The number one reason negotiations with ailing communities fails is not due to incompatible interests or lack of political will to compromise. But rather the following simple truth: It is immensely difficult to take someone half your age seriously.

  - '101 Ways To (Not) Insult An Eyebeast' by Silas Norgard

  Welp! The secret is out. That didn't take long. And I wasn't crucified. Which is pretty awesome, not going to lie. Though, I'm still sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The reaction to my abilities wasn't as big as I expected. I half thought people would think I was a spirit and try to exorcise me for possessing a poor little baby's body. Instead, people celebrated my success, then quietly moved on with their lives.

  It was kind of nice actually. Made me feel accepted and a little less homesick.

  Look. I wasn't entirely oblivious to the ethical concerns of my situation. My presence effectively stole from my parents a normal parenting experience. But given that I had negative opportunity to influence or apologize for the situation, I had unanimously decided to set the issue aside until I could actually do something about the situation. At best, I figured I had a rough responsibility to treat my parents as family.

  Which is what I was doing anyway, so it was a moot point.

  I glanced at my parents from my spot on the floor. They were young. Younger than me. Maybe even as much as half my age, though it was hard to tell with their alien morphology and my limited—but growing—mastery of aura expressions. It wasn't a specific thing that convinced me, but rather a whole host of subtle clues. From the uncertainty mom sometimes exhibited, or dad's overly boisterous grandstanding.

  Though, there was a chance I was slightly biased. Their simple village lifestyle withheld from them the breadth of experience digital existence had granted me. After all, I didn't know how mature a peasant from the middle ages had been back on earth, either.

  Not that it really mattered. Mom and dad were doing fine as parents. At least by my less than professional opinion. I was just glad they didn't care that I used magic openly in the living room.

  I was laying on my stomach on the floor of our house, a wooden rattle shoved against my arcane eye. Mom and dad were sitting together before the fire, speaking quietly and occasionally leaning forward to feed the hearth. Their dorsal braids coiled around each other like two anacondas with their foreheads pressed in close. To the point that I often couldn't hear their whispered words. Their scaled faces were illuminated in delightful oranges and golds by the tongues of flame in the hearth. The white stone radiating a pleasant heat that warded away the chill of a winter that didn't seem to end.

  I realized that holding the wooden rattle against my throat made me look like a toddler that shoved everything in their mouth. I didn't particularly care, and even leaned into the action a little if it would help me blend in better. The rattle was simple, lacking decoration. My parents had quickly realized I had little interest in hand carved figurines or intricate toys. Oh sure, I appreciated the effort and craftsmanship, but come on. I was an adult. Sort of.

  Nothing so mundane could capture my attention like the complex knot of magic imbued into the toy. Despite holding the thing as close to my arcane eye as I physically could without swallowing it, its complexity eluded me. Its interlocking threads of mana overlapping in such a way that confounded my sight.

  Somehow, mom and dad had created a dynamic spell. The most obvious aspect of the spell—a simple trefoil knot—didn't actually do anything. It floated within the bounds of the wooden rattle like a jellyfish, bouncing violently against the walls if I shook the rattle. That by itself was fascinating—I hadn't even known that mana could interact with gravity in that way. But there was a hidden mechanism in the rigid frame binding the knot within the toy that only activated sporadically—another anomaly.

  My eyes narrowed as I tentatively reached out with my will into my newest obsession. The foreign, imbued mana felt hard and slippery to my preternatural senses. Like a frozen fish that was just heavy enough to make its slippery scales a nightmare to hold on to.

  Despite the difficulty, I patiently wormed my will into the structure of the knot and intervening structural frame. I felt at the threads, trying my best to interpret the rough feedback my will was sending back to me. My daily training granted me the fidelity and experience to navigate the complexity without immediately falling apart. It was gratifying to see my progress displayed in such an obvious way.

  The spell jerked in my grip, violently expelling my will as the trefoil knot unraveled. So quick I almost missed it, the overlapping threads of light flickered and phased through each other until all that was left was a simple loop of mana.

  I cursed like a sailor as I once again missed the mechanism of activation. Thank goodness mom and dad didn't understand English. And that I hadn't yet mastered my vocal cords—plural!—to the degree that would enable me to replicate my more heinous vocabulary.

  With a frustrated grumble, I lowered the toy and started crawling toward my parents. At roughly three months old, I was way too young for a human baby to start crawling, but no one acted like it was some strange accomplishment. I guessed backwards facing knees made the achievement far more intuitive. Without the pesky knee joint in the way, I only needed to repeatedly bend and unbend my knees to slide inexorably toward my destination.

  Like a baby on its back. Though the task was made marginally more difficult by my refusal to leave my rattle behind. I made it look easy though, cruising toward mom and dad in style.

  I'm not coping, really. Why do you ask?

  I reached mom's ankle and impatiently half-climbed up her shin before she turned around and put me on her hip. A flash of some unknown mix of emotions came from dad, while a hefty dose of amusement was radiating from mom as they separated. They untangled their dorsal braids as mom adjusted me on her hip.

