"Malenia, he looks just like you. Hahaha."
A voice rang out, light and filled with wonder, echoing softly through a candle-lit chamber. The scent of lavender and old stone hung in the air, mixing with the faintest hint of something metallic. Outside, rain tapped gently against a high glass window, muffling the world beyond.
"Even his hair is just like yours. Heh."
There was warmth… and a weight. Something cradled me—no, someone. I didn't understand what I was feeling, but it wasn't unpleasant. Gentle. Comforting.
"Look, he's opening his eyes!"
Light poured into my vision like a slow sunrise. And then I saw her.
A woman—no, more than that. Ethereal. She had golden hair, soft and cascading like sunlight, and her eyes… her eyes mirrored the sky just before dawn. Pale. Dreamy. Infinite.
I didn't know who she was. Yet somehow, I felt connected to her—deeply, instinctively.
Where am I?
The question bloomed in my head like a whisper. I had the thought, the shape of the words, but not the meaning. It was like remembering a dream you'd never had.
Another voice interrupted the moment—masculine, cheerful, a touch theatrical.
"Even his eyes are the same as you. Silvery and dreamy. Haaah, he's just a cute male copy of you!"
I felt the world tilt slightly as I turned, weakly, toward the sound. A man knelt beside the silver-haired woman, grinning from ear to ear. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with raven-black hair tousled into a charming mess. His eyes, a brilliant shade of ice blue, shimmered with mischief and affection.
"Hey cutie! I'm your papa!! Say papaa!"
He beamed, practically bouncing with excitement.
Papa…?
The word reached me, sat heavy in my head. I understood it—but I didn't. It was like watching lips move underwater and somehow still hearing them clearly. My brain knew the sound, but the meaning floated just out of reach.
Everything felt wrong and right at once.
Observe, said a voice.
It wasn't external—it came from within, like an instinct. One that didn't use words but still made itself understood.
Just look. Remember. Learn.
"He's just born, Alven."
The woman's voice again—Malenia, the one who held me. Calm, but frayed with worry.
"Alven, why isn't he crying?"
That word again—worry. I didn't know what it was, but I felt it. Her arms were slightly tense, her breathing uneven. Something inside her was afraid.
My head swam. Pain—no, hunger? Or both? It clawed up from somewhere deep, twisting. My mouth opened instinctively, and then sound escaped me for the first time:
"Ugahahahahah!"
It was strange. Uncontrolled. Raw. My own voice, yet not mine.
And then came the wetness—tears, sliding without consent down my cheeks. It felt ridiculous. Childish. But it did something to her. To Malenia.
Her shoulders softened. Her hold on me grew firmer, gentler. Relief washed over her like a soft breeze after a storm.
The golden-haired figure holding me—Malenia—was glowing. Joy shimmered behind her gaze. Her eyes, silver and soft, drifted toward the other presence in the room.
"What should we name it?" she asked, voice quiet and warm, as if afraid speaking too loud might shatter something sacred.
The man—Alven—smiled again, softer this time. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he shifted his gaze between the child and the woman. "I don't know. Didn't I tell you? The name of our first child should come from you."
She looked back down, locking eyes with the newborn resting in her arms. There was something steady and unblinking in the way she stared—like she was seeing through time itself. And then, without hesitation, she spoke.
"Julien… Julien de Bellerose."
Her voice made the name feel like a lullaby. The syllables wrapped around the child like silk, gentle but sure. Final.
Alven tilted his head slightly, lips quirking in something between fondness and frustration.
"Or Julien Alvis," he murmured, less certain. A flicker of something passed behind his gaze—regret, maybe. He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.
"…He can use neither," he added quietly, almost to himself. His voice carried the weight of some unspoken truth. Of some future already lost.
Malenia only smiled, as if that mattered little. "He is just Julien. My boy, Julien."
That word again—Julien.
It echoed softly inside the child's mind, as if trying to imprint itself into a soul still forming.
My name is Julien… it thought.
A strange certainty anchored it. But behind that, a shadow stirred.
I used to have a name before…
A thought. A whisper. A memory long buried, barely surfacing.
As it reached for it—whatever it had once been—a sudden pain cracked through its skull. Sharp. Cold. And everything blurred. Eyelids heavy, lashes fluttering, the world grew distant.
Darkness lapped at the edges of its sight like waves against a cradle.
---
"…Oh, he fell asleep," Malenia whispered, delighted, a soft laugh dancing in her throat as she held Julien closer against her chest.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
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