I had my doubts about the fantasy stories I had read in my youth. Well, to be completely honest, not even when I read those stories did I sincerely believe that after dying a human being could reincarnate in another world in someone else's body.

To begin with, there were too many inconsistencies to say that it was a possibility. Because for example, was your soul supposed to reincarnate taking its memories with it? And if that was the case, why did he always go specifically to the body of a baby? And when he did, why did he always choose the gender you had in the past life?

All these doubts were not something I ever seriously considered. To be honest, I hadn't even thought about it like I was doing right now. And the only reason I was doing it at this moment was because the last thing I remember after losing consciousness was being pushed onto the tracks of the train station.

Therefore, following the logic of any sane person, with the common sense of a thirty-two-year-old adult and a mind mature enough to have worked for seven years as a loan shark in a prestigious company; I could deduce that even with special safety equipment I could not have survived the weight the carriages placed on the sharp metal wheels that attached to the electric tracks. And most likely, if by some miracle of fate I was still alive, I was without the lower half of my body, or for some reason in my nervous system that was too complex for me to understand.

The point was that I was thinking, and because I was thinking, I was existing. That in itself was reason enough to be happy.

All this had led me to the metal scene that was taking place in my desolate mind.

Have I died and reincarnated?

Although it was too early to have just thrown the hook and rush to ensure that I had caught, managing to capture the fortune of fulfilling one of my most shameful and pathetic desires, as well as dark and depressive, I felt confident with the idea. And it won't be long before I get my answer.

—(Verse 1) 

While I hold you in my arms, I can feel your little heart beating.

My love for you fills me with charm,

As I sing you such a sweet lullaby.

(Chorus)

My son, my dear, my joy and pride,

You are the light of my life.

I will sing for you, my heart open wide,

And protect you from any conflict.

(Verse 2)

You are a gift, such a rare miracle,

A treasure to treasure and adore.

I will teach you songs and stories to share,

And guide you in scoring your trip.

(Chorus)

My son, my dear, my joy and pride,

You are the light of my life.

I will sing for you, my heart open wide,

And protect you from any conflict.

(Bridge)

You are my legacy, my hope and my dream,

A promise of a bright future.

I'll be your bard, your team,

And make sure everything is alright.

(Chorus)

My son, my dear, my joy and pride,

You are the light of my life.

I will sing for you, my heart open wide,

And protect you from any conflict.

(Exit)

As you grow and explore the land,

I will be there for you, my son.

Together we'll make a great band

And our journey has just begun...~

In my ears, that voice had been so elegant and simple, that I felt diminished by its tone. And in the darkness of my unconsciousness, I could see figures through my eyelids.

—My love, that was wonderful. I'm sure he heard it. Look, look at his little hands...

—Yeah well, uh, I wrote it ten minutes ago… So, yeah, ha.

—Odard!

—Jane! Don't yell so close to the newborn...

—Ha ha ha! She is right. Odard's voice was torture enough for that little bug of light!

The next thing I could hear apart from all those high-pitched screams that actually made my ears hurt, was the hoarse voice of what seemed to be an old man.

—Congratulations, Miss and Mr. Leffert, the boy looks as healthy as a baby sheep.

—Eh? Did you just compare my beautiful Jane to a sheep, you old bastard?

—Hey, hey. Odard, behave yourself, will you?

—But he said my wife is a sheep! I don't know, he could have said…umh, I don't know, an elf?

—Oh yes, elf babies are always born healthy. I think it's because of the way mothers eat during pregnancy.

Evaluating the conversation around me, I only had one thing left to deduce: I didn't understand anything. And no, not in the language sense, because luckily I was able to clearly hear his voices. However, I did not understand whose voices these were, much less why the elven race from fantasy games and stories was brought to the table.

Desperate to discover answers to my questions, I was forced to slowly and painfully open my eyes. In doing so, my retinas burned from the new colors and shadows of figures that blocked the path of all light. It was normal if we thought that I was seeing through the eyes of a baby. The hoarse voice of the old man who just called Jane a sheep, was a short man with a badly shaved mustache, brown complexion and dark eyes. I could assure without fear that his eyes were as big as those of an owl, and his penetrating gaze seemed to observe my soul. If I clearly remembered that he had congratulated the parents on his son, I could assume that he was the one who welcomed me at birth, therefore, I would expect to see him in a hospital gown and some other technical instrument hanging from his neck. But no, he was wearing a colorful apron with gold embroidery, so striking that it could be seen on any traditional city holiday.

