Transported

Where am I? Where is this place? Why my eyes feel so heavy? I tried to move my hand a bit, damn it was heavy as hell. A mysterious man with a large build approached me.

"Elena, your son, he has woken up," the mysterious figure said.

A beautiful young lady with a cat ear approached me. She has white hair with a white tail, yellow eyes, a kind of beastkin from my observation. She also wears maid clothing.

"Thank god, Wilson has woken up," Elena said.

Wait a minute? Wilson? Who is Wilson? As far as I recall, my name is not Wilson. Where is this place? Where is my old body? Well, at least they speak English.

After further inspection, I conclude that this "Elena" was my mother and the other person was a butler and my father. My name was Wilson; a one-year-old boy.

I'm not a beastkin, but I had heritage from a demon, so I had a horn-like figure growing from my right forehead, but it more looks like an explosive fragment, to be honest. I had black hair and a human body.

They left me back in my crib. The room got some middle-age Europe style furniture all around. I saw a lantern beside my crib, but it fireless. I wondered where the light was coming from.

My jelly-like body doesn't handle fatigue like my old body. I went to sleep.

Some hours later

Is it already nighttime? Well, this body is weak as hell. I saw my father chanting some hibbie jibbies to the lantern

"O, light bless me with your holy beam, Glow!" As he pointed his hand to the lantern.

Holy moly! Is that magic? That's amazing, but that chant though it's embarrassing for a grown man to speak like that. I felt like a freak if I say that.

"My son, you will learn this soon, but first of all, you have to learn how to walk first," he said.

I respond to him, " Yes, father."

"Oh my god, my son can't talk before he can walk, repeat it," he said enthusiastically.

'Oh shit! I forgot that you have to learn how to walk first, then talk. Damn military honorifics, curse you!' I thought to myself.

I wanted to call my mother, but a simple word is better than a full sentence, "Mommy, mommy."

"Elena, your son is calling," my father yelled.

"Call me? How? He even can't walk," She yelled from the kitchen.

"Just come here, I've just seen a miracle," he said with eyes full of hope.

"What is it?" she said while hanging her kitchen apron.

My father raises me like presenting a sacrifice to the god while saying, "our son is a prodigy."

"How?" My mother said while scratching her ear. I could see the puzzled look in her eyes.

"He can talk," my father said.

"Really?" My mother said doubtfully.

I wanted to prove that I could talk to my mother, "Mommy, mommy."

"My son can talk?" She said as a tear began to fall from her eyes.

They both hug me with such a powerful strength. I felt so happy. It has been 16 years since the last time I feel parents warmth. I began to cry too.