  I didn't bother trying to interpret what had just happened, feeling slightly annoyed at my continued lack of understanding. Instead, I chose to focus on not dropping my rattle as mom brushed her dorsal braid all over my face and neck. I spluttered as her braid brushed my mouth, and I shot her a cross look. She missed the look, completing her inspection before tucking me into the hollow of her throat.

  I sighed, putting my head against mom's shoulder and closing my eyes. I really needed to figure out those complex multilayered expressions to properly convey my aggravation.

  It was deload week, and I was slowly losing my mind. Without the ache in my soul to distract me, life as a baby was horrifically boring. Sure, there were a dozen of things I should probably be doing. Like trying to learn the language, but the thought of trying to decipher their lilting words—let alone recreate them—made me faintly nauseous.

  I wished resting wasn't necessary, but I couldn't deny the results. It was actually frightening how much progress I had made since I enacted my routine. The increased food and sleep requirements had initially worried me, but I was glad I pushed through. My strength and control had grown in leaps and bounds over the last few weeks. I had recently tested it and found I could control six-thaum strands.

  A doubling in max strength in just a few weeks. A feat even more impressive considering my routine was optimized for improving size, not power. At least for muscles.

  The residual whatever-it-was faded from dad's aura as he moved to bank the fire. Mom paced around the kitchen, gently rocking me, as she started singing. I opened my eyes lazily, marveling once again at the novel way my species generated sound. Mom simply opened her mouth and projected a layered symphony of sounds with its own accompaniment. She didn't even move her tongue.

  Her song included my name a lot. Silas. I was about ninety percent sure that was my name at least. Considering how often they said it while looking directly at me.

  It was an odd feeling to be given a second name. Bittersweet in a manner that reminded me of home. My first home. With a heavy sigh closer to a huff, I pushed those feelings away to focus on less emotionally charged thoughts.

  I was never much good at languages. Not in high school when Spanish was foisted on me, or that one year when anime had convinced me to take a semester of Japanese. Still, some part of my brain was slowly recognizing the most commonly used words in this new language. I was sure that the fact I was still actively thinking in English was stunting my learning, but I was currently too drowsy to worry much about that.

  Mom touched my nose, her aura smiling down on me until I closed my eyes sleepily, letting her lullaby lull me to sleep. As always since my time here as a baby. Sleep came easily.

  I woke up in the middle of the night laying in between my two parents with a hole in my gut. The hunger didn't surprise me. Though every once in a while the intensity and abruptness of the feeling did. I often went from being mostly fine to feeling two-days-starved in a matter of minutes.

  As per my routine, I did a quick warm up before waking mom. While it was true that my parents accepted my active use of will, I didn't feel like it was necessary to reveal the extent of my disciplined training.

  My hunger gnawed at me as I generated a roughly quarter-thaum spiderweb and quickly ran through the familiar process of translation, rotation, and scaling. Each exercise moved smoothly, and I felt an almost lazy strength radiating out of my core. It was a satisfying feeling. I finished off by tying off a small circle and floating the strand of mana around my body to stretch my projection skills.

  The purpose of the exercise was to wake up my will without straining it. To both shake out the knots and maintain the requisite mobility that the heavy training naturally stole. In theory, this step wasn't wholly necessary, but I found there was a neurological benefit to working with light loads. It allowed me to observe and optimize my movements without the mental overhead of pushing my body to its limits. It was skill training, in other words.

  Earlier in the deload week, my will had felt tight and unresponsive when I had done this exact sequence. Now, with a few days of rest, it thrummed with power; warm and eager to push harder. If anything, my will recovered even faster than a standard muscle, and I was increasingly convinced that I could intensify my training another 20-30% and not risk anything.

  I regretfully let the strand of mana dissipate. I felt unstoppable, but I resisted the urge to sabotage my schedule.

  Instead, I carefully levered myself onto my stomach and crawled out from between my parents' sleeping bodies. I practiced moving on the spongy mattress, my weak baby-arms straining to hold my fat ass upright as I moved. More than once I bumped into dad's shin, but managed to make it to the base of the bed without waking anyone. I turned around, crawling onto mom's feet and trying to navigate the rough terrain.

  Just as I made it over her hip, my palm slipped on her shift, and I tumbled onto the sheets. A warm hand caught my head, and a moment later I was left staring up at mom's bemused—and sleepy—eyes. I got the distinct impression she regretted teaching me how to crawl. To ease her misgivings, I resorted to my latest tried and true strategy: grabbing my toes, burbling like an idiot, and flashing my aura with happiness.

  And hunger, can't forget that.

  The morning began as most of my mornings did. Getting fed first milk then premasticated raw meat, the flavor of which was growing on me. Not that mom gave me much choice. She could be surprisingly stubborn when she wanted to be. I was then bundled up in warm clothes and our small family left the house together.

  Winter didn't seem to have any interest in leaving any time soon and a recent snowfall had left the sky a brilliant clear shade of blue that stretched for miles. We left father at the house where he was removing excess snow from the sloped roof of our house with a long pole. The paths had been cleared and mom easily carried me to her workplace and out of the frigid cold.