It's okay, I could think that my room was close to that of a child of some other nationality who suffered from a serious condition and the doctors had decided to give him joy by dressing in his culture's clothing.

But, oh boy, am I not in a hospital?

No, I wasn't. Well, the walls around me were made of wood reinforced by metal straps and nails that were attached to the ceiling and gave the entire wagon an oval shape. Yes, how did you read it? Wagon. It seemed that I was born in one of those hippie vans, because in addition to this family's absurd obsession with clay, everything seemed spiritual and mystical. With colorful carpets and intricately embroidered tapestries hanging on the walls. Not only that, but it also seemed that they lived in poverty, because the lighting of this wagon was thanks to candles and a torch.

When I looked around, the first thing I saw was a bipedal dragon. I could see the red scales on his muzzle glow in the candlelight and see the darkness that was created on the white fur below his neck. This upright lizard was dressed in clothing very similar to that of the old owl-eyed man. Colorful, flashy and not fancy at all. It didn't have wings, like a dragon, but it did have eyes that looked at me with a thoroughness that was only interrupted every time its nictitating membrane forced it to blink.

—Looks like the little bug is curious —he said, coming closer to me—. Be careful, little bug of light, maybe you will find a flame more radiant than your light in my gaze...

—Tsk. Ilit, leave him alone. Do you want him to be afraid of you when he grow up?

I turned my head to the right, leaving behind the fiery orange eyes of Ilit, who seemed to have changed his demeanor quickly under threat. In doing so, I stumbled across something that would make believers believe that the leader and master of the apocalypse had personally ascended from the fauses of hell.

The first thing that caught my attention were its horns. They were fine and as red as the color of her skin. However, they had small purple markings in the shape of butterflies or some similar insect. Her hair was brown and fell to her bare, delicate shoulders. Going up to her face again, I found myself with light blue eyes populated by long black eyelashes, which kept company with small lips highlighted in red. Her skin was literally red, it didn't look painted on in any way. Finally, her outfit consisted of a yellow dress with brown embroidery and a wide neck. On her right thigh was a leather belt that trailed down long legs to knee-high boots. By the time I knew it, one of her nails as sharp as Ilit teeth was caressing my cheek.

—He's so fat and soft... Is this how it would feel to touch a fluffy cloud? —she said, ecstatic at whatever tenderness was on my face.

—You too, Nithlia? It wasn't enough to call Jane a sheep, now my son is a fluffy cloud! Now, I've been betrayed even by my friends... Hey, little Darrow, say daddy! Da-dy...! 

The manly voice that didn't go hand in hand with the amount of stupidity I'd heard him say so far made me turn my head once more. But when I saw the owner of the voice, I would be lying if I didn't say that I was speechless. Not because he was exceptionally handsome, nor because he was the only human-looking one I'd seen so far – owl eyes don't count – but because the first thing you'd think when you see him is that he was taken from a story where he's the hero who has matured until being an adult.

His hair was as black as his eyes, it was long and he wore it combed back, leaving a single curly lock to fall down the left side of his face. Speaking of his face, he had the perfect symmetrical complexion, and although I couldn't see his jawline because of the dark brown beard that covered it, I could safely tell that he had the face of a romantic from medieval times. He was wearing some large animal skins on his shoulders, but under all that warm cloak, I could see the same bright colors everyone else was wearing. I knew that he had sing to me, because I recognized the voice of what was now my father too well.

—Odard, you have ruined the whole moment with your comments! Be thankful I can't move right now... But rest assured I'll make you pay.

Lastly, the voice that made my hair stand on end and confuse the fluids on my back for cold sweat.

I lifted my head up and the first thing I saw was his eyebrows raised in contempt. His black eyes and brown skin like my father's, the long gray hair on his head plastered to his forehead with sweat. But I could admit that of all the women I might have seen in my past life; not all of them together would be able to replicate a bit of the beauty that Jane had. My mother.

—Oh, my little Darrow... Can you ignore your father's nonsense?

