"Hmm? But Mother, isn't this just a version of your name?" Milim asked, raising a brow.
"I named him that so I can feel closer to him," Mayvelin replied with a soft smile, her tone as smooth as starlight.
"Alright, Mom, just admit it—you're bad at naming!" Milim huffed and stuck out her tongue.
A second later, she was holding her ear with a wince.
"Ow, ow, ow! I was just joking!"
Mayvelin, twisting her daughter's ear with practiced grace, sighed. "And I was just teaching. Respect your Empress, little lady."
Meanwhile, the newborn in question—Melicas—watched the exchange with wide golden eyes. He couldn't understand a single word yet, but from the warmth in their voices and the way both women doted on him, he could only assume they were family. The younger-looking one could be his aunt… or maybe a sister? Better to play it safe and assume they were both family.
Time passed.
Melicas began understanding the language little by little. He realized that his name—Melicas—was derived from his mother's name, Mayvelin, and the woman teasing her that day was not an aunt, but his older sister—Milim.
His first spoken word?
"Mama."
Classic move. It worked wonders. Mayvelin teared up, hugged him tightly, and promised him the moon if he ever asked. Melicas didn't complain. In fact, a few months later, he began crawling.
"My precious baby, come to Mama~" Mayvelin cooed, squatting down with her arms wide open. Her violet eyes sparkled like gems as she watched her little boy shuffle his way toward her.
Melicas, now three months old, was crawling faster than most babies and had already begun trying to stand. He rarely cried—only when hungry or when separated from Mayvelin at night. Eventually, she gave in and just kept him close, letting him sleep beside her and drink to his heart's content.
And honestly? He wasn't complaining either.
He was growing fast, mentally sharper than he should be for his age—thanks to being reincarnated—but trapped in a helpless body. What frustrated him the most wasn't the diapers or the constant babying.
It was being immobile.
He'd died stuck in a plane seat and now was stuck in a crib, or in Mayvelin's arms. Again. He longed to move. To run. To jump. To explore the world.
"No, Melicas! Come to Big Sister Milim!" his sister called from the opposite end of the room, her voice sweet and playful.
Melicas froze mid-crawl. On one side—Milim. On the other—Mayvelin.
It was a crisis.
But only for a second.
Obviously, I go to the milk source—I mean, my mother. Not for selfish reasons, of course. It's purely out of loyalty.
Melicas turned toward Mayvelin with renewed determination. Milim pouted dramatically.
"Tch. Traitor."
He wobbled. His balance gave out.
But before he could fall—he was caught.
Back in Mayvelin's arms again.
How...?
Melicas stared wide-eyed. She was on the other end of the room! How did she get here so fast?! Was that teleportation? Super speed? Dragon magic?
Then he remembered he was supposed to be a normal baby.
So he did the only logical thing: he started crying.
Seeing tears forming in her baby's eyes, Mayvelin's heart broke on the spot.
"I'll always protect you, my baby," she whispered, rocking him gently.
Milim, watching from the side, clenched her fist. "I swear I'll protect you too, little brother!" she vowed silently.
Time passed.
By the time Melicas was six months old, he could walk—albeit shakily. Mayvelin and Milim worked in perfect tandem. Milim stayed behind him like a stealthy bodyguard while Mayvelin knelt in front with open arms.
"Come on, baby! You can do it!" Mayvelin cheered.
Melicas still hadn't figured out what kind of world he'd reincarnated into. All he heard were loving voices, warm words, and doting affection. No one mentioned dragons, kingdoms, wars, or politics.
Just "You're the cutest," or "Mama loves you."
Now a full year old, he could talk in short, adorable sentences, though his baby voice often betrayed him.
His vocabulary was fine. His grammar was okay. But that cursed baby tone? Impossible to shake. So, he spoke only when necessary.
At the moment, he had just finished his morning "meal"—from Mayvelin's chest, as always—and made his way to the edge of the bed.
Mayvelin, ever watchful, assisted him. The bed was massive, royal-sized, and too high for a child. She worried each time he jumped down, even though he had landed just fine the last dozen times. Still, she remembered the first attempt—he almost fell on his bottom, and she'd caught him midair.
She'd never forgotten that moment. And she never would.
Melicas, however, was thinking differently now.
It's been a whole year. I haven't left this room. I don't know anything about this world. I need answers.
If he couldn't ask, he would learn.
And so, he waddled over to the grand bookshelf along the wall.
The library corner of Mayvelin's chamber had always caught his interest. Dozens of old tomes rested there—histories, magic texts, maybe even atlases.
He stood in front of it and pointed up at a thick book.
"Mama," he called.
Mayvelin walked over, scooping him into her arms. "You want mama to read you a book?"
He shook his head.
"Hmm?" she tilted her head.
Then he said carefully, "Mama. Melicas. Read. Book. Self."
Mayvelin blinked.
"You… want to read it yourself?"
He nodded.
"But… do you know how to read?"
He shook his head again.
Her eyes lit up with realization. "Ah, you want me to teach you how to read?"
This time, he nodded like a pecking hen.
Mayvelin was stunned. He was only one year old.
One.
And he wanted to learn how to read.
"What kind of genius child did I give birth to…?" she wondered, but smiled softly.
"I see," she said gently. "Well, how could I deny my sweet boy's first request?"
She kissed his forehead and sat with him on the edge of the bed, book in hand.
And from that day forward, every evening in the Solar Crown Empire began with a warm meal, a hug from his sister, and a reading session in the arms of the Solar Dragon Empress herself.
Melicas Nova had taken his first step toward understanding the world of dragons.