She looked at a large ornate clock floating near one of the bookshelves, its hands moving backward half the time and forward the other half, but she was getting better at reading it. Or her baby brain was adapting to magic world logic. One of those. And this whole time Kofery was finding food. Then he set her down carefully in a conjured bassinet made of shimmering purple light. "Babies need milk. This is a known fact. I can do this."
He was talking to himself, pacing back and forth in front of a workbench, covered in books with titles like Nutritional Conjuration for Beginners and So You've Accidentally Acquired A Child: A Practical Guide.
She watched him from her glowing bassinet, content for the moment to observe. The Mage Tower was fascinating from this new angle—she could see more details now that she wasn't being carried around. The books floating overhead weren't random. They moved in patterns, orbital paths. Some of the staircases led to doors that hung in midair. Through one open door, she could see a garden, sunlight streaming through even though they were clearly indoors and it had been nighttime when they arrived.
Kofery grabbed one of the books and flipped through it frantically. "Chapter Seven: Conjuring Consumables. 'All conjured food items must undergo proper purification to remove residual mana that could harm non-magical consumers.' Got it. 'Infants are particularly susceptible to mana poisoning. Use the Purifica Totalis spell for maximum safety.'"
He set the book down, cracked his knuckles, and held out both hands. "Purifica Totalis," he said clearly. Nothing happened. He frowned. "Purifica... Totalis?" Still nothing.
"Purifi—wait, is it Purifica or Purificare?" He grabbed the book again. "Oh... it's Purificare Totalis. Why do they make these so complicated?"
He tried again. "Purificare Totalis!"
A small glass bottle floated in the air, filled with milk that glowed faintly blue. Kofery stared at it. "Is it... is it supposed to glow?"
He snatched the book back up, scanning the pages. "Mild luminescence is normal during the first thirty seconds post-conjuration. Will fade as mana fully dissipates." He watched the bottle anxiously. "Okay. Okay, it's fading. That's good."
The glow faded. The milk looked... normal. He picked up the bottle carefully. "Now I just need to..." He looked at her. "How do you... do you just... put it in the mouth? Is there a technique? Do babies know how to drink automatically, or is it a learned behavior?"
She blinked at him. He set the bottle down and grabbed a different book. Infant Care Across the Ages.
"'Newborns possess an innate suckling reflex,'" he read aloud. "'Simply place the bottle's nipple against the infant's lips and they will—' wait, bottle's what?"
He examined the bottle he'd conjured.
It was just a bottle. No nipple. Just a glass container with an open top.
"Oh no, I conjured the wrong thing. I need a—what's it called, a feeding bottle. With the rubber part. The..." He gestured vaguely at his own mouth. "The sucky bit."
She laughed. Professional terminology right there. Kofery started pacing again. "I'll just conjure a proper feeding bottle. How hard can it be?"
The first attempt produced a bottle the size of a milk jug. The second attempt produced a laboratory beaker. The third attempt produced an actual baby bottle, but it was made entirely of ice and started melting immediately. "WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT?!" Kofery shouted at the ceiling.
From somewhere in the distance, a voice echoed back. "Figure it out yourself." It's her father.
"MASTER, I'M TRYING TO KEEP YOUR CHILD ALIVE!"
"Then try harder."
Kofery made a sound of frustration and slumped against the workbench.
She felt a little bad for him. On his seventh attempt, he finally managed to conjure a proper feeding bottle. He held it up triumphantly. "YES! Success! Take that, basic conjuration!" He rushed over to her bassinet. "Little moon, let's try this."
He picked her up carefully, cradling her in the crook of his arm like the book had illustrated, and brought the bottle to her lips. The milk touched her tongue. Her instincts took over. She latched onto the nipple and started drinking.
Kofery's entire body sagged with relief.
"Oh thank the God. You have no idea how worried I was. I thought I was going to have to wake the Master and admit I couldn't even feed a baby and he'd probably turn me into a toad or something." He adjusted his hold slightly, making sure she was comfortable. "There we go. You're doing great."