It was certainly absurd to believe that a newborn could say dad simply because you asked. Perhaps Jane was right to be so upset by Odard's comments... When I looked around, the rest of those present seemed to agree with my way of thinking. Since they looked at Odard with disappointment.

But apart from the many loose screws my father seemed to have, I could understand why my mother had fallen in love with him. Ignoring the fact that he had dedicated a song to his newborn – a song that took him less than ten minutes… but a song nonetheless – one could get an idea of ​​the romanticism with which he could have arrived to seduce and charm a woman as beautiful as Jane. I could see the charisma in his look, that gentle feeling and in which you could feel safe.

Suddenly, the owl-eyed voice interrupted us.

—Very good, it seems that everything has turned out as expected —he said with an air of relief—. I advise you to stay in bed for the next few days, Miss Leffert. I also suggest that you attend to the needs of your wife with the highest diligence, Mr. Leffert, since it is of the utmost importance that while she provides food for her little one, you provide it to her.

The days passed and soon the weeks, by the time I realized it, half a month had already passed since the day I was born. I learned many things through the body of a baby and the mind of an adult, such as that babies are unnecessarily more sensitive to everything.

Speak into my ear and I'll cry, grab my hand and I'll cry, kiss my cheek and I'll cry, every action that wasn't done knowing it would hurt me, hurt me. I understood through this that mothers seemed to have a maternal instinct when it comes to these things, since she never did anything that made me hurt, and that's considering that she never took me away from her body. I couldn't move my tongue at ease, much less control my legs, my arms weighed tons because I was an obese baby and controlling my biological needs was a battle I never won.

I didn't really think that the owl-eyed suggestion to my father regarding tending to my mother was anything more than a mockery, but there was actually a reason for it. When Jane wanted to eat this or that, the milk she gave me when she nursed me tasted better. On the contrary, when Odard couldn't do what she asked, the milk tasted very bad. Perhaps this had no reason related to the way her body processed food according to what her brain told it, but rather a reaction of her nerves related to her natural system.

The point is that I learned to be angry with Odard thanks to my mother.

As I had predicted, the place where I was born was a wagon, only it belonged to a caravan of what appeared to be a circus show. It was my parents' home and therefore, mine. However, it was not a modern circus, nor do I think they will use that word to describe the show they put on. This world was obviously not a medieval-era version of my own, because to begin with, in addition to the dragon Ilit and the succubus demon Nithlia, there existed a mysterious force here – one I had also predicted to exist – magic.

I found this out the day Ilit summoned a ball of fire from his hands to disintegrate a spider to ashes. Ilit really didn't like spiders.

It was not necessary to speculate much about my well-being or safety in this place. My mother, Jane Leffert, and my father, Odard Leffert, were the living embodiment of Ying and Yang; they complemented each other so well that they created a perfect balance. In addition, since they were the leaders of the caravan and the circus owners, seeing the treatment that the others offered them you could imagine what kind of people they were, and absolutely everyone congratulated them with open hugs, kisses and songs for the son they had had.

Individually, my mother could be some spirit representing light itself. Because it was absurd how gentle and kind she was to everyone when she wasn't mad at Odard's nonsense.

One day we had to deviate from the road to resupply our personal rations – actually it was due to Jane and hers whims – and we went to Baramunz, a town of approximately fifteen hundred inhabitants; most human. It was only when Odard and his defiant foolish demeanor smuggled me out of the carriage in a fruit basket –away from Jane's eyes– and took me to see the town, that I could finally understand and accept that I was in another world.

Here, videogame merchants, their sweatbands on their heads and their muscles bulging as they pounded metal in their forges, sold their iron swords like a piece of bread, others sold armor, and there were even those who sold small test flasks with liquids that promised everything from a man's love to eternal life. I also realized that my father was a hunk known to all women, although from the things they yelled at him, I could detect a tinge that was closer to admiration and respect, coming to the conclusion that it seemed that until now he had not been unfaithful to Jane.

After that month and a half of being born into this world, I was able to create an outline of everything I knew up to now.

This place was not the past in my land, but another world. Here, society did work like it did in the past in my land, with people carrying swords and living under the law that they themselves created. The only details were that magical creatures existed here, and therefore, magic itself. If we took away those two details, it really was as if I had traveled to medieval times.

If only I had known how wrong I was...