  Mom's friend and her young daughter, Akira, were already sat at one of the weaving stations. The adults said her name often enough for me to learn it, though I didn't know her mom's name. Akira looked maybe four years old, though that too was a guess. In human terms she was definitely older than two but probably younger than five. If that sounded like an absurdly broad range, it was because it is.

  Mom's friend—I think I'll call her Munchkin, for now—glanced at us as we walked in and I saw a blip of something in her smile. I narrowed my eyes, focusing solely on my arcane eye to try to untangle the strange tension I saw swirling in her aura. I couldn't quite be sure, but it almost felt like... was that eagerness?

  Confused, I glanced up and back at my mom and saw a similar tense smile on her aura. In fact, her aura was suspiciously quiet beneath the surface. An almost lazy stillness that reminded me of how she looked when she was sleeping. Despite that, she walked up and sat beside her friend with the same familiar greeting as all the previous times.

  ...Suspicious.

  I met Akira's bored gaze with my own as our moms dragged over a pile of loose wool. She raised her chin, a curious glimmer flickering in her aura as she studied me with her opalescent neck scales. The glimmer quickly faded however, and her attention flicked away as her mom gathered her attention.

  "Silas? Silas?"

  I glanced up at mom, who was giving me an eerie smile I hadn't quite seen before. She held up a tuft of wool which she had already attached to a wooden spindle made of some dark aromatic wood. Then her will drifted by me like a blue whale in the deep ocean, prodding me with three thin strands of mana from her own reservoir.

  What?

  She nudged me, repeating a word over and over again as she pulled the three strands of mana closer to me and to the prepared spindle.

  I glanced over at Akira who was receiving a similar treatment from her mom. Unlike me, Akira deftly grabbed her mom's mana and spun the three strands in a counter helix before handing it back to her mom.

  Oh... Well, now I feel dumb.

  "Spin! Silas spin the thread!" Mom said. Or that was what I think she said. I reached out agreeably and assumed control of her mana. It took a second, but she somehow handed me control with a level of precision I envied. I glanced up at her once more, and with her eager nod, I carefully rotated the threads around each other in a perfect helix.

  Mom's eerie smile intensified like some kind of malevolent fire behind my back as she accepted my work and incorporated it into the yarn. I was momentarily fascinated by how she managed to maintain control over the thread still attached to her core, that I almost missed the smug look she shot at Munchkin.

  Smug. That was what that stiff twist on her smile was.

  Mom finished imbuing the mana into the yarn, then nudged me again. I glanced up at her, confused as she patiently urged me to twist another set of strands together. I complied agreeably, spinning the mana carefully and handing off control to her before she offered me more of her mana to twist. The whole process took way longer than if she was doing it by herself, but mom didn't seem to mind the slowdown in the slightest.

  She was using 4.5 thaum thread, or thereabouts. It was a doable thickness, but still fairly strenuous for me. After the next spin, I waited a moment to try and give my will some rest, but mom nudged me again. I frowned up at her, then carefully twisted another helix before dropping my control.

  I leaned back into her chest, ignoring her cooing encouragement as my gaze fell onto the pair to our right. Munchkin was doing the same thing with her daughter, urging her to twist the mana while she imbued it into the growing length of yarn. Of course, Akira definitely understood what her mom wanted from her so they were spinning at a respectable rate.

  It was hard to tell how strong Akira was, but it was definitely more than me. I probably could match her briefly, but she definitely had more endurance than me. It was a testament to my abilities that I could keep up at all. Akira did have a multiple year advantage. I did have superior control, which I attributed to my nightly sessions, but a second look made me feel Akira was just being sloppy due to boredom.

  My frown deepened as I saw Munchkin mirror mom's smug smile.

  Well isn't that something...

  I wasn't inherently against a little friendly competition. Not even one as unbalanced as pitting me against a four year old. I had my own advantages, after all. The problem was that this little escapade was stressing the hell out of my will. Sure, I could probably give Akira a run for her money, but it was my deload week. Pushing hard now would hamstring my routine and I really did need the break.

  Mom nudged me again, and I grumbled at her. She smiled at me, nudging me physically, verbally and metaphysically. I bent my aura into a brief flash of displeasure, but carefully took her mana and slowly wound them together. Then I turned as much as I could in the scarf tying me to my mother's chest and tried to convey that I was done with the whole thing.

  Mom accepted my hug, squeezing me tight as her carefully controlled smile slipped into something more genuine. She congratulated me, but I could tell she was distracted. Her gaze flicked to Munchkin and her daughter, and an ugly flash of another new emotion darkened her aura. It was gone a second later.

  Mom then turned me around and nudged me again to twist the mana.

  Alright. That's it. This is ridiculous. While I appreciated the vote of confidence, I'm not going to strain my will for such a silly little ego boost. You are an adult, act like it. Honestly.

