The darkness was not absolute.
It was not the cold void described in stories nor the eternal silence that so many feared.
Instead, there was sothing warm, moist, and constantly pulsing around him. He felt enveloped in a gentle pressure, almost comforting, as if he were floating inside a living cocoon.
The rhythm was steady, hypnotic, a cadence that lulled his senses.
Strange sounds reached him, muffled, distorted, impossible to fully understand. They were voices, of that he had a vague intuition, but they made no sense.
Deep shouts mixed with high-pitched groans, words that seed to echo through a thick layer of water. The environnt vibrated with a tension he could not na, yet it penetrated his consciousness like a distant drum.
’What... what is happening?’
The question erged from nowhere, like a bubble of air rising to the surface of a dark lake. He did not know where the question had co from, nor who the "he" asking it was.
There was only that state of semi-consciousness, the pulsation around him, the muffled sounds.
His mind was confused. There were no organized thoughts, only fragnts, sensations, and echoes of sothing that might have been mories, but so distant they seed to belong to soone else. Or perhaps they were rely dreams. He could not tell the difference.
Suddenly, the pressure increased.
His body, a body he still did not understand, small and fragile, was pushed forcefully, as if the entire world wanted to expel him from where he was.
The walls around him contracted in violent, rhythmic, inescapable waves. The warm and comforting moisture suddenly beca suffocating and oppressive. He tried to resist instinctively, but it was useless.
The cold ca next.
A sharp, dry cold, completely different from the previous comfort. The thermal shock tore a sound from him, a weak and startled cry that he barely recognized as his own.
And then ca the light, a blinding, cruelly bright light that invaded his eyes for the first ti. He squeezed them shut tightly, but there was no escape. The light penetrated through his thin, sensitive eyelids, painting the world red-orange behind the flesh.
A sharp scream tore through the air.
It was not his cry, although he was crying now as well. It was a woman’s scream, filled with pain and superhuman effort, but also with sothing he could not identify.
Freedom? Relief? He did not know. The words mixed with the scream, and he heard them as one hears the echo of a distant mountain.
"Hang in there, Aurora!" A deep and steady male voice echoed through the room, cutting through the fog of sound.
"You’re almost there! One more push!"
The words made no sense.
The language was completely foreign to anything he had ever heard, assuming there had ever been a "before."
It was guttural and lodic at the sa ti, like a river flowing over stones or the wind whistling through a canyon. The vowels were elongated, and the consonants carried a peculiar hiss that made the tongue vibrate in a strange way. Not a single syllable was familiar to him.
’What place is this? Who are these people? Why are there giants around ?’
Another scream of pain tore through the room, sharper than the first. He felt his body being pulled harder, large and firm hands wrapped around him, slippery with warm fluids he still could not identify.
The pressure in his chest increased, then diminished, and suddenly he was able to breathe properly for the first ti, dry and cool air flooding his tiny lungs and making him cough, sneeze, and cry louder.
A feeling of relief spread throughout the room, as though everyone had been holding their breath for hours and could finally exhale. Exclamations of joy, sighs, words spoken too quickly to understand.
"It’s a boy! A healthy baby boy!" exclaid an older female voice, with a tone of jubilation that transcended the language barrier.
"Just look at him... Look at him!"
He was wrapped in a soft cloth, sothing between cotton and linen, with an earthy texture unlike anything he had ever felt. The fiber was rougher than cotton and slled of dried herbs.
Then his tiny body was placed upon a warm and damp surface that rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
A heartbeat.
Labored breathing.
The scent that filled his nostrils was strangely comforting. Sweat, yes, and blood as well, but beneath it all was sothing sweet and maternal.
It was an aroma his newly awakened consciousness could not classify, yet it brought him an inexplicable sense of peace.
He forced his eyes open.
The world was blurry, sared, as though he were looking through a layer of grease.
Colors danced before him, patches of brown, white, and a deep violet that seed to glow with a light of its own.
Slowly, very slowly, the shapes began to make sense. His newborn eyes still did not know how to focus properly, but the image gradually revealed itself like a painting erging from the mist.
The woman holding him was... beautiful.
Not ordinary beauty, the kind seen in portraits or sculptures. It was an ethereal beauty, almost unreal. Her skin was extrely pale, so fair it seed translucent, like fine porcelain or milk spilled across dark glass.
Hair as white as snow, not gray, not silver, but pure white, the color of the full moon, fell over her sweat-covered shoulders like a cascading waterfall.
