It was a moment of undeniable triumph. At least, that’s how Raven Sureksha—currently a drooling infant—saw it. After seven months of being trapped in the fragile, helpless body of a newborn, he had finally accomplished something worth celebrating.

  Crawling.

  That’s right. Raven—who once mastered languages, politics, and the intricacies of a thousand battle strategies—was now crawling across a nursery floor like a common toddler. His tiny arms and legs flailed awkwardly, but the simple fact that he was moving from point A to point B felt like a massive victory.

  Look at me. Look at what I’ve achieved. Not a genius, not a strategic mastermind, but a crawling pro. He could almost hear the crowds cheering for him. The greatest achievement of my illustrious career: moving a few inches by sheer force of will and baby-powered determination.

  His movements were jerky and disjointed, but to Raven, it felt like an Olympic event. This is it. This is my crowning achievement. It’s all downhill from here. I could die a happy man—well, a happy baby—now that I’ve conquered crawling. What else could I possibly need?

  The maid, busy tidying up nearby, stopped in her tracks as she saw Raven moving around the room. Her eyes widened.

  “Oh my! Little lord, are you... crawling?” she asked, as though she’d just witnessed the birth of a new world.

  Raven couldn’t help but roll his eyes internally. Yes, maid, I’m crawling. What else did you expect me to do? Sit here and wait for my genius brain to spontaneously solve complex math equations while my body remains frozen in time?

  He continued his circular crawl around the rug, as if he were drawing a giant invisible loop of victory in the nursery. The world isn’t ready for this level of genius. I’ll have to be careful; soon enough, they’ll have to build a monument in my honor. Maybe a statue shaped like a baby... crawling. They’ll call it ‘The Greatest Achievement in Baby History.’

  Just then, his older brother, Lord Magnus, walked in. He stopped, observing Raven’s clumsy movements with a mixture of curiosity and slight amusement.

  “Little brother,” Magnus said, as if the world had just been handed the most monumental news. “Is that... crawling?”

  Raven’s inner monologue was filled with sarcasm. Yes, Magnus, it’s crawling. You caught me. I was planning on writing a book on the subject next: The Art of Crawling: A Masterclass by Raven Sureksha. But for now, I’ll settle for just the crawl, since it’s the only thing I can manage at this moment.

  Despite his sarcastic thoughts, Raven couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He was, after all, moving. That was something. He was actually achieving something... even if it was a tiny step forward, literally and figuratively.

  He crawled over toward a large mirror across the room, curiosity guiding his baby body as he reached the reflective surface. As he looked at himself in the mirror, Raven paused, blinking.

  Wait a second... is that me? I’m... adorable. Just look at this face. His baby self—round cheeks, big eyes, tiny hands—stared back at him, looking impossibly cute.

  I’m probably the cutest baby ever born, he thought, completely unbothered by the ridiculousness of the idea. Who wouldn’t dote on me? This face... it's so irresistible, I almost pity everyone who has to put up with my cuteness. I can’t blame them for thinking I’m the center of the universe. I mean, I am the center of the universe. Look at me.

  The reflection in the mirror seemed to mock him in its purity, and yet it gave him a strange sense of warmth. Raven knew it was ridiculous. He knew it was absurd. But something about his baby face—so soft, so innocent—made him realize why everyone adored him so much.

  Maybe they’re not all entirely stupid, Raven mused with a hint of sarcasm. Maybe, just maybe, I get it now. They love me because I’m cute. I’m basically the world’s greatest treasure, wrapped up in a blanket and in need of constant naps. And honestly, who could blame them? Look at me. I’m a masterpiece of babyhood.

  As he crawled toward his mother, who had been silently watching from across the room, Raven’s internal sarcasm softened. Alright, alright, I’ll give them some credit. Maybe I’ll forgive a few of their... crimes against me. Maybe this baby face actually serves a purpose after all. I’ll let them fawn over me just a little bit longer. After all, they’re not hurting anyone. And honestly, how could I stay mad at this level of adoration?

  His mother gently scooped him up, cradling him in her arms with a smile that warmed his heart.

  “You’re such a smart little one, Raven. I knew you’d start moving soon. You’ll be running around in no time, I just know it.”

  “Oh, of course. First crawling, then running the world. No big deal. Totally achievable in the near future.”