  I tapped into that volatile well of emotion that always seemed available in my young body and I instantly felt the tears well in my large eyes. My vision blurred and my face scrunched and suddenly I was in less control over my small body than I normally was.

  I barely noticed my wails as with the last shred of my will, I grabbed my aura and twisted it into the standard crying expression I'd seen some of the other toddlers project. It was an ugly, throbbing thing that I purified and then projected outward as hard as my will could push it.

  I barely noticed the many, many eyes that snapped to me. Mom flinched, jumping up and bouncing me in a vain attempt to calm me down. Some small vindictive part of me gleefully reveled in her panicked attempt. The rest was focused on maintaining my aura and screaming at the top of my lungs.

  Then I passed out.

  Look. Not my proudest moment. In hindsight, it wasn't really the competition that set me off the rails like that. It was mom's incessant urging. How no matter how I tried to tell her no, she just kept pushing.

  As an adult in my old life, I'd taken for granted that if I said no, people would respect my opinion. It was taken for granted by most everyone, really. Sure, people were entitled to prod and weasel, but they would never force someone else against their will. If they did, it was typically frowned upon. Criminally.

  It was different here. As a baby. I didn't get a say in what I ate. How I ate. Where I went. What I did. I had a tiny, little scrap of agency, carved through blood and sweat and grit in my quiet moments during the night and my magic training. A quiet personal island that was still woefully insufficient, especially when mom inadvertently stepped on my hard work.

  What made it infinitely worse was how damn hard it was to say no. I had to pantomime everything. Reduce myself to idiotic, demeaning screams to get my way.

  I didn't blame mom in the slightest. It wasn't her fault, and she couldn't have known because I couldn't—and wouldn't—tell her.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Regardless, it wore on me, and I needed a break.

  So the following morning I stuck myself like a barnacle to dad and absolutely refused to allow mom to take me to work. I probably hurt mom's feelings something fierce, but she was a big girl. She'd get over it.

  Dad for his part, didn't really seem to know what to do with me. After mom helped tie me to his chest with the scarf, he sort of just ignored me and went on with his day. That suited me just fine. As far as I was concerned, it was high time for me to have some proper father-son bonding time.

  I was also deathly curious to see what he did for work. The workday here was relatively short—maybe 5 hours-ish; the later parts of the day occupied by socialization or hobbies. He enjoyed carving—bone, wood, it didn't seem to matter—but other than that, I knew very little about him. He vanished during the day, and brought back frighteningly gigantic hides with the regularity of clockwork. To say I was curious was underselling it.

  Dad began his routine innocuously enough. He replenished our stock of fire wood, cleared the surrounding area around our house of any debris and snow, and checked on the meat stores. We'd barely used any firewood and the meat locker was still frozen stiff due to the stubborn winter. So with everything in order, dad set out.

  He hiked out of the village, meeting up with another man and two unfamiliar women on a nearby bluff. They had spears, cloaks and looked verifiably badass. After the obligatory explanation of my presence and the baby fawning which I ignored, the group set out down the hill.

  I saw the creature before it saw us. Huge black horns—four on each side of its elongated snout—swayed with a ponderous weight. Its heavy woolen hide concealed its awe inspiring bulk, and dragged like a brush across the snow carpeted crag. My eagle eyes watched in amazement as it brushed against one of the ancient trees, dislodging bark with frightening ease.

  Just behind it, a small ill-fitting hut sprouted between the trees. It was no bigger than a broom closet and was practically drowning in snow. It felt... disused. As if no one had opened its door in months. What caught my attention was the pillar of dense, blinding mana beaming from within.

  Before I could wonder what the hell that was, dad jumped into motion.

  Dad and the others dropped down onto all fours and stalked the great beast. I tilted my head back as far as it would go, and to my surprise, saw a shimmer of wild mana—almost obscured by the weird hut thing—coalesce beside the great creature. Before my very eyes, a second gigantic monster bison simply... popped into existence.

  It shook its heavy mane as if it hadn't just spawned out of the aether. Then it lumbered after its friend, releasing a huff that sent a plume of white from its nose.

  Dad didn't seem worried. In fact, he looked... bored? It was hard to tell, but I got the impression this was all routine for him. Our group moved closer, then paused at what I imagined was a suitable range. They gathered together, uncomfortably close as I felt five powerful wills flex all around me.

  I couldn't help a small gasp of surprise as all five adults drew out immense amounts of mana. Threads of mana as thick as my thigh rippled through the air. A hundred-thaum or more. Their passage created a visible distortion I could see with my normal eyes. My arcane eye blurred, and the scales on my neck crinkled involuntarily. It was like looking into the headlights of a car. Those fancy LED ones that were somehow always too damn bright.

  The adults manipulated the thick cables of mana with precision, if not ease. I sensed the tension in their auras as they wove a spell that tasted of volatile violence as it manifested before us. It leaked light into the visible world, becoming a bar of swirling white energies floating a foot in front of us.