A few strands clung to her forehead from the recent effort, forming little curls that shimred beneath the flickering candlelight.
Her eyes, now that he could focus better, were a delicate and profound violet.
They shimred with tears of exhaustion and happiness, and even tired, even swollen from childbirth, they possessed an intensity that commanded attention.
Her face was flushed and marked by recent pain. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her lips were pale and cracked.
Even so, she looked as though she had stepped out of a dream.
The woman, Aurora, as the male voice had called her, looked at him with imdiate and overwhelming love. Her exhausted expression transford into a radiant smile, and she lowered her head, gently kissing his damp forehead with trembling lips.
The touch was as light as a feather settling upon a lake and as warm as the morning sun.
"He looks just like ... doesn’t he?" she asked, without taking her eyes off the baby, addressing soone beside her. Her voice was soft despite her exhaustion and carried a lody he was beginning to find strangely familiar.
A male voice replied affectionately, deep and steady.
"Yes. He really does."
He slightly turned his head, a monuntal effort for his fragile and inexperienced neck, which could barely support the weight of his own skull. His head must have wobbled awkwardly, because he felt Aurora’s hand tighten around him, holding him securely in place.
The man speaking stood beside the bed, leaning over them, his elbows resting on his knees so he could lower himself to the newborn’s level.
He was tall, or at least seed tall from a baby’s tiny perspective, broad-shouldered and upright, like soone accustod to carrying both weight and authority.
His brown hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and his short beard was neatly trimd, outlining a firm and square jaw. An old scar, white and thick, ran across his left cheek from cheekbone to jawline.
His eyes, a dark brown bordering on black, conveyed pride and relief.
There was softness in them as well, a tenderness that contrasted with his rugged appearance. This was a man who could kill but who could also love. He did not need to say it for it to be obvious.
"Then it’s ti for you to choose a na," the man said, straightening slightly while keeping his head lowered to look at the baby.
"Since I was the one who chose Asmon’s and Judite’s nas."
Aurora laughed softly, a tired yet musical sound. She was about to answer, her lips parting to form the words...
But at that mont, the bedroom door burst open with a crash that made the newborn flinch involuntarily.
Two figures rushed inside, disheveled and hurried, as though they had run down the hallway and nearly slipped at the doorway.
The first was a young boy of about fifteen, with features very similar to the older man’s. His brown hair was ssy like a bird’s nest, his eyebrows thick, and his expression direct, almost challenging.
He was already as tall as his father, though leaner. His hands hung open at his sides, as if he did not know what to do with them.
His eyes swept across the room until they settled on the small bundle in his mother’s arms, and there they remained, fixed and wide.
The second was a little girl of around four years old, with long and ssy brown hair full of tangles and probably traces of her last al.
She wore a simple but well-kept dress. Her right hand clutched her older brother’s hand tightly, her knuckles white with tension.
Her left hand was pressed against her mouth, and she sucked on her index finger while staring with wide, curious eyes, her lips forming a small "o" of amazent.
The two approached the bed cautiously, like young animals approaching sothing new and unfamiliar.
"He’s so tiny..." the little girl whispered, her voice muffled by the finger in her mouth.
"Babies are like that, Judite," replied her older brother, though his own gaze betrayed the sa fascination.
"But he looks strong. Look at that little frown. He’s already angry about sothing."
The older man, Clavor, placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
"Asmon, careful. Don’t get too close. Your mother needs space."
Judite stretched her neck, trying to see better over her brother’s arm.
"He’s as pale as Mommy!" she exclaid, her voice shrill with excitent.
"Can I hold him, Dad? Can I carry him later? I’ll take really good care of him, I promise!"
Aurora laughed softly, still exhausted but smiling.
"Easy, Judite. Your little brother still needs to rest. And eat. And grow." She adjusted the cloth around the baby, who had shifted because of the noise.
"In a few days, when he’s stronger, you’ll be able to help take care of him. You’ll be the best big sister he could ever have."
Judite clapped her hands silently, as though she had learned that loud noises were not welco at that mont.
The baby watched everything in silence, his wide eyes moving from one face to another, trying to absorb every detail.
None of this makes sense.
He did not know where these thoughts ca from, these words arranged so clearly within his mind.
He did not know how he was capable of forming complete sentences, analyzing his surroundings, noticing the texture of the cloth against his skin, or the sll of wood burning in the fireplace. He did not know that a newborn should not be capable of any of this.
He simply... thought.
And observed.
And wondered.
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