I was two years old, and I was a prisoner.
My mind was a library of adult logic, memories of concrete jungles, and the crushing weight of a terminal fall. But my vessel was a soft, clumsy thing. Every time I tried to speak a complex thought, my vocal cords failed me, producing only high-pitched stammers that made Elena smile. They thought I was a "late talker." They didn't realize I was simply waiting for my throat to catch up to my brain.
To pass the time, I studied.
Kael, the mercenary who had become my father, had a few tattered journals and maps in our cottage. To them, I was a "special" child, a miracle baby who sat for hours staring at parchment instead of playing with wooden soldiers. They saw curiosity; I was performing a reconnaissance mission.
I needed to understand the rules of this reality.
In my old world, the ceiling was made of physics. Gravity was absolute. Biology was a slow march toward the grave. But as I decoded the maps and listened to Kael's drunken stories at night, I realized the "Logic" here was broken.
This world was a chaotic hierarchy of things that shouldn't exist.
There were Elves who lived in the whispers of the ancient forests, Dwarves who carved cities into the bones of mountains, and Vampires—beings who had mastered the very blood I was born in. There were magicians who could bend the air and swordsmen who could cleave a hill in two with a single strike.
And at the very top of the food chain, looking down on everyone else like gods, were the Dragons.
In my old world, these were fairy tales told to children to make the world seem less gray. Here, they were the "Facts." The mechanical grinding of biology I once believed in was replaced by something more volatile: Magic.
I felt a surge of something cold in my chest. If the world had no fixed logic, then the "System" couldn't control me. If magic existed, then the "Me" that felt heavier than my body finally had a way to manifest.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the room in a bloody orange, Kael sat me on his knee.
"My little scholar," he grunted, his voice thick with pride. "You're going to be a sage, aren't you? Or maybe a strategist for the King. You've got the eyes for it. Now, tell me again... what's your name?"
He was testing me, waiting for me to say "Aris."
I looked him in the eye. I had been practicing. My throat felt tight, the muscles still too weak to carry the weight of the darkness I felt.
"Sa..." I started, my voice cracking.
Kael leaned in, smiling. "Go on."
"Ta... n." I forced the last syllable out, a sharp, hissed sound.
"Satan?" Kael laughed, ruffling my hair. "Still with that word? You must really like how it sounds. Satan. It's a bit of a mouthful for a two-year-old, don't you think?"
I didn't smile back. I just looked at the map on the table, at the territories marked by the blood of those top-tier species.
They thought I was learning to be a part of their world. They didn't know I was studying the map to find out exactly where the "Top of the food chain" lived.
If this world was ruled by the strong, and logic was just a suggestion, then I wouldn't just be a "survivor." I would become the glitch that the system couldn't delete.