

Does that mean I died? 

The questions raced one after another before I could even give a second to consider a single one. It was made even worse by how my body didn’t even feel like it’s mine. My arms and legs were too stubby and my hands too weak to even grasp at air. The only thing I could do was breathe and eat whatever people hand fed to me. 

I had to be carried everywhere because I couldn’t move on my own. I could barely do anything on my own. I couldn’t even turn my head properly. 

I could barely move on my own and they wrapped a blanket on me. Now, I couldn’t move at all. It felt like torture, like someone kidnapped me, amputated me, and put restraints on top of it for their sick pleasure. 

It was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. 

They kept me in a room with other babies, probably the nursery. All the babies were either asleep or crying with their eyes closed, and here I was, eyes wide open, trying to look around everywhere. I must’ve looked like a weird baby. 

I didn’t see the stranger again. 

The lights were kept on and there were no windows. The only way I had of telling the time was the coming and going of the person that watched over all of the babies. They just came, stood at the front of the room, and watched. Were they there to keep the babies from choking on themselves by accidentally rolling on their stomach? I wasn’t sure, I had zero experience on hospitals, especially on babies. 

Besides them, guys with white cloaks, carrying a wooden staff, and a tray of mush, would come in occasionally. I didn’t know what they were or what they were doing here. They came there, took care of the babies that needed it, and then left. Were they the parents? The doctors? I wasn’t sure. They came pretty regularly, sticking to a feeding schedule I would guess, but since I didn’t know how many times they fed the babies every day, I couldn’t rely on them to tell the time. 

I could’ve counted the amount of times I slept and woken up. But the same problem with using the white cloaks came up. Still, I was glad that I couldn’t keep myself awake for too long, I didn’t know how I would cope with the mind-numbing boredom of not being able to do anything otherwise.  

Since the watchers needed to be constantly alert, I couldn’t assume eight-hour shifts. Four or two was more plausible, in my mind. So, with that assumption, I counted the watchers as they came and went, it was the only thing I could do aside from dwelling on the questions in my mind that I couldn’t possibly answer. 

Forty-two watchers later, three people came by. They weren’t watchers or the white cloaks. The watcher was still there. They looked more like soldiers, wearing polished armor from head to toe that looked like they were made of silver, with the one in the lead wearing a grey overcoat. The lead guy went straight to me. 

I didn’t understand what he said to me. 

But I did learn that he was a woman. 

With a gesture from the woman, one of the ones without a coat came in and picked me up. Even with the blankets wrapped around me, his armor still felt cold. From what I could tell, the watcher didn’t even bat an eye as they brought me away. 

If the first stranger I saw was my ‘mother’, then she had no problems with a bunch of random people taking me away. 

The guy that carried me shifted my blankets to cover my face, taking away the only thing I could possibly do. I knew they were moving, I could still feel that, but where, I had no fucking clue. 

The experience made me so glad that I didn’t remember being a baby the first time. 

Less than a watcher shift later, I think, they removed the blanket over my face and put me in another caged cradle. This time, I was alone. 

The things that they fed me was different from what they fed me in the earlier place. It tasted metallic, and I found it better than the bland mush they gave me earlier. What these people were trying to do by giving a baby food that tasted metallic, was beyond me. If they wanted to kill me, why use poison when rolling me over to my stomach could’ve done the trick? But it wasn’t like I could do anything about it. 

At least here, the guy that fed me, the same people in armor, actually tried to speak with me. Some part of me felt it was weird that they talked to me not like a baby, like I already knew speech. At least, they didn’t have the baby tone some of the white cloaks had when they spoke to a baby. They were using gestures too, like they wanted me to understand and knew I could. 

They pointed at my food, and said “Food.” 

Wait, English? 

Then they pointed at themselves, and said a word that was definitely not English, then at me, without a word spoken. I had no idea what to do, wasn’t like I could speak. 

But I was just glad there was something to do. 

After repeating it a few times, the soldier stopped and fed me. 

