The afternoon sunlight streamed gently through the wide window of Adrian's room, casting warm golden patterns across the floor. Toys were scattered in what appeared to be chaos at first glance: wooden soldiers, colorful blocks, small puzzle pieces, and miniature swords. But to Adrian, each piece had its place, a purpose, a role to play in a scenario only he could fully understand.
Adrian sat cross-legged in the center of it all, his small hands adjusting a wooden soldier with meticulous care. "No, no, no… absolutely not," he muttered to himself, his voice soft but sharp, like a general reprimanding an inexperienced soldier. "Seriously… who told you to stand there? That's the worst position I've ever seen. Are you even thinking?"
He tapped the soldier gently, repositioning it. "Fine… fine… you'll stand there. But only because I'm feeling generous today." He made a little smirk that was out of place for his three-year-old face. It was one of those moments when his small, innocent appearance clashed with his unusually mature mind.
Adrian leaned back slightly, blue eyes staring at the ceiling as memories began to surface. He remembered—vividly—the accident, the panic, the overwhelming helplessness. He remembered failing someone very dear to him: his childhood friend. A tight knot formed in his small chest. His fingers curled around a toy soldier as though squeezing it could somehow restore the past.
"I won't fail again," he whispered firmly, almost like a vow, almost like a spell he cast for himself. "Not this time. No matter what… I'll be ready. I'll save them. I'll do everything I can to make sure it never happens again."
He returned to the toys, arranging them carefully. Every block, every soldier, every small wooden token was a piece of a strategy. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, thinking aloud. "If this soldier moves first… no, that exposes the flank. Pivot here, shift there… yes, that might work. And the others… hmm… they need to cover the retreat. Or I could switch them… maybe this way?"
Adrian's tongue peeked out slightly from the corner of his mouth, a small sign of concentration. "Honestly, some of these moves are obvious, but do they even think?" he muttered, sarcastically critiquing his imaginary soldiers. "Do they? No… clearly not."
A soft knock at the door made him jump slightly. "Come in," he called, his voice carefully neutral, though his grip on the small wooden sword in front of him tightened just a little.
Celestia peeked inside, her silver hair catching the sunlight, her blue eyes soft with amusement. "I see you're busy, Adrian. Organizing your toys again?"
Adrian's small body stiffened for a moment, and his cheeks flushed slightly. "Uh… yes, Mama. I'm… practicing strategy. Very important." He tried to sound casual, though his words sounded a little more serious than his age should allow.
Celestia stepped fully into the room, crouching beside him. "Strategy, huh? You're always thinking so hard… you amaze me sometimes."
Adrian froze mid-move, blinked rapidly, and felt a surge of warmth spread across his cheeks. He looked down, fiddling with a block, muttering under his breath. "I… I'm not… I'm just… thinking. It's… nothing special."
Celestia laughed quietly, brushing a silver strand from his face. "You're special, Adrian. Clever, thoughtful… I'm proud of you."
Adrian's small blue eyes darted away, avoiding her gaze. "I… I'm not sure you need to say that…" His voice was small, flustered, betraying his usual composure, and he twiddled his fingers with a nervous energy.
Once Celestia left the room, Adrian let out a small, exaggerated sigh, cheeks still pink. "Why do they have to say things like that?" he muttered sarcastically to himself. "I'm fine without compliments… fine! Absolutely fine…" Yet a small, nearly invisible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Even flustered, he couldn't entirely hide the warmth of the words.
He returned to his toys, lining them up as if they were the soldiers and allies of his past life. Each arrangement, each positioning, was a careful plan, a miniature simulation of what he hoped to achieve in real life. "Alright… no mistakes this time," he whispered to himself. "If I move them like this… yes, they'll be safe. I need to make sure nothing goes wrong… I'll plan everything, anticipate every move…"
His mind wandered again, drifting to memories from his past life—the panic, the helplessness, the bitter regret of failing his childhood friend. Each thought sharpened his determination. He adjusted a small wooden soldier and whispered, "You… you won't fail either. I promise."
