Not long after Izuna had settled into the miserable routine of infancy where time blurred between sleep, milk, and existential regret something unusual disrupted the predictable chaos of the orphanage.
A new figure had arrived. Visitors were not uncommon, but this one kept looking at Izuna, making it uncomfortable even for someone trapped in a baby's body and is used to being teased by adults. She appeared to be an old woman, likely in her sixties, with greying hair that framed a sharp, composed face and a pair of striking yellow eyes that held an unsettling level of clarity. Draped over her was a black cloak, not the tattered, overused kind worn by fugitives or edgy protagonists when they become wanted criminal, but a well-maintained, elegant garment that suggested quiet authority and deliberate choice.
She stood before the head caretaker, engaged in conversation, her posture straight and unyielding, while the caretaker herself responded with a stiffness that hinted at respect or perhaps caution. Izuna, despite his improved vision, could only watch in frustration as their lips moved and expressions shifted, the meaning of their exchange completely lost behind the ever-present language barrier that continued to plague him like a personal curse.
Although he couldn't understand the words, the intent became clear soon enough. The old woman's gaze shifted, scanning across the room filled with infants, before settling very deliberately on him. There was no softness in that look, no instinctive warmth one would expect from someone choosing a child to adopt. Instead, it was focused, measured, and analytical, as if she were evaluating an object rather than acknowledging a human life.
Izuna felt an immediate sense of unease, a faint but persistent discomfort that he couldn't quite justify but also couldn't ignore. Before he could dwell on it any longer, the woman approached his crib without hesitation, her movements calm and assured, and in one smooth motion, she picked him up. There was no ceremony, no emotional exchange, no gentle reassurance just a simple, decisive action that carried an unsettling finality. In that moment, even without understanding a single word, Izuna knew exactly what had happened. He had been chosen.
The realization settled in as he was carried away from the only environment he had known in this life. Though the orphanage had been far from ideal, it was familiar, and familiarity, even in discomfort, carried a strange sense of security.
Acting on instinct or perhaps lingering human sentiment Izuna wanted to say goodbye in only way available to him. He cried. Loudly. The sound tore out of his tiny body with surprising force.
And according to article 1 section 7 of infant behavior, stating that if one baby cries others should immediately follow the lead, and the other babies responded immediately. One cry became many, and within seconds, the entire nursery erupted into a chorus of wails, filling the space with chaotic, overlapping grief.
It was overwhelming, almost theatrical in its intensity, and for a brief moment, Izuna felt a strange sense of pride. In his mind, he imagined himself delivering a dramatic farewell, telling them not to cry, assuring them that this was a heroic departure worthy of remembrance. In reality, all that left his mouth was an indistinguishable, high-pitched baby cries, devoid of meaning but full of emotion. Whether his imagined message reached them or not was irrelevant; the result was the same a loud, tearful goodbye that echoed behind him as he was carried out of the orphanage and into an uncertain future.
The journey itself did little to ease his nerves. The thing Izuna is grateful about is movement is really stable and the granny is carrying him correctly, This carrying method is "approved". Just as he was twisting and turning to see the surrounding, his attention shifted downward, towards the granny's legs. What he expected to see were legs. What he saw instead forced his thoughts to come to an abrupt halt. There were no legs. In their place was a long, sinuous tail, covered in smooth scales that reflected light subtly as it moved.
The realization hit him immediately. The old granny was not human. She was a lamia. The confirmation of it sent a strange mix of shock and excitement through him, because while the situation itself was questionable, the implication was undeniable this was truly a fantasy world.
The kind he had only ever seen in anime, games, and the more questionable corners of his previous life's "study material." For a brief moment, genuine awe replaced his usual thoughts, only to be immediately undercut by a far more selfish thought.
If this was a world where lamias existed, then why out of all possible outcomes had he ended up with an elderly one instead of the hot, sexy lamia. A rich, beautiful overly affectionate sugar mommy who dotes on the protagonist the archetype so commonly depicted in reincarnation stories? It felt like a missed opportunity of cosmic proportions.
And as the purple balance maintainer of universe had said "Reality, is often disappointing".
Eventually, the journey came to an end as they arrived at the woman's residence. The house itself was modest neither particularly large nor especially worn but carried clear signs of recent occupation. Boxes and belongings were scattered throughout the space, some unpacked, others only partially arranged, giving the impression that she had only just moved in.
The lack of organization added an unexpected layer of discomfort, as if this entire situation had been planned hastily or without full consideration. However, none of that unsettled Izuna as much as the way she looked at him once they were inside. With no distractions remaining, her attention returned to him fully, her yellow eyes locking onto his small form with an intensity that felt far too deliberate.
There was no affection in that gaze, no warmth or reassurance. Instead, it carried a calm, almost clinical quality, as though she were observing something with long-term value rather than immediate emotional significance. It was the kind of look one might give to an investment something to be nurtured, developed, and eventually utilized.