The milk was actually pretty good, better than the formula she'd studied in her pediatrics rotation. She drank steadily, her tiny stomach filling.
Kofery watched her drinking. "You know," he said quietly, "I've never actually held a baby before. Master doesn't exactly... interact with people much. Or at all. And he definitely doesn't interact with children." He paused. "I didn't even know he was capable of... you know. The thing that leads to babies existing."
Yeah, I'm also unclear on that whole situation.
"Your mother must be..." He trailed off, his expression going distant. "Well, she must be extraordinary. Master doesn't do anything halfway. If he was with someone, she'd have to be..." He shook his head. "I shouldn't speculate. It's not my business."
She kept drinking, listening to him ramble. After twenty-four years of silence in her old apartment, having someone talk to her, felt nice.
"The thing is," Kofery continued, "Master is... he's not bad. He's just..." He struggled for words. "He's never had to care about anyone. Never had to think about anyone else. For as long as I've worked here, it's just been magic, research and experiments. The occasional world-threatening catastrophe that he solves in about ten minutes while complaining the entire time."
The bottle was half-empty now. Her eyelids were getting heavy. "But you," Kofery said softly, looking down at her, "you might change things. Maybe. I hope so." He smiled. "You deserve better than a father who calls you 'that thing,' even if he is the most powerful mage on the continent."
Most powerful mage on the continent. Not country or region. CONTINENT.
What kind of OP protagonist origin story is this?!
She finished the bottle, her tiny stomach full and warm. Her eyes drifted closed. "Oh, you're falling asleep again." Kofery's voice was gentle. "That's good. Babies sleep a lot, right? The book said something about eighteen hours a day. That seems like a lot, but you're very small, so maybe that's normal."
He stood up carefully, carrying her toward... somewhere. She was too drowsy to pay attention to where.
"I'll set up a proper nursery tomorrow, safer than a conjured bassinet. Maybe in the East Wing. There's good light there. And it's far enough from Master's laboratory that the explosions won't wake you."
EXPLOSIONS?! But she was too tired to panic. The milk, the warmth, the gentle rocking motion as Kofery walked—all of it pulled her deeper into sleep. She was being laid down on something soft, a blanket being tucked around her tiny body. And she finally fell asleep peacefully this time.
She woke to the sound of arguing.
"—absolutely cannot keep her in a conjured bassinet. It's not permanent or safe. What if the spell degrades while she's sleeping?" It's Kofery's worried voice.
"Then reconjure it." Her father's unbothered voice.
"That's not a solution! That's a bandaid on a—Master, please. I need actual furniture. A crib. Blankets. Clothes. She's wearing a conjured onesie right now and I'm terrified it's going to disappear."
"Then make it permanent."
"I don't know the permanence spell for fabric! That's advanced transmutation! I'm a combat mage."
"Then learn."
A long sigh from Kofery. "Master. With all due respect. You have a child now. A living, breathing human child who needs real things. Not conjured approximations of things."
Then her father's voice, slightly annoyed: "What do you want me to do about it?"
"I want you to go into town and buy baby supplies."
He didn’t say anything for awhile. "No," her father said finally. "I'm not going into town."
"Then send me! Give me money and I'll go!"
"You're needed here."
"For what?! You've been in your laboratory for the past six hours! You haven't even checked on your daughter!"
"She's alive, isn't she?"
"That's not the point!"
"Kofery." Her father's voice dropped lower. "I am not going into town or purchasing infant supplies or playing house. The child has food, shelter and has you. That's sufficient. This conversation is over." He left.
"Master, wait—"
A door slammed somewhere. Then silence.
"Fuck." She'd never thought Kofery could curse. It was weirdly reassuring proof that even patient, kind people had their limits. Footsteps approached her current location. She kept her eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep.
She felt Kofery lean over whatever she was lying in. "I'm sorry, little moon," he whispered. "I promise I'm trying. Your father is just..." He sighed. "He's stubborn and emotionally constipated. But I won't give up, okay? We'll figure this out."