  But for a brief moment, as his mother kissed his forehead and whispered soft, loving words to him, Raven allowed himself to sink into the comfort of the moment. Maybe this—this weird, baby version of his life—wasn’t so terrible. And maybe, just maybe, he could start to appreciate these simple joys.

  Crawling... the most incredible achievement of his life.

  Its been 2 weeks since Raven first crawled and by now, Raven had mastered crawling—not that he wanted to acknowledge it as an actual "mastery," but hey, if you’re stuck in the body of an infant, you take what you can get. So, with this new skill under his belt, he decided to take full advantage of his newfound mobility.

  His target? The study. His father’s study. The treasure trove of books, papers, scrolls, and, most importantly—knowledge. He knew there was bound to be something in there that would help him decode this strange, new world he found himself in. Information was the ultimate weapon, after all.

  Each night, after the household had settled into sleep, Raven would quietly slip from the warmth of his cradle, crawl to the door of his nursery, and, with all the stealth of a tiny, determined spy, inch his way down the hallway. The maids, blissfully unaware of his nightly escape missions, were fast asleep in their own rooms, leaving Raven to creep toward his father’s study undetected.

  He was, of course, incredibly proud of his stealth. They’d never see it coming. The great Raven Sureksha, infiltrating enemy territory—well, okay, it’s just the study, but still. Same concept.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of sneaking, he reached the door to the study. He peered inside, and there it was—the glorious collection of books. Shelves lined the walls, each filled with leather-bound tomes and scrolls. His eyes gleamed with the promise of knowledge.

  If I could just decipher the language...

  Raven slid inside, using all his strength to hoist himself up onto the first chair he found. He scrambled onto the desk, trying not to tip over the nearby inkpot.

  His hands clumsily flipped through the pages of a large book, but as soon as his eyes scanned the symbols, his excitement faltered. The language, though similar to what he’d heard in this world, was utterly foreign to him. He couldn’t make sense of the letters or the characters, let alone understand the complex ideas they might represent.

  What is this nonsense? Raven’s mind churned with frustration. How am I supposed to take over the world if I can’t even read the books in my own father’s study?

  He squinted harder at the pages, then turned them over with a huff. There has to be something I can understand... Something. Anything.

  But then—just as he was starting to feel like the night would end in failure—he heard a soft sound from the hallway. Footsteps.

  Shit. Raven froze.

  A second later, his mother, Lady Seraphina, appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. She had obviously woken from her sleep and, noticing the absence of her youngest child, had come to check on him.

  “Raven?” she asked softly, her voice filled with disbelief as she saw him in the study, sitting on the desk with a book in front of him. “What in the world are you doing here, little one?”

  Raven, caught in the act, stared up at her, his mind racing for a quick escape plan. This isn’t good. I’ve been caught. How do I explain that I’m a 37-year-old genius trying to decipher a foreign language in a room full of books?

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  He stared back at her, blinking innocently, as if he were just a harmless infant who couldn’t possibly be plotting world domination or decoding ancient texts.

  Plan B: Look cute. That’s the only defense I’ve got.

  His mother sighed with a soft smile and shook her head, reaching down to lift him up. “You’re a clever little boy, aren’t you?” she murmured, her fingers gently curling around his tiny form. “But you can’t read these books yet, Raven. You’re still just a little boy.”

  Raven couldn’t help but roll his eyes, even if no one could see it. Yes, yes, Mother. I know. I’m just a little boy, with my grand plans of conquering the world through ancient knowledge. I’ve definitely got all that under control. Just need to learn how to read first, apparently.

  She cradled him to her chest, her warmth a comfort as she began to carry him back toward the nursery. “Let’s get you back to bed, alright? Between your father and me, there’s no way you’re going back to that study tonight.” She smiled softly at him, her voice filled with tenderness. “It’s late, and you need your rest, little dragon.”

  Little dragon, Raven thought, amused. Rest? I’m too busy fighting my own body and trying to decode incomprehensible texts. But sure, rest sounds nice.

  As she reached their bedroom, she laid him gently between her and Duke Alistair. The warmth of their bodies surrounded him, and for a brief moment, Raven allowed himself to relax. There were no books, no grand plans for world domination, no deciphering of languages. Just... warmth.

