The days passed quietly, the rhythm of the Smith household slowly becoming familiar to me. I was still small—my limbs awkward and uncoordinated—but I was beginning to notice things. More than just the warm arms of my mother Clara or the steady presence of Erwin, my older brother, there was a subtle strangeness to this world that nagged at my mind.
One morning, as sunlight spilled through the wooden shutters, I lay awake in my crib, eyes tracking the patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling. The house was filled with muted sounds—the clink of dishes downstairs, soft footsteps, and the distant calls of merchants preparing for the day outside.
"Elias," a voice called from nearby, and I turned my head toward it.
It was a woman I hadn't seen much before, carrying a basket filled with freshly baked bread. She smiled warmly as she crouched beside the crib. "Good morning, little one. How are you today?"
Her name was Miriam. Clara often spoke kindly of her. Miriam was one of the household helpers, though she seemed more like family than staff. Her eyes held a softness, and the gentle way she touched my hand made me feel safe.
I reached out with a clumsy hand, and Miriam chuckled. "You're growing stronger every day."
Watching her move about the room, I noticed how different she seemed from anyone I'd known in the world I remembered. There, life had been fast-paced, noisy, and crowded, but here, even the servants carried themselves with a quiet dignity. It felt like a different age entirely, but one tinged with its own complicated sorrow.
It wasn't just the household that felt different.
Over the following days, I noticed other children outside when Erwin played in the yard. Some were laughing and chasing each other. Others sat quietly, their faces wary and eyes alert. Not all were as fortunate as me.
One boy caught my attention. He was smaller than Erwin, with dark hair and a curious gaze. He played alone at the edge of the yard, watching the others but never joining in. Something about him stirred a strange empathy in me.
Later, Erwin noticed my gaze and whispered, "That's Jonas. He lives near the wall, where the soldiers say 'trash people' stay."
"Trash people?" I asked, though I was too young to understand fully.
Erwin shrugged, his serious face furrowing. "They say those people are troublemakers. But I don't know. I've never talked to him."
The word stuck in my mind. Trash people. The phrase sounded harsh and cruel. I wondered why some people could be called that when they looked no different from anyone else.
As the days turned to weeks, Miriam often brought news from the town. She talked about markets, rumors of unrest near the walls, and the heavy presence of the military. I listened carefully, absorbing everything with a mind far beyond my years.
One afternoon, Clara caught me staring at the window, my small fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air.
"Do you like watching outside?" she asked softly.
I nodded.
She smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "This world can be beautiful, Elias. But it can also be cruel. Remember that."
Her words echoed in my mind long after she left the room.
The difference between this world and the one I once knew became more apparent when Erwin began to speak of school. I remembered the school I had attended in my past life—a place filled with computers, books, and friends. Here, Erwin talked about a small academy where boys learned swordsmanship and tactics from stern instructors.
"Do you want to go someday?" I asked him.
Erwin shrugged. "Maybe. But it's dangerous. They say the Titans are always watching."
Titans.
The word sent a shiver through me. The world I had returned to was not just different—it was terrifying.
Despite that, I found comfort in the little routines. Erwin was a constant presence—sometimes awkward, sometimes serious, but always protective. He would bring me small toys carved from wood, or recite stories of knights and battles, his young voice animated and eager.
One day, as I lay on a blanket in the yard, a girl approached. She was around Erwin's age, with sharp eyes and quick movements. Her hair was dark, tied back in a simple braid.
"Hi," she said, her voice firm but kind. "I'm Lina."
I blinked up at her, surprised by her boldness.
"You're Erwin's little brother, right?"
I nodded shyly.
"Come play with me," she invited.
I wanted to say yes, but something held me back. She wasn't like the children I remembered from my past life, who were gentle and patient. Lina was fierce, almost wild, but there was warmth underneath.
Over the next few days, Lina visited often. She taught me to stack blocks, chase butterflies, and laugh when I stumbled. Sometimes, when Erwin was busy with his studies or training, she was there—quietly steady, like a guardian.
I didn't know it yet, but Lina was from a family with deep secrets—ones tied to power and bloodlines I barely understood. In my memories of the original story, such a girl did not exist. Yet here, she was real, and she mattered.
The house was no longer just a place of safety but a crossroads of new relationships and mysteries.
One evening, after a particularly cold day, Clara wrapped me in a soft blanket and held me close by the fire. The warmth seeped into my bones, but my mind was restless.
"Why did I come here?" I wondered silently.
I was not the same child I had been before. The memories of my orphaned past haunted me—the loneliness, the cold streets, the endless nights without a home.
Here, I had a mother who held me, a father who smiled kindly, and a brother who promised protection.
Yet the weight of what was to come pressed on me.
I wasn't here just to live a quiet life.
I was here to change things.
And I would start by learning everything I could—about this family, this city, and the hidden shadows lurking just beyond the walls.
For now, I was Elias Smith.
A child in a world that didn't quite fit.
But soon enough, I would find my place.
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