The blinding light enveloped Caled as he floated in its embrace, his face obscured by its intensity. For a moment, he felt no fear, only a strange, serene peace, as though he had been waiting for this very moment—waiting for the darkness of death to finally claim him. The cold, inevitable pull of oblivion felt distant yet close, as though the veil between life and death had finally thinned enough for him to cross. He could feel the weight of his life, his burdens, and his regrets all beginning to fade.
But then, something changed.
The chirping of birds reached his ears, faint at first, but gradually louder. It was soft, almost gentle, as though nature itself was calling him back. The soothing sounds of life breaking through the heavy silence of death.
"Is that... the sound of birds?" Caled thought, confused. His mind, still wrapped in the fog of what had just transpired, struggled to comprehend the shift. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavy—heavier than any weight he'd ever felt before, as if invisible hands were forcing them shut. The weight of everything pressing against him, keeping him from the peace he had expected.
Determined, he pushed against the resistance. He willed himself to open his eyes, though they felt as if they had been sealed shut by some unseen force. Slowly, painfully, they fluttered open, revealing a blurry, unfamiliar world. The light, though blinding, was not what he had expected to find in the afterlife. It was a warm, golden hue, as though the sun itself had been placed directly before him.
"Hah... a roof?" he muttered under his breath.
Above him was a wooden ceiling—rough-hewn beams, their natural grains and knots visible in the soft light. The scent of aged wood filled his senses, grounding him to something tangible. The light filtered through the cracks in the walls, giving the room a warm, inviting glow. Caled blinked, his mind racing in confusion. "Am I not dead? Is this what the afterlife looks like?" The thought swirled around him, but nothing in his immediate surroundings made sense. Everything seemed too... alive, too familiar, for something that was supposed to be a final destination.
He shifted slightly, trying to adjust his position, but as he moved, a sharp, blinding light from a window nearby flooded his vision. It was as if the very sunlight had decided to wage a war against his eyes, forcing him to close them tightly once more.
"Ouch... Why is the light so bright? I can't see a thing," he thought, squinting and turning his head toward the window. It was a wooden frame, solid and unremarkable. But there was nothing about it that suggested he was in any kind of afterlife. The world outside was simply... the world.
The light continued to wash over him, forcing him to look away, and in that moment, a sudden sound broke through the haze of his thoughts. The cry of a baby. It was loud, startling, and real. The sound was so jarring, so immediate, that it felt like it was coming from inside his mind, even though he knew better.
"A baby?" Caled thought, his heart racing in his chest. The sound was so clear, so immediate. He froze, his mind scrambling to understand. Where was he? What was happening?
His eyes scanned the room. The walls were made of the same wood as the ceiling. Around him, strange wooden structures were scattered—cradles. Several of them, their forms oddly familiar yet alien to him in this situation. They were simple, with soft bedding that looked as though it had been carefully arranged.
"Hah, what are those things?" he muttered to himself, the shapes confusing him even more. His head spun as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming information rushing through his mind. He had no memory of any of this. No recollection of how he got here, or where here even was. Was he truly dead? Was this some sort of dream?
He looked down at his hands. His stomach dropped as he took in the sight. They were small, impossibly small—like a baby's hands. Tiny fingers, soft and helpless, lay still on the surface he was lying on. His skin, smooth and unmarked, was pale, but healthy. He stared at his hands for a long moment, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
He was momentarily shocked, the realization taking longer to settle in than it should have. His mind desperately tried to piece everything together. But then, just as the panic was beginning to rise, a sudden, horrifying clarity struck him.
"If this is a baby's cradle... and I'm in it..." Caled whispered to himself, his voice trembling. He barely recognized the sound of his own voice—it was so small, so fragile. He was no longer a man. He was a baby. How had this happened?
His eyes darted around the room again. There was nothing in the room to explain this. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Everything was... normal. The walls, the furniture, the cradles. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp the impossibility of the situation. Had he been reborn? Was he in some sort of strange, distorted version of the afterlife?
He glanced around, trying to gather his bearings. A small dressing mirror stood beside the cradle. Without thinking, he crawled toward it, using his tiny, unfamiliar hands to pull himself along. His mind was in chaos, but there was an urgency now, a need to see the truth. When he finally reached the mirror, he looked into it—and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.
"This can't be..." he whispered, barely audible. His voice sounded so small—childish.
The face staring back at him was not the face of a twenty-year-old man. It was the face of a baby, no older than two or three months. His skin was pale, but healthy, and his hair—dark, black—lay in a soft mop atop his head. His most striking feature, however, were his eyes. Red eyes. Unmistakable, glowing with a deep, unnatural intensity that seemed to pierce through everything.
