Ethan floated helplessly in an all-encompassing void. This time, he had a body, although not his own. It was deathly pale, blotched with brown spots.
Unlike before, he could sense time and space. He existed… or so it seemed.
Remembering his need for air, he gasped. The sound that left his throat wasn't that of an infant, nor was it his own voice. It was a rasp. Somewhere between a boy's and a young man's, neither deep nor high.
Ethan furrowed his brow. Oddly, the panic clouding his mind melted away, replaced by a strange, unnatural calm.
"What the hell is going on?" The sound of his own voice made him jump a little.
He drifted aimlessly for a slight moment, bewildered by the emptiness, until a thought struck him.
"Alex?! What happened to Ale—"
At that moment—almost purposefully interrupting him—Ethan heard a voice. Maddeningly feminine, and chillingly familiar.
"Lóthmar velith broydenath thu… consartes?"
This time it was softer, yet its source was clear. It came from the woman standing in front of him, of course...
Ethan flinched and tried to step back, but his legs could only kick at nothing.
His shoulders tensed, his expression hardening. "Who the hell are you? What the hell is going on?"
The woman frowned. The sight crushed him with inexplicable guilt, as though he had committed the gravest sin.
Ethan would describe her, but strangely... he couldn't. Every detail slipped beyond comprehension. All he could grasp was that she was impossibly, inhumanly beautiful. Everything else was veiled, unreachable.
She spoke again, repeating the same words. "Lóthmar velith broydenath thu… consartes?"
Ethan scowled. "I don't understand what you're saying."
An apology pressed at his lips, but he forced it down. He hadn't done anything wrong… had he?
'This is insane… What the hell is happening!?'
He tried to piece it together. The last thing he remembered was... dying.
That was it. He had died. Everything after that was a blur of surreal sensations. Oblivion, then existence again. None of it made sense.
The woman tilted her head, confusion flashing across her perfect, yet unfathomable features, as if the thought of such a misunderstanding had never crossed her mind.
She lingered in silence, then slowly shook her head.
And just like that… Ethan woke up.
---
The first thing Ethan noticed—or perhaps smelled—was the stifled scent of rain, mud… and perfume.
The faint whiff was followed by a sharp pain in his lungs. He groaned at the agony, but what escaped was not a groan at all, only a thin cry belonging to an infant.
Frustration surged within him. 'This again?!'
A gentle voice answered his cry. "Veylen os, miçelín?"
It belonged to a woman. The words were foreign, completely alien to him, yet her tone was tender, kind. It soothed him, if only a little.
The world around him swayed with each step. He quickly realized he was being carried.
Forcing his eyes open, Ethan winced. Light struck him harshly, blinding, like staring into a flashlight. Still, he persevered, blinking against the brilliance.
The woman's voice came in response to his actions, seemingly amused. "Oh! Aurel carís, is tentat aperir li oclos suen!"
A second voice replied—also female, though much younger, not to mention weak and spent. "Hoc est… bon. Is válet melior quam me saltem…"
At last his vision adjusted. Even so, the world remained blurred, as if he were peering through fogged glass.
He could just make out the shape of the woman carrying him. She was plump, with a head of curly—no, perhaps wavy, blonde hair.
Above her stretched a night sky, black as ink, studded with countless white specks.
Ethan tried to look around, but his head felt impossibly heavy, as though it weighed several tons. His neck refused to turn.
Instead, he raised his tiny hands to shift himself in her arms. And when he saw them—small, frail, delicate—he couldn't deny it anymore.
He was a baby.
He had died, truly died, and now came back to life once more as an infant.
Ethan didn't particularly know how to feel about this development . But at least he understood what was going on, if only as much as a newborn could.
As he sorted through his thoughts, the view behind the woman changed. The sky vanished, replaced by a... wooden ceiling? A faint, flickering glow danced across it, seemingly that of a flame, making it all the harder to see clearly.
Ethan's thoughts were broken by a sudden roar—a man's shout, loud and coarse. The sound startled him, and a squeak slipped from his lips. He hated to admit it, but… it was kind of cute.
