Three years had passed since Caelus had arrived in this strange, chaotic world. He now toddled around on unsteady little legs, able to speak in messy, halting bursts, though his thoughts were clearer than his words.
The house had changed, though it still carried the scent of herbs, woodsmoke, and faint lingering traces of old blood. Wooden floorboards, worn smooth in places, were scattered with blankets, toys, and folded cloths. Sunlight filtered through dusty windows, highlighting crooked shelves filled with jars, trinkets, and stacks of books. Despite the clutter, it was warm, lived-in, and bustling with quiet activity.
Caelus toddled across the room, bare feet slipping slightly on the boards. Short, tousled brown hair framed his pale, round face, and wide green eyes darted around, taking in the chaos.
His sister, nine now, sat near the window tracing patterns in the dust with her slender fingers. Her curly brown hair caught the sunlight, and her sharp eyes constantly flicked toward him, curiosity and mild frustration in equal measure. The brother, seven, leaned against the wall, dark hair falling into his eyes, arms folded tightly, scowling at Caelus' movements.
The nurse, the father's sister, moved gracefully through the room, her gentle brown eyes following him as she hummed quietly. Her braid swung over her shoulder as she adjusted blankets and toys, her presence a mix of authority and warmth.
The father, tall and lean, with streaks of gray in his dark hair, watched from the doorway. His expression was calm but lined with exhaustion.
"Caelus… careful," the nurse said, crouching nearby.
"I… run!" Caelus shouted, wobbling toward a stack of blocks. His words were messy, and his tongue stumbled over the syllables, but he meant them with determination.
The boy's frown deepened, and the girl's eyes narrowed, whispering something under her breath. Though the words were clearer now, Caelus mostly understood the tone: caution, irritation, curiosity.
I can… walk. I can… talk. I can… make them notice me. I… I know things now.
He tripped over a blanket, scraping his knee on the wooden floor. Pain shot through him, and he let out a loud cry. The siblings froze. The boy's scowl softened slightly, though he didn't move closer, and the girl's eyes widened with concern.
"You… you okay?" Caelus asked, voice messy and hesitant.
The boy shrugged, lips tight. "Yeah… don't… fall again."
It hurts… but I… I can keep going. I… can do this.
Caelus pushed himself up, wobbling, fists clenched, and pointed at the blocks. "I… build! I… build!"
The girl knelt beside him, hesitating, then said softly, "Okay… careful," helping him stack a block.
They… help me. They… see me. I… understand them. I… can do this.
The father's deep voice carried from the doorway. "Good job, Caelus. Keep trying. You're learning fast."
The boy rolled his eyes but stayed nearby, glancing at Caelus with a mix of curiosity and irritation. The girl's lips curved faintly, almost a smile.
For the first time, the world felt a little less confusing. He could move, speak, and understand more of the people around him. The house was still messy, still noisy, still filled with tension, but it was becoming a place he could grasp.
I am here. I exist. I… can do things. I… can try. I… can be part of this.
But another part of him flickered with memories he could not fully name. Faces, voices, smells… his mind whispered fragments of another life, one filled with cars, streets, rain, and a feeling of loss he hadn't yet understood.
I… remember… rain. Cars… lights… running… someone laughing… Veronica…
The memory was sharp, like a broken reflection. He shivered, and the warmth of the nurse's arms calmed him slightly. The present felt safer compared to those fleeting shadows of the past. Yet, the contrast left a hollow ache in his small chest.
This life… is different. I… am small. I… walk. I… talk. I… exist. But… I remember. I… was… someone else… once.
The blocks tumbled as Caelus pushed one too hard, scattering the stack across the floor. He let out a small cry of frustration, tugging at his messy hair.
"Hey! Careful!" the brother snapped, voice sharp. "You're always breaking things!"
"I… sorry!" Caelus replied, messy words spilling out faster than he could think. I… just… wanted… to build.
The sister sighed, shaking her head, but helped him pick up a few blocks. "Don't… push so hard, Caelus," she said softly. Her voice wasn't angry, but it carried the weight of judgment, a quiet reminder that he had to earn his place.
They… are… angry. Or… annoyed. I… remember… before… I… hurt people… by accident…
A fleeting memory surfaced — a rainy night, a car, screams, a family… the guilt, the fear, the escape. Caelus shivered, gripping a block tightly.
I… hurt people. I… ran… I… left… I… died…
The present felt grounding. He looked at his siblings — their curious, cautious gazes — and realized he wanted them to like him, even if he didn't fully understand why.
I… want… them to… see me… to… care… to… not be scared… of me…
Caelus scrambled to stack another block, wobbling slightly. He laughed, messy and bright, the sound carrying through the room. Shadows flickered across the walls, sunlight painting the dust in golden lines, and for a moment, he forgot the guilt, the memories, the fear.
I… exist. I… am here. I… can… touch… and… build… and… laugh. This… is… my life now.
The siblings continued to watch, sometimes helping, sometimes scowling. Their quiet curiosity and faint jealousy were a puzzle he didn't fully understand, but one he could sense in his small chest.
They… want me… or… they… want me gone? I… don't know. I… just… am… and… I… try… to belong.
The nurse hummed softly nearby, moving blankets and tidying toys, and the father leaned against the doorway, quiet and steady. The house, messy as it was, felt alive — alive with emotion, attention, and the fragile connections that were slowly forming around him.
I… remember before. I… hurt… I… ran… I… died… But… now… I… am here. I… exist. I… can… be part of this… maybe.
And as Caelus stacked his blocks again, scraped his knee slightly, and laughed through the sting, he realized something small but important: he was alive, he was noticed, and slowly, perhaps, he was beginning to belong