Those mufffled voices soon became clear. Sounds ran together, soft and far away, like ripples on water. My body was too heavy, as if each breath stuck stubbornly in my chest. It was dark for a moment. Then... light.
"Congratulations, sir, madam. He's a healthy baby."
The words cut through the haze. My eyelids fluttered open. A flood of color seared my vision, too bright, too overwhelming, making me squint. Everything bled together, shifting shapes and blurred outlines, until, slowly, the world settled into focus.
Two faces hovered above me.
The first one was owned by a woman. Black locks of hair surrounded her face, loose waves spilling down her shoulders. Her skin was white but flushed with heat, and her almond-shaped brown eyes shone with a love so profound that it seemed capable of bearing the world. Her smile grew gently, and the eyes' corners creased as if she had longed for this moment all her life.
If the word mother could ever be embodied, she was it.
At her side was a man. Strong shoulders, sharp cheekbones, and a chin chiseled smooth as stone made him a presence. His ash-brown hair was smoothed back neatly, not a hair out of position, and his eyes. clear, steady, and proud—looked at me as if I was the dearest treasure he had ever possessed. His lips curled into a smile, forced but radiant with a pride that could never be put into words.
Why were they leaning so close?
The woman leaned lower, tufts of her hair caressing my small arms. Her voice was a soft whisper, woven with wonder.
"Welcome to the family, sweetie."
She raised one dainty hand, half-fearing that I would shatter.
Something moved in my sight... two small, rounded things. My hands. Pale, wrinkled, impossibly tiny. Instinctively, they stretched up and touched her cheek. Her cheek was warm, smooth, alive.
A shiver crept through me.
Wait… these are mine?
A sense of panic erupted in my chest. My breathing was rapid and jagged. My mind tore back, trying to find explanations.
Memories rushed like a dam bursting open. the pain of my final minutes, the silence, the cruel laughter still ringing in my ears. The plunge into cold, infinite darkness. The knowledge that everything was finished.
But yet… here I was.
Alive. Small. Fragile. Reborn.
The man. my father, if the title even held meaning anymore, leaned in closer. His big hands, calloused but firm, held me in a gentleness I had never experienced. He kissed his lips to my forehead, leaving behind the warmth which remained even as he drew back.
"His eyes take after you, Ivy."
So… Ivy. That was her name.
Her laughter was soft, musical, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
"And his face is after you, honey," she teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
I blinked at them both, my heart caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to comfort. They looked at me not with indifference, not with cruelty, but with love so open it threatened to break me.
Well… whatever this was, it was a hell of a lot better than the place I'd come from.
***
The days were blurred, sewed by warmth, sound, and light.
Sometimes it was the gentle rustle of blankets as I was lifted out of the cradle into loving arms. Other times, it was the reassuring beat of a heartbeat in my ear, rocking me into slumbering peace. The world above me was forever changing Mother's soft brown eyes dipping close, Father's large frame casting a sheltering shadow, or a gentle stranger glancing in with whispered words of wonder.
I tried myself in secret. First my fingers, curling and uncurling like fumbling little claws. Then my head, leaden as rock, yet resolved to track the dance of candlelight scrawling across ceiling beams. Each triumph minuscule but monumental, sapping me until sleep took me back.
Seasons passed. The wind grew sharp, leaves crunched harder outside, and once when I opened my eyes, I beheld pale white snowflakes gliding across the windowpane, their whiteness aglow like minute sparks in the sunlight.
Helplessness gradually yielded to mastery. The prison of infancy relaxed, step by step.
And then there was the morning it occurred.
I had been swaying back and forth for days now, hands clasped to the cool wooden floor, knees trembling unsteadily beneath me. And today was different. My body established an odd rhythm, and before I knew it, I moved forward. One uncertain movement. Then another. Then another.
The sharp intake of breath filled the air.
"Oh!" Mother's voice, full of wonder. "Dave, hurry. he's crawling!"
I glanced up. Ivy's dark locks fell over the shoulders as she leaned forward, her radiant smile quivering with happiness. A moment later, thunderous boots boomed against the ground as Father hurried in, his face splitting into unreserved pride.
"Look at you, little fellow!" he exclaimed, crouching down beside me. His rough hand ruffled my hair, and his smile split wide.