His heart stopped for a moment. "Huh... is that me?" he muttered to himself, still trying to reconcile the reflection with the thoughts racing through his mind. "How is this possible? How am I... this? A baby?" The questions rushed in faster than he could answer them.
His hands were trembling as he pulled them away from the mirror and rested them against his chest. The small cradle creaked gently beneath him as he shifted, his mind reeling. "So, this must be my cradle…" he thought, struggling to gather his thoughts. He was supposed to be dead, but this... this was something entirely different. He had no explanation for it. No understanding of how this could have happened.
Looking around, he tried to make sense of the room. To his right was a table stacked with books—his books. He recognized the familiar, worn spines. The titles were ones he had read many times before. Nearby, a small chair stood beside it. It was a simple wooden chair, but it looked like it belonged in this room—like it had always been here. On his left, there was a wooden door with drawers placed haphazardly on top. A flowerpot rested on the drawers, its contents a blur in the overwhelming light.
The room itself was simple, perhaps even sparse. The smell of wood filled the air, mixed with something else—a faint, comforting scent that he couldn't place. But nothing in the room suggested anything other than a home—a very ordinary home. And yet... nothing was ordinary. He was in the body of a baby.
His gaze drifted down to the floor. Scattered there were several toys: a small wooden horse, a few dolls, and a toy sword. The kind of things a young child might play with, if they had any imagination at all. Caled lay back against the soft bedding, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything. "Am I dreaming? Or is this real?" he wondered aloud, his mind still spinning, confusion taking hold. How could this be real?
Then, he heard footsteps. The soft, steady sound of someone approaching. The steady rhythm of boots on wooden floors echoed through the room.
His attention snapped to the door. He couldn't see who it was, but he could hear the soft shuffle of boots against wood. The door opened, and two figures appeared in the doorway. One was a woman with black hair and blue eyes. The other was a man with brown hair and red eyes—eyes that were just like his own.
"Are these my parents?" Caled thought, studying them closely. They looked young, far younger than he had imagined parents could be, but there was something in their faces that made his heart flutter. A sense of belonging. A sense of recognition. Were they truly his parents?
The woman smiled gently at him. "You must've had a good sleep, if you're so wide awake, my little Elyon," she cooed softly, her voice full of warmth.
The man smiled back, a soft, proud smile. "He really has your face, doesn't he, Lenea?"
Lenea chuckled lightly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "Oh, Richard, he has your eyes too," she said, her voice full of amusement.
Richard laughed—a deep, gentle laugh. "He really shares our traits," he said with a warmth in his voice that made Caled's chest tighten. A strange feeling of love, of connection, rose inside of him. It was overwhelming.
The words echoed in his mind. "Elyon?" Caled whispered under his breath. "Is that my name?" He repeated the name in his mind, feeling it take root in his mind, though it felt foreign to him. "And Lenea... and Richard... these must be my parents."
Lenea, with careful hands, gently lifted Elyon from the cradle. Caled—no, Elyon—was startled by the tender gesture, by the way she cradled him against her chest. "Is this really happening?" he wondered, his heart pounding.
She carefully carried him out of the room, Richard following closely behind. Elyon's thoughts were a whirlwind as they passed through the house. It was a small house, simply made of wood, like any common home he might have expected. There was a kitchen, bedrooms—including his own—and a dining room, all of them simple, yet cozy. The air was filled with the sounds of life, the hum of the world moving along. He felt a strange connection to everything around him, yet he couldn't make sense of it.
As they reached the door, Lenea paused. She looked down at Elyon and smiled warmly, as though she knew exactly what he was feeling. She opened the door, and immediately, a rush of bright light flooded the space, almost knocking Elyon off balance. He squinted, struggling to open them fully. When at last he managed to, what he saw left him breathless.
The world outside was nothing like he had imagined. A wilderness stretched before him, vibrant and alive in ways he had never seen before. Creatures of all kinds roamed freely—some like horses, but with fur made of flames, others with scales that shimmered in the light. There were trees unlike any Caled had ever seen, and the air was filled with the hum of an entirely different world.
Elyon's eyes widened in awe. The world he had known seemed so far away, so distant. This was a place unlike anything he could have ever dreamt of.
Richard stood beside Lenea, a soft smile on his face as he looked at Elyon. Elyon looked up at his mother, her gentle smile now etched into his memory.
"Welcome to your new home, Eryndor, little one," she whispered softly, her voice full of love and affection.