  Despite the amount of power going into it, the spell itself was relatively simple; a set of three inline knots, each subtly different from each other and anchored to a propagating tri-helical matrix. I memorized the structure, thankful for the size of the strands which made it easier to see the nuance.

  Dad grunted, and I almost missed the release. The air screamed as the spell rocketed forward with the sound of a jet engine roaring to life. It whistled through the trees. A deep crunch resonated. The same sound I imagined a sledgehammer made when it impacted flesh. The beast's heavy head snapped sideways as hot blood and broken teeth sprayed from its shattered jaw.

  Holy shit.

  The creature toppled in slow motion like a felled pine, as its newly spawned friend raised its head. It spotted us instantly, bellowing loudly, before breaking into a ponderous, but nerve wracking, sprint.

  The adults stood from their crouch, calmly weaving another one of those air missiles. The ground shook underneath the beast's hooves and I couldn't help but gasp as another bar of light blasted into its snout.

  Bone crunched and the beast's head snapped into the earth. Its horns caught on a boulder, flipping its immense bulk ass over teakettle. It slammed into the earth with a resounding crash, shaking the world hard enough I felt it in my lower stomach. One of the adults—the male with a spear—lunged forward and pierced the creature through the eye.

  I cheered, drawing smiles from the hunters. My thoughts ran a thousand miles a minute as the possibilities opened up to me. I'd just witnessed combat magic! I quickly replayed the fight in my head—if it could be called that—making sure to burn the shape of the magic missile spell into my brain.

  The adults tied ropes to the two carcasses in the meantime. They attached their spears to the end of the ropes and slipped underneath the makeshift harnesses. Then they pulled, dragging the carcasses back in the direction of the village.

  I blinked, jolted out of my thoughts as I saw dad's will flex and thrum with each step as he channeled it into an almost invisible set of runes carved into the spear. Each time he did it, the spear jerked forward as if alive, aiding his strong arms in dragging the body over the snow.

  I studied the enchantment and, while I didn't understand how it was doing what it was doing, I easily spotted the energy ingress port that dad was using to power it.

  I eagerly reached out with a thread of my own mana and pulsed it into the remarkably intuitive enchantment, earning a chuckle from dad as he patted my head. I grinned up at him, manhandling my aura into a smile before returning to helping push. I was probably barely helping at all, but I couldn't contain the excitement of witnessing actual magical combat!

  My smile faded as we crested the top of the bluff overlooking our village as I was suddenly struck by my own hypocrisy. I gently removed my faintly tired will from dad's spear, my feet dangling as he heaved against the harness as if he was suddenly dying. The rest of the hunters laughed, but I ignored them. I sighed.

  I think I owed mom an apology.

  The hunters dragged the meat into a side building and started butchering them, though I squirmed impatiently.

  "Do you want to go to mama? Mama? Is that where you want to go? To mama?" he asked me.

  Probably, I still didn't understand our language. It seemed a good enough guess, though, so I took my chances and squirmed harder. It took a while, but dad eventually got the memo, and bid his friends goodbye.

  We entered mom's workplace, and I struggled valiantly as soon as I spotted her slim figure. Dad handed me over and I latched on like a barnacle. Her comforting aura enveloped me, though I spotted a little tightness at the edges of her smile.

  She held me tight and asked dad something as I thought furiously how an infant could apologize without the capacity to speak. Well, it wasn't like I couldn't speak. I knew English after all. I just didn't have the vocabulary to express myself.

  Or did I?

  I squirmed in mom's grip again until she pulled me back to look at me. Her dorsal braid wrapped around my throat in that weird noose like manner that blocked my arcane eye. No... That wasn't right. It didn't block my arcane eye, it filled my vision with her aura completely, allowing me to view the nuances of her expression in exquisite detail. I swallowed, suddenly understanding the importance of the gesture.

  I reached to the opalescent scales on her neck with my own short dorsal braid, and then squinted my eyes as I focused on my vocal cords.

  "Mama!" I declared proudly, hoping I hadn't guessed wrong. While it would have been funny if my first word had been something like 'step-stool' it wasn't exactly what I was going for.

  Thankfully, mom's reaction indicated I'd guessed correctly.

  She froze, then her aura bloomed with joy. She tightened her grip on my throat, squeezing the life out of me for a second, only for her to pull back and speak at me intensely. I heard the word mama and Silas and a dozen other words and guessed she wanted me to repeat it.

  So I did.

  Mom squealed, hugging me again and launching into a barrage of words to dad that were too fast for me to follow. I smiled softly, knowing no one would be able to interpret the expression and tucked myself into the hollow of her throat. I tiredly pulsed happiness a few times, then closed my eyes. Content with how things had gone.

  That night, instead of training, I lay awake in between mom and dad. Thinking.

  I didn't know what to do. My two desires were antagonistic. To train my magic optimally, I needed to push myself to the point of exhaustion. Then rest properly, before doing it again. Doing so precluded using magic just for fun and with my new family. But that felt monumentally stupid.

  What was the point of getting strong if you couldn't actually demonstrate that strength?

