The Cry That Stirred the Wind

Warm.

That was the first thing I felt.

Not the stiff wood of the crib.

Not the terror of falling.

Warm arms. Soft fabric. A familiar scent—lavender and something gentle, something safe.

“…Mama?”

No.

That came out as:

“Waah—baaa—!”

Damn it.

Amilia laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest as she held me close. “You truly are adventurous for someone so small,” she said, brushing her fingers through my hair. “Trying to escape already?”

Lady, I was about to reenact my death speedrun.

She carried me toward a cushioned chair near the window. Sunlight spilled in, painting the room gold. I squinted.

Okay… fancy room. Royal décor. Definitely not my old apartment.

She sat and gently rocked me. I tried to calm my breathing—well, baby breathing—and looked up at her.

So this is my mom.

Silver-blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes—clear blue, sharp yet kind—were watching me with concern and affection mixed together. Not a trace of suspicion.

Good. She doesn’t know I almost pulled a jailbreak.

Suddenly—

The air shifted.

Not wind.

Not movement.

Something else.

A faint pressure rippled through the room, like the air itself inhaled.

My chest tightened.

What the—

The curtains fluttered violently, though the window was closed. Papers lifted from the desk. Even Amilia froze.

Then—

CRACK.

A sharp sound burst from me.

Not a cry.

A shockwave.

The air exploded outward, knocking over a small table. The chandelier above rattled violently. Amilia’s eyes widened as she instinctively wrapped her arms around me.

“What—?!”

I screamed.

Not because I was scared.

Because something inside me answered.

The wind screamed back.

A spiral of air erupted around us, forming a translucent barrier. The pressure made my ears ring. I felt light—too light—like I was floating inside my own body.

Stop—stop—STOP—!

And just as suddenly—

Silence.

The wind vanished.

The room settled.

My scream died into a hiccup.

Amilia stared at me.

Not in fear.

In shock.

“…Arthur,” she whispered.

The door burst open.

Grand Duke Arthur rushed in, sword half-drawn, eyes scanning the room. “What happened?! I felt a surge—”

Then he saw the overturned furniture. The scorched floor where the wind had scraped the stone.

And finally—

Me.

Cradled in Amilia’s arms.

Arthur slowly lowered his sword.

“…A magic surge,” he said quietly.

Amilia nodded, her voice trembling. “From Kaden.”

Silence fell heavy between them.

Arthur stepped closer, studying me carefully. His expression wasn’t panic.

It was awe.

“At four months…” he murmured. “That level of mana response is impossible.”

Four months?!

I can’t even control my neck and you’re telling me I just cast a spell?!

Arthur placed a hand over his mouth, eyes darkening with realization.

“He didn’t just react,” he said. “He instinctively shaped it.”

Amilia hugged me tighter. “What does that mean?”

Arthur looked at her.

Then at me.

“It means,” he said slowly, “our son may possess a magic core far beyond royal standards.”

Oh no.

No no no no—

That wasn’t a second chance.

That was a problem.

Arthur smiled faintly.

“A blessing… and a danger.”

I yawned—because apparently my body had a timing sense of pure betrayal—and drifted toward sleep.

My last thought before darkness claimed me:

Great. I get reborn… and immediately become a magical anomaly.

This life’s gonna be complicated.

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