Caelus opened his eyes to a world of chaos. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across uneven walls. The house, small and supposed to be cozy, was anything but neat. Blood-stained cloths were scattered across the floor. Blankets were damp and crumpled, evidence of frantic attempts to save his mother. The scent of iron and herbs mixed with the warm, stagnant air, making him flinch instinctively.
He felt hands on him, lifting and rocking him, murmuring words he did not understand. Their tones were gentle, but their presence could not hide the chaos around him.
The nurse, her uniform streaked and damp, adjusted him in her arms with careful hands. "Shh… shh… you're safe now, little one," she whispered. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying exhaustion and grief.
Caelus blinked up at her, tiny fists curling instinctively. A faint wail escaped him. The sound startled everyone around him, filling the messy room with echoes of sorrow.
Two older children watched quietly, their eyes red and glistening with tears. His siblings. They did not understand him, and he did not understand their words, but he could feel their sadness — heavy, pressing, mingled with confusion and helplessness.
The boy muttered something incoherent, voice trembling. The girl's small hands rubbed at her face, sniffing and letting tears fall silently.
Caelus wriggled, sensing the tension in the air. Why is everyone crying? he thought. Who… what is wrong? He did not understand language, did not know the reason, but their emotions pressed against him like invisible walls.
Then he felt it — the absence. A void that should have been filled with warmth. He saw a woman. She was laying still nearby, wrapped in the blood-stained cloths of her final moments. Her chest did not rise. Her face, pale and drawn, was quiet.
Is she dead…?
The father stepped forward, face drawn and pale, exhaustion etched in every line. He knelt beside the siblings, voice low but urgent.
"It's alright… it's going to be alright," he said, though the words shook. "I know… I know it's hard. I know it hurts. But he is alive. Your mother… she tried, but… she couldn't…" His voice broke. He drew in a shaky breath. "We have to be strong now. All of us. For each other. For him."
The siblings buried their faces in their hands. Silent tears fell freely. Caelus could feel it all: the grief, the helplessness, the guilt that lingered in the house. They blame… someone? Something? I do not know. I do not understand.
He let out another tiny cry, his lungs straining. The nurse held him closer, rocking gently. "Shh… it's okay. You're safe. I'll take care of you."
I don't understand the sounds. I do not understand the language. But I feel meaning… I feel warmth, I feel protection.
The father looked down at him, voice quieter, almost a whisper. "You're small… fragile… but you're strong. You have your mother's courage in you. And I… I will protect you. I swear it."
Caelus wriggled, kicking tiny legs against blankets that smelled faintly of blood and herbs. He observed, storing details: the crumpled cloth, the disarrayed furniture, the trembling hands of the nurse, the silent grief of his siblings. Even in this fragile state, his mind cataloged everything.
The siblings did not show anger, yet the weight of their sadness and quiet resentment pressed on him. Every glance, every movement spoke of longing and confusion.
I feel it… even if I do not understand it. I am here. I am aware. I will survive.
The nurse hummed a soft lullaby again, brushing damp hair from his forehead. The rhythm of her voice, the warmth of her hands, became a fragile anchor in the chaotic room. Deep inside, a spark persisted — awareness, memory from another life, defiance.
Even amidst blood, grief, and confusion, Caelus knew: this was the beginning. A small, fragile life, thrust into chaos, but one that would survive, learn, and one day understand the world around him.