His small hands moved quickly, but deliberately, rearranging pieces in a way that mimicked complex maneuvers, testing multiple outcomes in his mind. He stepped back occasionally, studying his arrangement, tilting his head as if seeing the scenario from every possible angle.
"Hmm… pivot here… block there… yes, yes, yes," he murmured to himself, fingers tracing imaginary paths in the air. "Honestly… why are humans so predictable sometimes? I mean… even I'd fail if I didn't plan this properly." His voice carried the sarcasm of a seasoned strategist, yet a small hint of childlike self-satisfaction seeped through.
Adrian paused, glancing at a small soldier standing proudly at the front of his formation. "You… you'll do better than I did last time. No hesitation. No mistakes. Not this time." His blue eyes softened, reflecting care and empathy, even toward a simple toy.
He reached for a block and carefully placed it to represent cover for his imaginary allies. "Balance… observation… anticipation. If I remember everything I learned… yes… yes, I can do this." His thoughts were methodical, precise, far beyond what anyone might expect from a three-year-old.
Time passed, marked only by the shifting sunlight streaming across the room. Adrian adjusted, repositioned, and occasionally whispered sarcastic commentary at the imaginary soldiers. "Honestly… if you all mess up now, don't even bother asking me for help next time."
He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But… if I move this one… hmm… then I can protect that one… yes, yes, yes. That works… finally." A small triumphant grin crossed his face as he surveyed the finished arrangement.
Adrian leaned back, taking a moment to breathe. "Perfect… maybe. Or at least, better than last time." He let out a small, satisfied sigh, chest rising with quiet pride. "Finally… I'm impressed… with myself, at least."
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts again. "Adrian? Are you still busy?" Celestia's gentle voice called from the doorway.
Adrian's cheeks flamed instantly. "Uh… yes… Mama. Very busy!" He adjusted a block nervously. "Important… strategy stuff…"
Celestia smiled, stepping closer. "You know, watching you think and plan like this… it's remarkable. Even at three years old, you have a mind far beyond your years."
Adrian froze, ears bright red. "I-I'm… I'm not that remarkable! I'm just… playing…" He muttered quickly, flustered. His small hands twisted a wooden sword nervously. "You don't need to say things like that…"
Celestia crouched beside him, smiling softly. "Oh, but I do. Because you are remarkable, Adrian. Clever, thoughtful, caring… even sarcastic at times, but in a good way."
Adrian's small body stiffened. He looked away, cheeks hot and flustered. "S-sarcastic? I'm not sarcastic… okay, maybe a little… but still… I'm not…" His voice trailed off as a tiny, nervous laugh escaped him.
After Celestia left, Adrian exhaled heavily, letting his small body relax. "Why… why do adults have to notice these things?" he muttered, brushing a hand across his flushed cheeks. "I'm fine without compliments! Fine!" He shook his head, though a small smile lingered, betraying that he secretly appreciated it.
Returning to his toys once more, Adrian rearranged them again, fine-tuning every detail. He imagined different scenarios, running simulations in his mind, considering outcomes, and correcting potential mistakes. "Observation… patience… foresight… balance. If I keep this up, I'll be ready for anything."
A sudden thought struck him, and he picked up a single wooden soldier, holding it carefully. "You… you're the most important one. You have to be ready. You can't fail like I did last time." He whispered the words as if the toy could hear him, his small voice carrying the weight of promises made long ago.
The sunlight shifted slowly, painting the room in soft, amber hues. Adrian's toys were perfectly arranged, soldiers and blocks positioned with purpose and care. He sat back, small hands resting on his knees, eyes thoughtful. "Tomorrow… I'll try something harder. Something more challenging. And next time… I'll be even smarter. I won't fail again. I'll protect… everyone."
He smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his face. Even as a toddler, with soft features and delicate hands, Adrian's mind was already shaping the path of a protector. One who would learn from the past, anticipate the future, and act decisively when the time came to save those he loved.
In the quiet of his room, Adrian Leonhart—the clever, caring, sarcastic, and easily flustered strategist—sat amidst his toys, preparing for a future only he could see, quietly confident in the mind and heart that belied his three-year-old body.