Second Choice Noble Son: Apparently I’m Stronger Than the Summoned Heroes Chapter 1: Rebirth

The first thing I noticed when I woke up again was… noise.

Not the hum of fluorescent lights, not the buzz of vending machines or traffic outside a window. Real noise. Voices.

Except I didn’t understand a word.

“Ar ven sil…?” one voice cooed. A woman’s, soft and warm.

“Grath vol ten, grath vol,” another rumbled—a man’s, firm but shaky, like he wasn’t used to sounding gentle.

I blinked. Blurry shapes hovered over . A woman with silver hair and tired eyes. A man with shoulders like a wall. Both smiling at .

For a mont, I thought: Huh. Hospital? Foreign language? Did I actually survive the explosion?

Then I tried to answer.

“Wait—hold on. Where is this? Why can’t I underst—”

It ca out as a high-pitched, wet squeak.

I froze.

No way. No damn way.

The voices kept babbling nonsense above , like happy gibberish. My brain scrambled to latch onto a word, anything familiar, but it was all alien.

Panic bubbled up. I tried to shout, to scream, to demand answers. But what left my throat wasn’t words.

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It was crying.

Loud, ugly, baby crying.

The woman’s eyes softened, and she gathered closer to her chest. The man laughed, awkward but proud, muttering more nonsense.

And ? I cried harder. Because for the first ti in two lives, I realized the cruel truth.

I wasn’t just reborn. I was reborn as a baby.

And babies don’t get to argue.

Life as a baby was boring. Sleep, drink milk, cry when sothing was uncomfortable. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But at least I had company.

My sister visited almost every day, even when her training left her covered in sweat and bruises. She’d lean over my crib, grin like an idiot, and shake a wooden rattle.

“Rooga! Rooga!” she’d chirp again and again, like a chant.

At first, it was just sound. Then rhythm. Then… recognition. I didn’t say it back—I couldn’t—but I understood. That was my na. Rooga.

The way she lit up whenever I reacted, you’d think I was the sun itself. Sotis she even snuck scraps of bread under the table, whispering conspiracies like we were partners in cri.

It was… warm. Different from the cold indifference I’d known before.

But the real shock ca one quiet evening.

Mother—Selene, I’d learned from the others—was tucking into my crib. The room was dim, only moonlight filtering through the shutters. She leaned over, muttering softly in that strange language I still couldn’t parse.

Then she lifted her finger.

Snap.

A tiny fla flickered to life at her fingertip. Just like that, the candle beside us caught fire, filling the room with golden light.

My eyes went wide. My tiny baby arms flailed like windmills.

It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t technology. It was—

Magic.

My excitent made Selene laugh, a sound so tender it nearly broke .

She kissed my forehead, whispering sothing in that gentle, incomprehensible tongue. Her eyes softened, lting like the wax dripping down the candle.

For the first ti in two lives, I wasn’t pretending to smile. I was genuinely smiling.

And Selene saw it.

That was the night my mother’s heart fully claid as hers.