Jonathan realized he could feel a body again, but it was so small, and weak. His eyes were closed, and when he tried to open them he could only manage a squint. Light and blurred shapes swam in his vision. He heard a loud wailing cry nearby, and distantly recognized it as the sound of a newborn baby. His other senses trickled in: the smell of incense and something like medicinal herbs, the touch of soft blankets around him, the taste of milk on his tongue.
Am I… a baby? Jonathan's mind reeled. The being had said "a little earlier than when you last appeared." He last appeared in this world as a 13-year-old. Earlier than that… apparently meant starting from birth itself. The realization was startling and even a bit comical. He had asked for another shot at life; well, here it was, literally from square one.
His eyesight began to focus, if only a little. He was indeed in someone's arms, being held gently. A woman's face hovered above, likely a nurse or a handmaid. She was smiling down at him with an expression of joy and relief, tears in her eyes. "He's beautiful," the woman whispered. "Little Adonis…"
At the sound of that name, Jonathan's heart tiny as it was skipped. Adonis. They were calling him Adonis again. Of course he was apparently reborn as the same person, Adonis Blud, but this time as an infant. The second chance had literally put him at the very beginning of Adonis's life within this world's timeline.
The handmaid gently passed baby Jonathan (it felt bizarre to think of himself this way) to another set of arms. He felt himself being cradled by someone new, strong, masculine arms, yet holding him with surprising delicacy. A familiar deep voice spoke: "Let me see him."
Though his infant eyes could only make out a blur, Jonathan knew that voice. He had heard it pronounce judgment on him with cold authority years ago. It was Leonidas Blud, the patriarch, his father in this world. Jonathan had to fight the instinct to flinch or feel resentment. This is a new timeline, he reminded himself. He doesn't know anything about what happened… and neither should I dwell on it. I have a chance to change it all.
Leonidas held the newborn up a bit, and Jonathan's vision caught a clearer glimpse of the man's face. Leonidas looked a few years younger than Jonathan remembered , well, naturally, since it was over two decades earlier now. He was imposing, handsome in a fearsome way, with those same long black dreadlocks and a well-groomed beard.
His dark eyes examined the infant keenly. Jonathan wondered if he, as a baby, looked different from the first time around. Perhaps not outwardly, but inwardly, this time, the soul behind the eyes was determined and aware.
Leonidas nodded once, seemingly satisfied that the baby was healthy. "Adonis," he announced, his voice carrying through the chamber.
"Son of Leonidas Blud. Welcome to the world, my boy." There was a rare warmth in his tone, something Jonathan had never heard addressed to him in his previous life. It stirred a strange emotion. So he did care, at least at the beginning…
Jonathan's eyes darted around as he was held aloft. The chamber was filled with people, he saw blurry figures of men and women in clan attire, likely family and clan members gathered for the birth. Some were clapping or cheering softly at the patriarch's pronouncement. Off to one side, he caught sight of several children peeking with curiosity, probably some of his older siblings as youngsters. It was a lot to take in.
Leonidas carefully handed baby Adonis back to the waiting arms of the nursemaid. Then, with a commanding tone, he said a single word that Jonathan didn't quite catch. Immediately, the room quieted. The nursemaid carried Jonathan over to a raised platform in the center of the hall and gently laid him down on a plush pillow atop a stone altar-like table.
Jonathan's heart (tiny though it was) sped up. He recognized this setup from clan traditions he'd read about: the Selection Ceremony. Some warrior clans, particularly House Blud, conducted a ritual for newborns of the main family.
Various symbolic items would be placed around the infant, and whichever the baby reached for was said to predict their future path or talent. It was a mix of superstition and, reportedly, a bit of divine magic. In every recorded case, the chosen item did seem to align with the child's eventual strengths.
He remembered this ceremony had been mentioned in passing in the book one of Adonis's older brothers had famously grabbed a sword as a baby, and indeed became a master swordsman.
However, Jonathan didn't know (or recall) what his item had been in the previous timeline. Possibly something unimpressive, given his fate. But now, he had influence. With his adult mind inside this infant body, he wasn't limited to random flailing. He could make a choice a deliberate one that could alter the course of his life in the eyes of the clan and perhaps in mystical truth.
All around the edges of the altar, attendants were placing objects: a sword, a spear, a shield, a scroll, a warhorn, and several other emblems of roles a clan member might take. Each item had significance, sword for warrior, shield for guardian, scroll for scholar or tactician, warhorn for leader, etc. But one item stood out starkly from the rest. Mounted on a special rack was an ancient spear, its metal tip dark with what looked like old dried blood. Jonathan felt a jolt of recognition and awe.
He had seen that artifact during his years in the clan's estate: it was said to be the Spear of Ares, or at least a piece of it ,the weapon wielded by the clan's founder who was a demigod son of Ares. The dried blood was supposedly that of the founder, spilled ages ago in some legendary battle. The spear was a treasured relic of the House of Blud.