  It was times like this when I missed Caroline. She always refuted me when I called myself dumb, but I knew better. Simple problems like this could completely stump me. My brain just stopped working, spinning uselessly over and over and always coming to the same erroneous conclusion which I knew was wrong.

  A solution that allowed me to achieve both of my goals felt like it was on the tip of my tongue, if only I could browbeat my dumb brain into generating it. Caroline would know what to do. If she was here she would just laugh at me and tell me exactly the best way forward as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

  The best I could come up with was skipping training sessions and blocking off time with my family. Except that didn't work due to the semi-random nature of my interaction with them. Being completely freeform didn't work either as I doubted my ability to maintain discipline if every other day I was half exhausted from weaving with mom or some other activity.

  I could try to show less interest in magic...

  It was a long shot and didn't sit right with me, but doing so would probably buy me a year or two of relative peace to train.

  I sighed, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Hopefully, it would get easier once I got stronger.

  I dismissed the thoughts, flexing my will and running through my standard routine. Deload week was over and it was time to get back to the grind. I completed the circuit, a faint sheen of sweat on my brow as I slowly relaxed my trembling will.

  My time with dad had made me realize a glaring hole in my training regime. Namely: the manipulation of multiple strands at once. I was supremely bad at it—only able to manipulate three half-thaum strands simultaneously—but I was quickly getting better.

  A moment of rest calmed my shaking will and I dutifully levered myself upright, waking mom accidentally in the process. She didn't comment, simply sleepily watching me as I crawled down the bed and over her legs. She accepted me calmly for my midnight meal once I finished.

  As I stared at mom's large eyes and slowly swirling aura, I imagined Caroline's sardonic smirk in my minds eye. Just do your best, silly. You just have to trust that it will get better.

  I clenched my jaw, earning a wince from mom, as I closed my eyes.

  She wasn't here, but that sounded like something she would say.

  I would just have to try my best.

  The following day, mom didn't go to work. Nor the day after that. She spent the day with me at home, entertaining me with small games and short walks around the neighborhood. We visited the neighbors, chatting over drinks and snacks. I was the conversation topic some of the time, but not always. Typically, I fell asleep fairly quick when the conversation drifted.

  I was really wishing I had access to a pencil and paper so I could try and work through the complex emotions in mom's aura. I guessed mom's confidence had taken a hit, leaning heavily on my Earth knowledge in lieu of a guidebook to auric expressions. Not that her behavior changed much toward me. If anything, she was even more caring and compassionate than before.

  On the third day, mom went to work and I realized what was wrong. The normally comfortable chatter between her and the Munchkin chick had gone silent and awkward. They worked side by side as they always did, but clearly something had gone tits-up in the interim. It seemed a little extreme of a reaction, so I got the distinct impression that I'd missed a key event that had soured the relationship so.

  An hour later, Munchkin called over Akira and they worked quietly together. I tried to help my mom as much as I could, and while mom smiled, her smile had a guarded, careful quality to it that rubbed me the wrong way. She didn't push me to help.

  I abandoned my efforts and leaned back into mom's chest. I played with her long dorsal braid idly as my thoughts turned introspective. Looking back at the week, it was kind of embarrassing how... childish I'd been acting. It was like a self fulfilling prophecy; Get treated like a child, act like a child.

  That didn't sound quite right, but whatever.

  The thing was, I wasn't a child. Or even an irresponsible teenager. I was an adult, and while I could just sit pretty on mom's lap while she worked out her own problems, I didn't have to. That was the trap that this stupid baby body had tricked me into believing. I could do something about it, just as I would have back on Earth if a rift had opened in between two of my friends.

  Hmm, that analogy was a little stretched considering I didn't even know Munchkin's real name.

  Whatever. I dropped mom's braid and studied Munchkin. If she and mom were having a spat, and both of them were in that awkward phase of being too proud to just say sorry, then I could fix that. And I knew just how.

  The answer started and ended in the grumpy ball of boredom currently slouched beside Munchkin.

  Akira was entirely oblivious as I channeled my will into dad's magic missile spell. I hid my efforts in between my balled fists, hoping my aura was dense enough to hide what I was doing from the adults. I channeled mana into the spell, keeping thaumic output to a quarter of my capacity for simplicity and safety.

  I unleashed that magic at Akira.

  The little puff of magic zipped between us and splashed against Akira's leg. She twitched, her chin bobbing as she automatically tracked the fading remnants of my spell. Idly, I noted how none of the adults had noticed; my underpowered spell was practically invisible despite being technically identical to dad's.

  Akira looked around, curious, only for me to flash a tiny, playful grin at her. That seemed to confuse and spark her curiosity further. I didn't know the girl very well, but she had always acted bored and restless whenever her mom dragged her over, as if there were a thousand other things she would rather be doing. It reminded me of Neil and his less than stellar introduction to preschool. If the similarities held, it wouldn't take much to grab her attention.

  I grinned—both lips and aura beaming—as I opened my palms and another missile zipped out. Akira gasped, jerking back but completely failing to dodge the puff of mana that struck her elbow.