Like the earlier place, I had no way to tell the time aside from the soldiers giving me food. They were less reliable, as reliable as using the comings and goings of people to tell the time could be, so I counted my sleep instead. The watchers would change every two times, ballpark average, of me waking up, so every time I woke up meant two hours had passed from the last time. So, I counted, all the while trying my best to understand their language. 

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

What was I bothering for, they only ever spoke two words. 

There were hours between meals and nothing to do in-between that and sleeping. Unlike the room I was in earlier, this room had nothing in it but me and my cradle, and a table near the door. Watching babies got stale after a short time, but it was better than nothing. With nothing to distract myself, my thoughts reined free. 

I couldn’t answer how or why I was reborn, or if I actually died and this is just a realistic dream where I’m conscious. I worried about the real world, or the past world, or whatever, how my family was doing, how they were taking my death, my friends. It felt like it was logical to cry about it, but it still felt weird to actually do it.  

That was the first time I cried as a baby in this life. 

Eventually, I stopped, either I ran out of tears or the sadness just passed out of my system. Either way, I couldn’t answer a lot of the questions I had, but I could figure out what to do, once I became independently mobile again. The moment I could speak, I would, so I could try to get the guys taking care of me some measure of independence. 

Getting my diapers changed was just degrading, doesn’t matter if I was in a baby’s body, it still is. 

There was only so much I could plan without any information on the outside, so I changed tracks. I tried to figure out why I was moved, why the people taking care of me had armor on. As dubious as having armored guys take a baby away from a nursery, it made sense for them to have armor, I didn’t think people would be happy with guys like those. But having them still on while feeding me? Was the armor too bothersome to take off or was there something else? What justified having their armor on when the only other person in the room was a baby? 

Do they know I’m not actually a baby? 

Is that why they were trying to speak to me not like a baby? 

I couldn’t know, but I desperately wanted to. 

I spent most of the rest of my waking hours training my baby lips to form words. I pretty much already knew what they were saying, the words for food and themselves, so I didn’t bother learning a language I had no other point of reference to. Losing speech sucked, everyone knew that, even if they didn’t think about it. But it’s not until you actually do lose your speech do you really understand what it’s like. I was reminded of my speech impediment phase, where I couldn’t say the word ‘r’ without effort as a kid. I had to really work for it otherwise I’d sound like an idiot. It phased out, but I still remembered the experience. Regaining my speech was like that, but with every alphabet and syllable.  

Hell, to say the least. 

When they say hell, they describe fire. Experiencing being a baby might actually be it. 

I lost count along the way of how many times I slept and woken up. But it took me maybe two dozen wake ups later when I finally parsed out enough language to try to speak. 

When the soldier came in my view with a bowl of mush in hand, he spoke, as they usually did. His voice echoed through his helmet, which made it just that tiny bit harder to understand. 

They even have their helmets on, what are they worried about? 

They pointed at the mush and said, “Food.” 

“Food.” 

The soldier looked startled, pulling back a bit as if to process what he just heard. 

He pointed at the mush again. 

“Food,” I ‘said’. 

He nodded and pointed at himself, “Aufsehen.” 

“Au... fff... hen.” 

God, I hated this. I want to speak normally again. 

He nodded again, seemingly ignoring my butchered speech, and then pointed at me without a word spoken, 

What does he want? 

After a while of me just looking at him, he pointed to himself again, “Aufsehen.” Then he pointed at me. 

Does he want me to tell him what I am? 

“Bae... by,” I said. 

He stopped and seemed to take a moment to think. Then he pointed at himself, “Warsame Gaciye.” Then he pointed at me. 

Is that supposed to be his name? 

He’s asking for mine! 

“Aw... tuw... Wawd.” 

Arthur Ward goddamnit! 

I tried again, “Awtuw... Wawd.” 

The soldier nodded, said something I didn’t understand, and fed me. Even after he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

They’re asking a baby for his name. 

There’s no way they don’t have an idea of what’s going on. 

Next time I woke up, the soldier came, this time with two rolls tucked under his armpit. He placed the mush on the table and walked over to the wall nearest to me. He grabbed one roll and unfurled it. 