I pushed on, my little legs wobbly but determined and pulled myself along, every little thump sounding louder in my ears than it should have. Slowly, I crept until my face took over the glass.
A round face gazed back. Wide, blinking eyes. bright and too alive for one who still couldn't even stand. My hair was a tangled mess of dark locks, my cheeks puffy with the softness of infancy.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the stranger in the glass.
From where I sat in the corner of the room, I sensed a change in the air.
"Look at him…" my mother's voice, low and wondering, crossed the room. "He's… looking at himself."
My dad leaned in, arms folded as he observed me.
Their eyes remained fixed on me.
I continued to gaze at my reflection, not blinking, as if I could etch meaning into the face before me. A quiet reminder dug itself deeper into my marrow: I had been granted another chance.
I wasn't this infant stumbling around the floor. I was me. Me still.
My mother knelt low, smiling weakly. "Strange little one," she whispered, though her voice was full of love. "Always so serious.."
I lifted my small hand and set it flat against the glass. The reflection copied me at once, palm to palm.
My father bent alongside her, his large footsteps muted despite his bulk. "Hah. Our little Lucian," he growled, a grin creeping onto his mouth.
I shifted my head to the side, catching their images in the glass. my mother's eyes aglow with pride, my father's presence a rock behind her.
The mirror no longer reflected merely myself. It reflected us. A family.
For the first time since opening my eyes in this new world, the thought warmed me from the inside out.
Ivy scooped me into her arms, spinning me gently, her lips brushing my forehead. "Lucian," she whispered, voice trembling with happiness. "My sweet Lucian."
My Name is Lucian. Lucian Ashvayne.
***
From there, life settled into a peaceful rhythm. Occasionally Mother would carry me into town, bound tightly to her back with a cloth bind. To me, it was like riding on top of a rolling fortress, her measured strides rocking me gently with each roll of her body. Over her shoulder, the world spread out in strange and intriguing ways.
The streets were covered in ragged cobblestones that clattered under the hooves of horses which passed by. Merchants called from their shops, their voices clashing like cymbals colliding. Smiths flaunted shiny blades and axes; hunters walked by carrying bows across their shoulders and fur bundles on their backs. Each corner had its own aroma: the steam of hot bread from the oven of a baker, the acrid smell of tanned leather, the rich spice wafting off jars that shone like small treasure chests.
I hung on to her garment, eyes wide with wonder, attempting to absorb it all. Swords belted at the hips, daggers tied to thighs, even young ones my height playing with wooden blades as if they were toy soldiers. To me, it was exciting and a bit daunting, as if everyone was getting ready for a foray I was too young for.
Back at home, Father often trained in the yard. From the window, I'd watch him, his movements both fierce and elegant. The wooden practice sword cracked sharply against its partner, each strike purposeful, every motion filled with the weight of experience. His stance radiated strength, the kind that made me feel both safe and small.
But no matter how focused he was, he was never too busy for me. He'd come in, scoop me up in his big arms, and swing me around in the air. My shrieks of joy filled the room, interrupted only by the whoosh of his chest catching me a split second before I hit the ground. Occasionally he'd drop me a little lower than I anticipated, his smile wicked with mischief, and my laughter only served to prompt him to do it again and again.
Sure, even the slightest adventure exhausted me. A quick crawl on the floor, a loud ride into town, or Father's perpetual games, and my little body let me down. My eyes became heavy, and sleep overcame me no matter how hard I resisted.
Although I couldn't yet comprehend the meaning of their words, I could sense them. Their words enveloped me like a blanket, Mother's soft murmur, Father's thunderous laughter. I babbled back, mimicking their tones with all the seriousness of a scholar interpreting ancient runes, even if it sounded nonsense.
And then appeared the Great Dilemma.
Both of them leaned in one night, eyes shining with hope, voices tempting:
"Mama?"
"Dada?"
It was the most momentous decision of my life. Mother, with her gentle touch and comforting warmth… or Father, with his boisterous energy and strong defense? My small brain wrestled with the decision as if I was deciding some great puzzle of destiny.
After days of babbling and indecision, I made up my mind.
"Mama."
Mother stiffened, hands shooting to her lips as tears sparkled in her eyes. Father let out a rich, deep bark of laughter, hearty and proud, even though I'd just announced her the winner.
And in that instant, surrounded by their love, I wasn't Lucian Ashvayne alone.
I was their son.