Normally, no one would expect a newborn to even notice that spear among the nearer, shinier toys laid out within reach. It was set a bit apart, almost more a ceremonial display than an option. Perhaps only if a baby showed unusual crawling ability would they get near it.
But Jonathan knew what he had to do. This was an opportunity. If he "chose" the spear, the clan's interpretation would be earth-shattering. It would imply Ares's own weapon called out to him, marking him for something extraordinary. It could completely change how the family viewed Adonis from the outset.
Even if some thought it a fluke, Leonidas would not be able to ignore the symbolism. It might earn him better training, more respect, and who knew maybe even a direct boon from Ares. After all, relics carried power.
He also remembered vividly the disembodied voice he heard at the end of his last consciousness – something like "Oh, so you covet my power? Since you're trying so hard this time, I can give you a hand." At the time, he was fading out after touching the spear. That must have been real: perhaps the spirit of Ares or the clan founder reacting to his attempt. It seemed to promise aid. Jonathan wasn't sure if in this reset timeline he would still hear it, but if the spear held a trace of consciousness, he intended to awaken it.
A hush fell in the hall. Dozens of eyes watched intently to see what baby Adonis would do. Jonathan felt a bead of sweat (or was it just baby drool?) on his forehead. Okay, he told himself, moment of truth. Time to make a splash.
He summoned every ounce of motor control he could muster over his tiny body. At a few days old (or however old he was at this ceremony, possibly just days), an infant's movements are very limited. But Jonathan strained, kicking his little legs and wiggling his arms. He rolled clumsily onto his belly. There were gasps from some onlookers; it was perhaps surprising for a newborn to manage that much movement.
Encouraged, Jonathan fixed his blurry gaze toward where he remembered the spear stood. He couldn't see it well, but he sensed its presence.
"Is he…?" someone murmured.
With a gargantuan effort that felt like trying to lift a mountain (who knew babies were so weak!), Jonathan pushed himself forward, inching in a sort of crawl. His tiny limbs trembled with exertion.
He made a mewling cry, partly genuine baby fuss, partly frustration as he willed himself to move. Slowly, he crept across the altar, ignoring the closer objects like the sword that had been placed right by him. His coordination was fumbling; once he nearly veered off course, but he managed to correct by focusing on the dark blur of that spear.
Excited whispers erupted around the room. "He's moving toward the spear rack!" "No, it must be coincidence, infants just crawl randomly…" "But at only a week old? No. He's crawling with purpose!"
Jonathan's infant heart thudded.
The voices around only dimly registered as he concentrated. Just a bit further… He reached out with his tiny hand, fingers splayed. The spear's shaft was still a foot or two beyond him, might as well be a mile for a baby. He grit his metaphorical non existent teeth and let out a determined little wail as he lurched forward again.
Within another moment, his chubby fingers brushed something hard: the wooden pole of the spear's shaft. He gripped it as best he could.
At that very instant, a surge of energy went through him. Jonathan's eyes widened (as much as a baby's can). It was as if the spear itself acknowledged his touch. Visions flashed in his mind fleeting images of battlefields, a blood-red planet, a towering figure in ancient Greek armor laughing amid war…
A deep, resonant laughter echoed in his soul, and a voice the same one he'd heard faintly before it spoke clearly in his mind:
"Oh? So you do desire my strength, little one. Very well come and take it. Since you're trying so earnestly this time… I will lend you a hand. The rest it up to you. Be sure to entertain me well. "
The voice was brimming with pride and ferocity, undeniably warlike yet not unkind. Jonathan's infant body shuddered with the power behind those words.
To the outside world, it looked as if a sudden breeze had swept through the hall, though all doors were shut. The torches flickered. Some of the clan high ranked officers stepped back in alarm as a faint red aura briefly glowed around the ancient spear and the baby holding it.
Jonathan felt a shockwave of fatigue hit him. The exertion and whatever mystical connection happened were too much for his newborn form. His little fingers slipped from the spear and he collapsed onto his side, breathing heavily. His vision dimmed. The last thing he saw was the astonished, wide-eyed face of Leonidas looming above him as people rushed in to pick the baby up.
Leonidas's expression was one of utter surprise, and something like fierce joy.
Just before Jonathan lost consciousness, he heard Leonidas's voice, loud and clear: "So… the youngest chooses the Spear of Ares." Leonidas let out a booming laugh, a sound rarely heard. "This will be interesting."
There was a mixture of cheering and shocked exclamation in the hall as darkness closed in on Jonathan's senses. He allowed himself to drift into the black, a content smile (visible only as a tiny curl at the corner of a baby's mouth) forming. He had done it. The first step to a new destiny was taken.
This time, Jonathan thought as he surrendered to sleep, I will rise stronger… strong enough to find you, Uncle Jasen, and to find my way home.