It was a poster. 

A poster for an alphabet. 

He stuck it to the wall and I got a good look of it. It had all the letters, just with four additions after Z. A weird ‘B’ but more cursive, ‘β,' an ‘A’, ‘O’, and ‘U’ with two dots on top of them. 

Isn’t that the weird ‘B’ Europeans used? From Germany or the Netherlands or something. 

The soldier, or Aufsehen as he called himself, unfurled the other roll and stuck it to the wall. It was a picture card, the ones meant to help kids learn words. Twenty-five pictures each with a word under them. Some were English, others sounded not. I recognized European, Japanese or Chinese, I wasn’t sure, in the English alphabet, and others I couldn’t recognize. 

There was the word for ‘Man’ and ‘Woman’ with pictures. ‘Eilm’ for flag. ‘Funa’ for a ship. ‘Mech’ for sword. It was like the card wasn’t meant to teach just English, but everything at once.  

The Aufsehen stepped aside and pointed at the ‘A’, “Ah.” His voice was different. Not Warsame. 

He pointed at me. 

“Ah.” 

He nodded and we went through the entire alphabet. He moved on to the picture card and we went over that too. After we finished, he fed me and left. 

I never thought relearning basic language would be anything but a chore. I thought it helped that some of the words and alphabets were things I didn’t know before. 

The next time, we went over the posters again. Then another. After that, they brought in more posters. Seemed like they had a system in place, a curriculum. If I could do it three times in a row, they moved on. I gradually learned more words, then grammar, thankfully not that different from English. It never got stale, it seemed they were going at the same pace that I relearned how to speak. Just advanced enough to challenge, not enough to overwhelm. 

It felt like their language was using English as the baseline but with other words having seemingly no connection to English. I could sort of see a pattern to it too. Boat stuff, just boats, not sea stuff, was Japanese, as far as I could tell. A lot of animals, which coincidentally looked alien, definitely not Earth animals, was from a language I couldn’t recognize. Medieval weapons, and it was weird they’re showing a baby this, even if they sort of don’t consider me one, sounded Russian. Stuff that didn’t feel important, like paperwork, clocks, and things I felt fit the office environment to a tee, was in German. 

Do they even realize it? Or is it just like that here? 

I basically stopped counting the time at this point, months must’ve passed like this, but I still wanted a way to tell, so I asked them, “Uhr, please?” 

Clock, please. 

The Aufsehen took a moment to consider my request, he was a different one, seemed they never had the same guy in twice. He spoke, “I’ll make an anfrange, but I can’t give you an answer right now.” 

Anfrange, request. 

I couldn’t nod, I was still limited to turning my head to the side to see the posters. But I could speak, “Okay. Kalender too?” 

“I’ll make an anfrange,” the Aufsehen said before he continued going over the posters until it was time to leave. 

At some point, the Aufsehens stopped going over the posters and opted to instead just speak with me until I went to sleep. It was a great way to learn both the language and the world around me. The place I was in was called the Mazraea Sekretariat of the Dalavi Kompanie. It was confusing at times, how office terms like office itself and company was in German, and how names seemed to come from all over the place, but I got used to it. 

The Dalavi Kompanie, as this particular Aufsehen put it, is a group dedicated to prosperity for all. It sounded like corporate propaganda to me, but maybe that was just me being jaded. But why would a company dedicated to general prosperity take a newborn baby away from his own mother? Even if I’m technically not a baby, something I suspected the Aufsehen, and by extension the Dalavi Kompanie, already knew, why would you do that? 

The Aufsehen heard my question and decided we should move on. I pushed and he pushed back. 

I didn’t want to know what an angry Aufsehen could do to a baby so I stopped, but there was something going on, something not readily apparent. 

The next Aufsehen that came in was more receptive, but as he answered, he sounded disturbed, or at least uncomfortable with the question. 

“You are a Tyrant, child,” the Aufsehen said. 

Tyrant? 

“You’re eidos is not welcomed in our world,” the Aufsehen continued. “You’re eidos is put down wherever we find you.” 