  Fine, I’ll give it a break for tonight. But tomorrow? I’ll figure out this language, and when I do, I’ll really show them who’s in charge. Just wait, world. Wait until I’m actually allowed to read these books. Then it’s game over.

  His mother’s soft voice was the last thing he heard before he finally drifted off to sleep.

  “Goodnight, my sweet boy.”

  Weeks had passed since Raven's late-night adventures into the study, and while his attempts to crack the language of this world had failed to yield any immediate results, he wasn’t one to give up easily. Every day, while his maids hummed lullabies or read soft bedtime stories, Raven listened intently. He was a patient learner, and as much as he loathed the confines of his baby body, his mind was sharp as ever.

  One particular afternoon, as the maid softly read a children’s book aloud to him—full of simple words and phrases—Raven had an epiphany.

  Wait a second.

  He had been hearing the words da and ma frequently. The maid, ever kind and diligent, repeated the same words over and over, especially the part where the mother character would say “Mama” and the father would call out “Papa.” Raven’s brain clicked into overdrive.

  Da... Ma...

  He had a sudden, childlike realization. Could it be?

  Raven was not an infant for long. The patterns, the repetitions—it all clicked. He had been hearing these sounds for months, and now, armed with this knowledge, he felt he could do it.

  With a slow, deliberate movement, Raven opened his mouth and gave a soft, tentative attempt at the words he had overheard a hundred times.

  “Da-da.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. His voice, though weak, carried the weight of the entire world for him.

  But then, as if fate had decided that Raven was ready for a little drama, his father, Duke Alistair Sureksha, walked into the room, followed by the estate manager. Alistair was, as always, dressed impeccably in the formal attire that signified his power—his presence filling the room like the air before a thunderstorm.

  He looked at Raven, then at the estate manager, as the baby’s voice reached them.

  “Da-da.”

  It was faint. Barely audible. But it was there.

  The estate manager, an older, graying man who had seen more than a few generations of Sureksha heirs, raised an eyebrow. “Did the young master just... speak?”

  Raven, despite the absurdity of the situation, felt a rush of pride. Yes. I just spoke. It’s official. I, Raven Sureksha, have mastered the art of speech. Well, at least one word. But that counts.

  Alistair’s eyes widened, and he exchanged a knowing look with the estate manager. “I can’t believe it. My son has spoken.” He looked at Raven with a half-smirk. “It seems he said his first word already.”

  Raven, still caught in the excitement of this new discovery, tried again. “Da-da...”

  Alistair chuckled, his deep, rich laugh echoing in the study. He crouched down to Raven’s level, ruffling his hair with a playful grin.

  “You’ve finally said it, huh?” He turned to the estate manager. “It seems the wager’s settled then. It was always a matter of time before my son would say ‘Dada’ first. I knew it would happen. You owe me a new set of gloves for that bet.”

  The estate manager looked exasperated but chuckled anyway. “I suppose I do, my lord. I was certain the young master would say ‘Mama’ first, but it seems you’ve won, as always.”

  Raven’s baby mind could barely process what had just transpired. What the hell was that? A wager? They made a bet over which word I’d say first?

  Before he could fully form a coherent thought, his mother, Lady Seraphina, entered the room. Her eyes softened as she saw the scene unfolding.

  “What’s all this about?” she asked, her voice gentle but carrying an undertone of amusement.

  Alistair straightened up, a victorious gleam in his eye. “Our son has spoken his first word. 'Dada.' I told you it would happen first. I won the bet.”

  Seraphina raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh, really?” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, I hope you don’t expect me to be impressed by this... especially since I distinctly remember a certain someone making a bet that involved which word would come out of the mouth of our son first.”

  Alistair grinned, clearly unbothered by his wife’s playful sarcasm. “You can’t win them all, darling. But yes, our son loves his old man already. He’s a wise boy.”

  Seraphina leaned down, gazing at Raven with a mockingly serious expression. “Is that so? You know, Raven, if you’re going to be so obliging to your father, maybe you could say Mama next time, hmm? I think that would make me very proud.”

  Raven, feeling a strange sense of competition creeping in, silently vowed to himself that if he could say ‘Da-da,’ then ‘Mama’ was probably just as easy. But for now, his tiny, helpless body remained the perfect pawn in his parents' ongoing playful rivalry.