  Akira's mom glanced down, and a flash of trepidation washed through Akira's aura. I watched patiently as a few words were mentioned and Akira fervently denied anything being wrong. Then, once her mom's attention returned to her work, Akira glanced my way, her aura burbling with barely contained nervous curiosity.

  How cute.

  Initiate stage two. Sorry Akira.

  I drew out the attack spell once again. This time, in plain view so that Akira could see. I also slowed down my movements as much as I could without destabilizing my spell. Akira's arcane eye tensed, then she flinched as my spell caught her right in the chest.

  I glanced up. Mom hadn't noticed yet. Perfect.

  Akira licked her lips, her adorably large eyes growing unfocused as she dragged the requisite five threads of mana out of her core. She struggled, her small fists clenching in her lap as she wrestled the five thin strands into the pattern I showed her.

  Wow, that girl has a good memory. I think I underestimated her ability.

  Then the puff of magic clocked me right in the gut. It felt like a firm finger-poke. I eyed the rapidly fading remnants of her spell, noting the different dissipation pattern. Most likely due to her less than stellar stabilization of the spell matrix. Interesting. I wondered...

  Akira was bouncing in her kiddy chair, lips pressed tight, and eyes beaming in glee. The sight brought me out of my own head, and I grinned.

  My next bolt was slightly experimental, and veered down rapidly before striking Akira's shin. She tried and failed to suppress a giggle as she sent another bolt at me. This one hit my shoulder. It was truly a strange battle. Utterly silent and slow as it took both of us as much as thirty seconds to form one of the projectiles. Still, I was having fun.

  Akira's next strike formed and I had a moment to realize it was aimed right at my head. Before I could react, I felt mom shift behind me. Her hand shot forward, physically slapping Akira's attack out of the air, before wrapping me protectively in her free arm, her dorsal braid, and her tail.

  "Akira!" Mom snapped, drawing Munchkin's attention. As one, the two mom's turned on Akira like vengeful Valkyries. Akira wilted under their gaze, shrinking inwards against the unified rebuke.

  Stage two, success.

  Initiating stage three.

  I let loose that infectious rolling giggle babies could generate to mind control their parents. At the same time I flared my aura in a mix of excitement, eagerness, and playfulness. I didn't quite know if I'd done the mixing part right—auras were complicated—but either way, mom's grip on me loosened and both she and Munchkin blinked at me in surprise.

  So naturally, I released a bolt mana up mom's nose.

  Mom reeled, sputtering as she sneezed out a puff of mana. I giggled harder, not even having to lean that hard on my acting skills to let the amusement show. It was funny! Even Munchkin thought so. I glanced over, noting her laughing aura as she said something with both Akira's and my name in it.

  Mom replied, then turned to me with mock seriousness. Her will flexed and I gasped as I was suddenly compressed from all sides. I couldn't move my will in the slightest. It was as if ethereal chains had suddenly wrapped around me, and cinched tight.

  Huh. I didn't even know you could do that.

  In response, I reached up to mom's face with my hands. I couldn't quite poke her in the face, so I settled for slapping her arcane eye. She responded by tickling me and I was forced to concede lest I cough up a lung.

  To the side, Akira giggled quietly, which had the unfortunate consequence of drawing her mom's ire. Munchkin turned on her, shaking her finger and saying what I imagined was: 'don't think I forgot you little missy'.

  Akira's eyes flashed to me, then she opened her palms and a small bolt of mana zipped out. Munchkin's will flared and the bolt simply... vanished. Then she stood, towering over Akira.

  Uh oh.

  Akira shrieked, running away as fast as her little feet could carry her. I cheered her on, as both moms fake-ran after the fleeing girl.

  I smiled softly, my eyes lazily lidded as both moms' worked together to mete out a swift and merciless punishment. The important thing was mom's smile was back to normal.

  I. Am a genius. Not to toot my own horn here, but my creation is beyond anything that can be fathomed by mortal minds. Truly, a stroke of unparalleled genius that historians will mark for generations to come.

  I scrutinized my diaper with a level of smug satisfaction that was probably undue. Glittering threads of my mana infused the thick fabric, in a precise one-to-one replica of dad's hauler-spear. I'd cleverly wound the threads between my legs and anchored the construct to my hips in four balanced locations. It was my first proper magical creation and it was awesome.

  I didn't think too hard about the many, many deficiencies in the enchantment. Its short lifespan, limited thaumic throughput, or how if I straightened my legs my diaper deformed sufficiently to reduce the efficiency of the mechanism by over 80%. None of that mattered at the moment, because it gave me something I desperately craved.

  Speed.

  Which I'd need if the glimmer in Akira's eyes was anything to go by.

  It had been two months since Akira glomped onto me. I didn't particularly mind. I enjoyed babysitting duty. Not that my parents saw it that way. To them, she was babysitting me. A horrible idea, really. Akira was the type of kid who increased the entropy of a situation when given responsibility. Naturally, I got the sense they didn't understand why Akira liked me as much as she did. They didn't question it too much though. I think they were just happy that I'd made—and more importantly, was occupied by—a friend.