She felt him adjust her blanket, tucking it more securely around her. "I'll find a way to get you proper things. Maybe I can sneak into town during his meditation hours. Or I could ask one of the other mages to—no, they're all terrified of him. Nobody would help." Another sigh. "Maybe I can order things through a delivery service? Do they deliver to mysterious towers in the middle of nowhere? Probably not."
She heard him walk away, muttering to himself about logistics and baby supplies and whether conjured diapers counted as safe.
She opened her eyes. The ceiling above her was dark stone, carved with intricate patterns that glowed faintly blue. She was indeed in the conjured bassinet, which looked less stable now that she knew it was literally just solidified magic that could theoretically disappear at any moment.
So my father doesn't even care enough to buy me actual furniture. No, I'm not doing this again. I died to get away from being unwanted. I'm not spending this life being unwanted too. If he won't be a proper father, I'll make him be one. I don't care how powerful he is. I don't care if he's the Archmage of the entire continent. I will break through that emotional wall if it kills me.
Again. She was a baby. She couldn't walk, couldn't talk, couldn't even hold her own head up properly. But that's fine. Just wait, father dearest.
Three days passed in a blur of milk, sleep, and Kofery's creative attempts to baby-proof a magical tower. She learned things:
One: Her father had not checked on her even once. Kofery reported his whereabouts like he was tracking an elusive cryptid: "Master is in the laboratory." "Master is in the restricted section." "Master teleported somewhere, probably to avoid me asking about diapers again."
Two: Kofery was a better man than most people she'd known in her previous life. He'd somehow acquired actual baby supplies. She now had a real crib, real clothes–soft cotton that didn't glow or threaten to disappear, and real diapers–thank God.
Three: The Mage Tower was bigger on the inside than the outside. Kofery had taken her on a "tour" while she was awake, narrating everything like a museum guide. "This is the East Wing, where we're setting up your nursery. This is the West Wing, where Master stores his dangerous experiments—we don't go there. This is the North Wing, which is actually just a door to another dimension, so definitely don't go there. This is the South Wing, which doesn't exist on Tuesdays for reasons Master refuses to explain."
Four: She still didn't have a name.
Kofery had tried asking her father about it. Twice. The first time, her father had said, "Call it whatever you want." The second time, he'd just stared at Kofery until Kofery backed away slowly. Kofery kept calling her "little moon," and she was honestly fine with it.
Five: Magic was everywhere. She could feel it now, even with her baby senses. It hummed in the air, flowed through the stones of the Tower. Sometimes at night, she'd watch the magical lights floating near her ceiling and feel something respond inside her. The mark on her forehead tingled sometimes. Always at night when the Tower was quietest. She still didn't know what her father had done when he pressed their marks together. "Sealed" something, maybe. Was that to protect her from something. Don't know.
Figure it out, she told herself. You have time.
On the fourth day, she woke to shouting and the sound of something breaking. Kofery appeared in her nursery doorway, looking harried.
"Stay here," he said, which was hilarious because she was a baby and literally couldn't go anywhere. "Don't... just... I'll be right back."
He disappeared. More shouting and crashing sounds. She could smell smoke. She lay in her crib, staring at the ceiling, annoyed that she couldn't see what was happening. This is the worst part of being a baby. Missing all the good drama.
Multiple footsteps thundered past her door.
"—find the Archmage NOW—"
"—won't see us without an appointment—"
"—tell him it's an emergency from the KING—"
Oh, this sounds interesting.
More crashes, and the sound of Kofery's voice, high-pitched and panicked: "You can't just barge in here! This is private property! Master has wards that will literally kill you if you—" A scream. Then silence.
Then her father's voice that dropped the temperature of the entire Tower:
"Who gave you permission to enter my home?"
Oh, this was going to be good. She couldn't see it, but she could hear everything, and her imagination filled in the blanks beautifully.