  For a brief moment, Raven allowed himself to reflect on the ridiculousness of it all. The Duke of the Empire. The man everyone fears. And yet here he is, losing a bet over which word his baby would say first. If anyone knew what was happening right now, they’d probably think this was a dream or a farce.

  But despite the absurdity of the situation, Raven couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in his chest. His father’s playful teasing and his mother’s sarcastic remarks, though frustrating at times, were signs of something he hadn’t experienced in his past life: a family who cared for him.

  Maybe they’re not so bad after all, he thought, allowing himself a small, unexpected smile. A little silly, sure, but not so bad.

  Raven watched the playful exchange between his father and mother, the banter flowing easily between them as Alistair teased Seraphina about his victory in the bet. The estate manager chuckled along, clearly amused by the entire spectacle. For a moment, Raven allowed himself to observe—his father's teasing tone, his mother's sarcastic retorts, and the underlying warmth between them.

  But as he sat there, his little baby body swaddled in the soft fabrics of his mother’s embrace, a sudden, unexpected feeling washed over him.

  Wait... Raven thought, his tiny mind processing what was happening. Why do I feel... bad?

  It wasn’t because he had won the bet, or because he had spoken his first word. No, it was something else. The way his father was teasing his mother—gently, yet with a little too much pride. And the way Seraphina, despite her sarcasm, had let him win.

  What if she felt left out?

  Raven’s mind, still sharp from his past life, understood something that his infant body couldn't express in words—his mother was often the butt of playful jokes, yet always played along with a smile. In that moment, Raven felt a twinge of guilt.

  He turned his gaze to her, her smile directed at his father, and a sudden urge bubbled up from within him. He wanted to make it right, wanted to break the pattern of his father’s teasing and give his mother something she would cherish.

  And so, with all the sincerity a 7-month-old could muster—and just a hint of desperation—Raven opened his mouth and, with surprising clarity, muttered the word he had heard countless times from his mother:

  “Ma-ma.”

  The room went silent.

  Alistair stopped mid-laugh, his eyes widening as he turned to look at his son. Seraphina froze, her expression shifting from playful annoyance to pure astonishment. Even the estate manager blinked in disbelief.

  “Did... Did he just say it?” Alistair asked, his voice filled with wonder and surprise.

  Seraphina, her hand still on Raven, stared down at him. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just gazed at her son with a look of awe. And then, in the softest voice, she whispered, “Did you... Did you really say Mama?”

  Raven, feeling a surge of pride, gave a small, hesitant nod, though it was unclear if he fully grasped the significance of what he had done. But in his tiny, innocent heart, it felt like the right thing to do. A gesture of love, however small, that he hoped would make up for his earlier silent judgment.

  And just like that, Seraphina's smile softened, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. She pulled Raven into her arms and kissed his forehead, murmuring, “Oh, you sweet little boy... You really are the best.”

  Alistair’s grin grew wider, and he chuckled softly, reaching over to ruffle Raven’s hair. “Well, well, well,” he said, voice laced with pride, “looks like we’ve got ourselves a little diplomat, haven’t we? Saying ‘Mama’ after all that teasing. You’ve won, Raven. You’ve officially earned the title of Best Child in the Universe.”

  The estate manager, shaking his head in amazement, added, “I think that title is well deserved, my lord. No one can top that.”

  Seraphina let out a soft, amused laugh and leaned back against her husband, Raven nestled comfortably in her arms. “Oh, really?” she said, a playful glint in her eyes. “The best child, huh? Well, maybe I’ll let you have it this time. But remember, next time, you owe me.”

  Alistair laughed, a deep, warm sound that filled the room. “Of course. But for now, I’m just proud of my son. He’s clever, that one.”

  Raven, feeling the weight of their praise, snuggled closer to his mother. He may have been a tiny infant in a world where he could barely speak, but in that moment, he felt like a giant. A conqueror. The best child in the universe, as his father had so grandly declared.

  Maybe this isn’t so bad, he thought. At least I’ve got them. And this… this is the kind of victory I can live with.

  As Seraphina whispered to him, “You’re the best, Raven. My sweet boy,” Raven closed his eyes in contentment. The world may be full of challenges, but for now, it was enough to simply be loved.