  It had taken Akira almost two weeks to badger her parents into securing a playdate. Since then, her childlike stubborn enthusiasm had naturally formed a stable mutual dinner time between our two families. We were currently in her family's house, me on the floor as the parents prepared dinner in the kitchen.

  Akira dropped into a deep squat in front of me and slapped three small raw steaks onto the ground. Her laughing expression indicated she wasn't overly perturbed by the unsanitary nature of her action.

  "Let's play hide and seek," is what I was 90% sure she said. "With mom and dad."

  I raised an eyebrow, and to my slight relief, Akira registered my expression.

  "Three is to make it harder. We are going to win."

  I eyed the meats, then shrugged. Why not.

  "Numbers," I said, gesturing to the meat. There was also a slight chance I said 'count' or 'amount'. Did I mention I sucked at languages? Well, I suck at languages.

  Akira nodded firmly with childlike severity. Her will pulsed out, carving numbers into the face of each slab of meat. When she reached the third slab, I stopped her, and held up four fingers.

  "It's three." Akira protested, but I flashed her a mischievous smirk. As always when I showed her that expression, her aura tightened with excitement and she quickly did as I asked. It hadn't been hard to convince her that my ideas were awesome. She rarely understood why I asked her to do some things, but she couldn't deny the exciting results.

  Lazily, I leaned back against my knees—my favorite aspect of my new body—and watched the show.

  Akira ran to our parents and firmly declared what everyone was going to be doing before dinner was ready. My mom and her dad split away and humored her by covering their eyes and dipping their chins while counting loudly. Akira sprinted back to me, shoving the second piece of meat into my lap before running to hide the meat.

  I crawled after her, almost keeping up as I flexed my will and gave myself a wedgie. My magic diaper hummed between my legs, and I had to divert a bit of my attention to stabilizing it as I slid over the floor. I was still working on the whole standing operation so I chose the simple route and tucked the meat under the bed.

  Don't ask me why we were using meat instead of something sensible.

  The two parents finished counting and started searching. They were doing that thing were they were pretending to search for something they'd clearly already found. After a suitable amount of time had passed, mom ducked under the bed and pulled out my slightly dusty steak with a triumphant grin.

  I smirked. Akira grew more and more excited as the seconds ticked by.

  "Where is the third one?" Mom asked curiously, after futilely searching around the house for ten minutes straight. That earned her a deranged giggle from Akira, which definitely gave the game away.

  Oh well.

  "Where is the third one?" Mom repeated, her tone commanding. Akira giggled again, saying something that I found hard to parse. Mom stepped forward threateningly, and Akira shrieked. Before I could reengage my thruster-diaper, she grabbed me by the armpits and hefted me into her arms.

  I immediately slid down, my arms around my ears as Akira practically suffocated me. I carefully wove a reinforcing mesh of mana around my throat, turning the uncomfortable pressure into something manageable as Akira dragged me around the house.

  Eventually she got caught, obviously because she was 'saving' me, and not because she was being chased by two adults who outweighed her by a factor of seven. Regardless, the mood was high as everyone sat to eat. The meat was cooked this time around. Spiced with a dried herb that reminded me vaguely of rosemary and soaked in a heavy red sauce that I worried was made out of blood.

  My front teeth were coming in, tiny sharp things that made me miserable every time I remembered their existence. They made eating the meat an interesting game of 'can-you-eat-without-it-hurting', though the fact it was cooked was appreciated.

  There was also some of that mashed potato stuff and a dish of mushroom-like strips sizzling in a creamy sauce. I asked the table to let me try both. Mom denied the request, but a few subtle nudges in dad's direction were enough for him to sneak me a taste. The mushroom dish was great, though the mashed tuber was just... fine. Not great, honestly, and the flavor only got worse as I stuck my dorsal braid in my mouth to better taste the mash. Just off the bat, I could think of five ways of making the dish better.

  I briefly wondered if I would ever eat vegetables again. Honestly, the whole food situation here left quite a bit to be desired. The thought of never eating pizza again brought me down, but it didn't last long as an argument about something I didn't understand flared up between the two dads.

  Mom laughed, then Akira and her mom joined her, followed by grudging grunts from the two men. I leaned back, satisfied and drowsy as I watched the family. My family. Not just because I'd been born to them, but because I'd chosen them. Accepted them.

  I closed my eyes, and Caroline's face flickered in my minds eye. For the first time in a long while, the well of hurt in my soul didn't erupt. No tears blossomed to my eyes and for a moment the difference felt wrong.

  But I wouldn't ever forget Caroline. She would always be my wife. I'd always be sad that she was stolen from me. But that didn't mean the people around me didn't deserve my love or that I shouldn't enjoy my current life.

  After all, there wasn't a strict limit to the size of a family. Nor did someone stop being part of your family if they weren't present.

  With those thoughts aimlessly swirling through my tired mind, I fell asleep, distantly feeling mom pick me up and cradle me to her chest.