Will had been reborn in this new world for several months now. After the initial shock, he had slowly adapted to his new infant body and surroundings. His adult memories and personality remained, however confused he was by this mystical second chance at life.

By careful listening, he had deciphered the language spoken around him. His own vocal cords could not form more than gurgles and cries, but his mind absorbed the words ardently. He learned that his parents were named Marc and Helen, and himself Arthur. Strange, unfamiliar names that he would have to adopt as his own.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, gently warming baby Arthur's face. The few months old infant slowly awoke in his crib, his mind still foggy. Adjusting to this new life was no easy feat, especially having retained all memories from his adult self.

Arthur strained to stretch out his tiny body before attempting to prop himself up. For the past few weeks, he had started crawling short distances. Now was a good time to further explore this intriguing house.

He hoisted himself out of the crib and got on all fours. The floorboards creaked faintly under his weight. Arthur slowly made his way towards the partially open door leading to the hallway. He peeked out: no one in sight. He then carried on, fascinated by every minute detail.

The wooden walls were adorned with sconces holding flickering flames. The floor was made of large grey stone slabs. Everything denoted a rustic medieval interior.

Suddenly, voices could be heard. Arthur froze and pricked up his ears. It was his mother, Helen, speaking with a patient in the next room. He crawled towards the sound, remaining hidden behind the ajar door.

Helen was leaning over a man in his forties cradling his injured arm. A shimmering blue glow emanated from her hands as she hovered them just above the gash.

"This may be painful, but try to stay still," Helen advised.

The man nodded, brow furrowed apprehensively.

As Helen's water magic seeped into the wound, the man cried out in agony. His face twisted in torment and he clenched his other fist tightly.

"Gah! It burns!" he exclaimed through ragged breaths.

"I know it hurts, but it is working," Helen replied gently. "Just a little longer."

The man screamed as the torn flesh slowly fused back together under the glowing water droplets. Tears streamed down his face from the searing pain.

After ten excruciating minutes, Helen finally withdrew her hands. The man sagged back, panting and drenched in sweat.

"The worst is over. You'll need to rest and recover now," Helen said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Will I... regain full use...of my arm?" the man asked weakly.

"If you diligently perform the rehabilitation exercises I will show you. But it will take time."

The man nodded slowly, still clutching his throbbing arm. He haltingly got to his feet, face tight with lingering pain.

"Thank you for your gift," he said gratefully before limping out of the room.

Arthur was fascinated. So in this world, magic could really heal any wound! It was both comforting and disturbing. He discreetly crawled back to the hallway before his mother noticed him.

As Arthur headed back to his room, he caught sight of a half-open door leading to a dark chamber. Intrigued, he approached and managed to sneak inside. The dim light from the corridor allowed him to make out his father's armor hung on the wall, along with various weapons: swords, axes, bows... Marc must train here.

Arthur startled when a strong hand suddenly lifted him off the ground.

"Got you, little rascal!" exclaimed Marc, holding him up at arm's length.

He did not seem angry, rather amused by his son's escapade. He brought him back to the bedroom and put him in his crib just before Helen walked in.

"I thought this little imp had escaped again! Good thing you're keeping an eye out." She kissed Marc.

Arthur felt a pang of jealousy towards his father. He wished he could receive a motherly kiss too...

A few days later, Helen decided to take Arthur to the market for the first time. She set him in a baby carrier, nestled snugly against her chest. The transition from the house's dim interior to the outside brightness dazzled the infant's eyes.

They were in a small medieval town where everything was thatched, timber and stone. Colorful stalls lined a wide paved avenue leading to an imposing cathedral. A motley crowd went about their business, including humans, elves and dwarves.

Helen headed towards a vegetable stand.

"Hello Gaspard. I'll take three leeks, please."

"Of course, Helen. That'll be 6 copper pieces."

Arthur pricked up his ears. So the currency was divided into copper, silver and gold coins. A classic system. He noticed no one paid in gold. That was likely reserved for larger transactions.

At the bakery, the baker slid a fresh loaf of bread into Helen's basket.

"Have a nice day!" he said with a smile.

Will made another mental currency note - bread costs around 10 coppers.

As they left, Will spotted a tough-looking beastman bickering with a merchant. Their argument was rising in volume and intensity. Will observed with interest, sensing potential conflict.

The beastman roared,

"You cheat! Those prices are highway robbery!" The merchant retorted,

"Take it or leave it, beast. I won't haggle with the likes of you."

As tensions escalated, Will felt himself getting excited. Would a real fight break out? He had seen plenty of skirmishes in anime but never in person.

Suddenly, two armored guards approached.

"Let's all just calm down," one guard said firmly.

The beastman scowled but backed off. Will felt almost disappointed.

As they walked through the market, Arthur gazed around in wonder at the diversity of peoples. He spotted stout, beardy dwarves engaged in loud negotiations. Dwarven craftsmanship was renowned, and their axes and mattocks glinted dangerously at their sides.

Lithe elves stood out with their sharp angular features and long pointed ears peeking through their flowing locks. They had an otherworldly grace to their movements. The fine silks and satins of their clothes displayed their refined tastes.

Arthur's eyes went wide when a towering minotaur lumbered by, head and shoulders above the crowd. The bull-headed beastman grunted as he squeezed his massive frame between stalls, hoofed feet clacking on the cobblestones. His fierce visage and bulging muscles were intimidating.

A buxom rabbit beastwoman leaned down from her stall, ample bosom barely restrained in a tightly laced bodice.

"Can I interest you in some fresh carrots, little one?" she said in a honeyed voice, giving Arthur a generous view of her cleavage.

Arthur quickly turned beet red and looked away in embarrassment. As a dignified man of culture, he could appreciate a fine female form. But trapped in this infant body, such urges felt profoundly uncomfortable.

He dearly wished to be an adult again and interact with the lovely ladies of this world. But for now, he was confined to helplessly admiring from afar as his mother briskly carried him along.

"One day..." he silently promised himself, before redirecting his gaze to the passing scenery.

There would be plenty of time to explore those interests later in life. Suddenly, as they turned a corner into an alley, a hooded figure jostled Helen. Arthur felt a hand nimbly rummaging through his mother's bag before dashing off into the crowd.

“Why do it seem me so familiar?” he thinks exasperated