“What does eidos mean?” I asked. The question was benign next to my real question. Maybe I was hesitant to ask the real question in my head. I was dying to know, but dreading the answer at the same time. 

“Kind, child,” the Aufsehen said. “Piletinas is a kind,” chicken. “Tigars is a kind,” tigers. “The Tyrants are a kind.” 

I was still afraid to ask, but I did. 

“What are Tyrants?” 

“Malvado, Kino, Kejahatan, Evil,” the Aufsehen said. “Destroyers all. Your eidos is a danger to humanity and to the world. The calamities of this world are caused by the Tyrants. Continents have been turned into deadlands by the Tyrants. Too many men and women have been extinguished by the Tyrants. We will do all we can to prevent your eidos from roaming freely again.” 

“But that’s not me,” I said. I was panicking, I didn’t know why. “I’m just a baby.” 

“A day to reaching six months of age and already speaking fluently,” the Aufsehen pointed out. “You are not a mere baby.” 

I didn’t have an answer to that. 

So, I asked another question. 

“What’s the difference between Tyrant babies and normal ones?” 

The Aufsehen stood up from his kneeling position, “That’s for later, child.” He walked to the calendar he just placed on the wall. He grabbed the pen placed next to the calendar and marked the date. The 32nd day of Steitz, the last month of the year. Without another word, he walked out. 

It finally dawned on me. I now had an answer to a question I had since the moment they put me here. 

I was a prisoner. Even more a prisoner than being a man in a baby’s body. 

But if I’m supposed to be killed, why bother keeping me prisoner? 

The answer came to me like a sudden fire igniting in my core. 

What am I saying? The answer didn’t come to me like that. I didn’t have the answer. 

But I did feel the fire. 

I woke up sweating buckets. I wasn’t sure if babies could even sweat. My entire body was burning, it felt like I just downed a whole bottle of hard liquor with the burning still there after it passed. It became hard to breath, like something was keeping my chest from properly expanding. 

I felt like I was going to die. 

I tried screaming for help but what came out was a weak wheeze. Hot tears were rolling down my cheeks. I grabbed the bars to the sides of my cradle, just so I had something to hold on to. The burning didn’t stop, it actually become hotter. 

My mouth was open because I wanted to scream but I couldn’t even wheeze anymore. My hands were hurting from holding on to tight but I couldn’t stop, it was the only thing distracting me. My tears felt like it boiled my skin as it rolled down. 

I woke up screaming. 

I looked down, seeing my body perfectly fine. No burns, my skin wasn’t even red. I dropped my head back down and let out a sigh of relief. 

Wait, since when was I able to move my neck that far? 

“You’re awake.” 

I snapped my attention out of my thoughts. An Aufsehen was staring at me, but he wasn’t like the others. He had a grey overcoat on, clinging to him by one button on his collar. I recognized him, or rather, I recognized the uniform. He didn’t sound like a woman. 

“Who are you?” I asked. 

The man pulled off his helmet, revealing a scar cutting across his left eye, passing his nose, and ending in the middle of his right cheek. A light-skinned man that’s either on the cusp, or thirty, but his hair was already as grey as an old man’s. I thought he looked handsome, in a mature kind of way. He had vibrant purple eyes which seemed to pulse as they locked on to me. 

He tucked his helmet under his arm and introduced himself. “Anzai Yamagishi, Vortand of the Dalavi Kompanie. A pleasure to meet you, Arthur Ward.” 

I nodded, still unsure of what was happening, “A pleasure too.” 

Anzai smiled at me and then looked around the room, “Quite a mess you made  

He wasn’t lying. I looked around and found that the posters were strewn about on the floor, some of them having ripped themselves from the parts glued to the wall. Besides that, the table had fallen over. Even my cradle wasn’t spared, one of the bars on my right side was slightly bent, same for another on my left. 

I looked up to Anzai, “What happened?” 

Anzai looked to me, his smile widening as he did, “Congratulations, Tyrant. You’ve just broken through the first barrier and unlocked your fledgling powers.”