The woman carrying him snapped with surprising ferocity. "Tene baxa la voiz, stult! Tu evigilás li onfyntel!"
Moments later, a new cry rang out. It wasn't Ethan's, but another infant's.
The woman's expression softened instantly, and she passed Ethan into someone else's hands.
The man who received him was rough-looking, with a dumb, almost bewildered expression plastered on his face. He held Ethan at arm's length by the armpits, his massive hands awkward and unsure. It was deeply uncomfortable.
But admittedly, the man had a truly remarkable mustache.
The brazen man's unease showed plain. He handled Ethan as though the baby might shatter at a touch. His gravelly voice rumbled: "Salvé… miçelhóm…"
Ethan, of course, had no clue what his mustached carrier was saying.
Soon enough, the man clearly grew tired of their arrangement, carefully handing Ethan to a young boy. The child's wide, enchanting blue eyes studied him with curiosity. Then, without hesitation, the boy leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his little nose before passing him along.
Ethan, thoroughly stunned, barely had time to process before he was given to yet another figure. He was dizzy now from being shuffled about like some ceremonial relic.
This time, the arms that held him were different. They were gentle, trembling, and... desperate. A young woman cradled him close. Her hair was a pale shade of brown, her eyes a radiant sky blue.
The instant Ethan saw her, his heart softened. Her features were blurred, but her expression shone with a depth of emotion that couldn't be described with mere words.
She hugged him tight, as though terrified he might vanish. Her voice was soft, angelic.
"Salvé, mi cucurbitín… Gratias ago tibi pro pugnare tam fort."
At the sound of it, all of Ethan's worries melted away. For the first time, he truly felt like a baby—helpless, but safe.
This girl was his mother. He had no doubt about it.
She gazed at him lovingly for a few moments, then leaned in to give him the same soft peck on the nose the boy had given him. After that, she settled him onto her lap and began rocking him gently.
Only then did Ethan finally get a better sense of what was going on—at least, as much as his feeble newborn sight would allow.
They were in a small room. Everyone was seated, except for the boy Ethan assumed was his brother. The child was perched right beside him, still studying him with those curious blue eyes.
Across the room, the plump woman who had carried him earlier was trying, and failing, to soothe another baby. This one screamed and wailed without pause, unrelenting in her protest.
As a fellow infant, Ethan couldn't help but consider such behavior… unprofessional.
Jokes aside, his head was a mess. The entire ordeal had unfolded in the span of half an hour, and everything around him was constantly shifting. He had no chance to think. No time to think about Alex…
Almost as though summoned by that thought, hunger struck him with cruel sharpness. His tiny body ached with it. He hadn't tasted a drop of nourishment since his rebirth.
But the prospect of satisfying that hunger brought its own discomfort. He knew exactly what he'd have to do, and he wasn't sure he was particularly comfortable doing so. Still… what choice did he have?
Then another problem hit him. How was he supposed to let his mother know?
Ethan glanced toward the inconsolable infant across the room.
And then it clicked. Of course. The answer was embarrassingly obvious.
He took a deep breath and let loose a scream with every bit of power his newborn lungs could muster. The effort seared his chest, but the results were immediate.
His mother startled, eyes wide at her once-quiet child suddenly crying as though the world were ending. It took her a moment, but she soon understood.
She rocked him gently, pulled aside her garment, and… well, the rest was history.
Once he was finished, his sibling's cries revealed that they, too, had been hungry. It was their turn next.
All the while, the raven-haired boy looked on with a strange expression. Too strange for his age, Ethan thought.
Minutes later, both newborns were laid side by side in a small bed with unusually high railings. He realized then that it was a cradle. His new partner in crime drifted off into slumber almost instantly. Ethan, however, fought to stay awake.
His mind swirled with questions.
What happened to Alex?
Where is she?
How much time has passed since the accident?
Where was he, even in relation to her?
And most of all, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
No—better yet, what could he possibly do?
The little baby had far too much on his mind.