"Rock-a-bye, baby, in the treetop,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.
Baby is drowsing, cosy and fair.
Mother sits near, in her rocking chair.
Forward and back the cradle she swings,
And though baby sleeps, he hears what she sings.
From the high rooftops down to the sea,
No one's as dear as baby to me.
Wee little fingers, eyes wide and bright --
Now sound asleep until morning light."
"Good night, Arin." A middle-aged woman stood up from her position next to a young boy on a star design bed. Her short black hair flowing in the wind coming from an open window.
Closing the window, she'd begin heading for the bedroom exit, but would be stopped by the small boy's tiny hand.
"M-mom...what happened to Jack. What was all that red stuff over him?"
The woman froze, her hand resting on the doorknob. Her eyes softened, but a shadow of unease flickered across her face.
"Arin…" she said carefully, crouching down so she was eye-level with him. "Jack… he had an accident. He's… gone now."
Arin's small fingers tightened around the edge of his blanket. "Gone?" His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper. "But… I saw… the red… it was everywhere…"
She swallowed hard, glancing out the window toward the darkening rooftops as if the night itself could answer her. "It's… hard to explain, sweetheart. Some things happen that we can't control, no matter how much we try."
Arin's chest tightened. His mind refused to make sense of it. Red, gone, gone… the words repeated like a drumbeat in his head.
"Did… did I cause it?" he asked, voice trembling, eyes wide.
The woman reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "No, Arin. It wasn't your fault. Some things… just happen."
"Look, tomorrow, Daddy can go and get you as much Ice cream as you want. How does that sound?" She kneeled down next to him and kissed his forehead.
Hesitantly nodding, the young boy began going to sleep, "Alright, Mommy, I-I love you."
"I love you too, honey."
***
Arin sat at the rough-hewn wooden table, the morning sun spilling across the boards in warm streaks. The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling eggs filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. He stabbed at his toast, his mind elsewhere, though he tried not to look too distracted.
"What are you staring at?" Jorik's voice cut through the quiet, sharp and low.
Arin jolted and looked up, cheeks flushing. "N-nothing," he mumbled, lowering his gaze back to his plate.
Jorik leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. "You've got that thousand-yard stare again. You sure you're okay?"
Meriam appeared beside him, with 2 plates of honeyed rolls in her hands. "Ignore him," she said with a small laugh, setting a plate down next to Arin.
Arin blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks… Meriam."
She ruffled his hair gently and set the other plate next to Jorik.
Jorik grunted. "If you're done moping, I was going to show you the stables. You can see the horses and maybe help feed them. Might teach you something about discipline."
Meriam raised an eyebrow. "Discipline, you say, while you almost burned breakfast yesterday trying to toast bread without looking at it."
"Details," Jorik muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Arin stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. "I… I'll come. That sounds… fun." His voice was quieter than he expected, but the words were sincere.
Meriam clapped him on the shoulder. "Good! Follow me, then. You'll want to see the hidden nook near the stables. Old barrels, dusty corners… It's perfect for hiding if someone's chasing you."
Jorik snorted. "She just wants to watch you trip over the barrels." Meriam would give him a light kick in the legs in return.
They walked through the inn, the wooden boards warm under their boots. Outside, the morning sun gleamed off the tiled roofs, and the distant clip-clop of a horse echoed faintly from the courtyard.
Arin took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs. For a moment, the weight in his chest lifted, replaced by the simple excitement of exploring.
Meriam led him to the stables first. Horses whinnied softly, nuzzling at her as she fed them sugar cubes from her pocket. "See that one?" she said, pointing to a chestnut mare. "She's a stubborn one, but gentle if you earn her trust. Here, try feeding her."
Arin held out a sugar cube hesitantly. The horse sniffed, then gently took it from his hand, nuzzling him briefly. A laugh escaped him, light, unguarded.
"See? Not so bad," Meriam said.
By mid-afternoon, the inn grew quieter as the day guests departed. Arin found himself lingering near the courtyard fountain, watching the sunlight dance on the rippling water. He felt… something, restlessness, maybe, or a premonition he couldn't name.
Meriam approached him quietly. "You've been quiet for a while. Thinking too much?"
"I… just… I don't know," Arin admitted, eyes tracing the fountain's edges. "I can't remember anything."
'I can't have them questioning why I'm so clueless.'
Raising one of her eyebrows, she'd release a light laugh, "Well, why didn't you say something sooner? Jorik and I can help you relearn everything you could've forgotten."
"We can?" Jorik responded from nearby, a curious expression on his face.
"Of course we can." Meriam gave him a gentle glare. "Well, sweetie, what do you want to learn?"
Arin's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Everything," he said softly.
***
"Ugh… she would not stop talking." Arin flopped onto his bed, a throbbing ache behind his eyes worse than any he'd felt in the corridor of dreams.
He had asked for answers and, in a way, he had gotten them. "Alright, small recap," he muttered to himself. "This world… six continents, with a massive island right in the middle. I'm on Thaloria, in the capital, Aurethiel. She didn't say anything about magic directly, but I know it exists; she mentioned that one continent… Eryndor, I think?… has the highest concentration of Law users."
"Laws...I think that book in the hallway has something to do with that, but I can't read it....This is so frustrating. The hell am I supposed to do? Couldn't that damn titan have dropped me off with a system or something?"
Stretching in his bed, a small smile would grow on his face..."They are really nice..." He muttered as he drifted off to sleep.
***
"Arin! Arin! ARIN!"
Suddenly, the room warped. The walls stretched upward impossibly, twisting into angles that made his stomach lurch. Moonlight poured through the window, but it was blood-red, pulsing as if the night itself had a heartbeat. A lullaby drifted into the air, soft but wrong, every note vibrating in his chest.
"Rock-a-bye… baby…"
The voice wasn't his mother's, but somehow he recognized it. He tried to call out, but no sound came from his throat.
Figures appeared at the edge of his bedside shadows with glowing eyes, watching, whispering words he didn't understand but felt deep in his bones: "Law… Vessel… Choice…"
A sudden flash of red. A boy… no, someone like him, sprawled on the ground, and everything around him screamed. He could feel the fall, taste it in his throat, and yet he was outside, hovering, detached.
The wind carried a name, clear as a bell: Arin…
He woke with a gasp, heart hammering, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. The sunlight spilling through the window felt too calm, too ordinary. Yet the echo of the voice lingered, and a flicker of something impossible glinted in the corners of his vision.
And suddenly "AHHH"
A blood-curdling scream came from the outside hallway. Falling from his bed in response, Arin rushed into the hallway only for the scent of blood and copper to hit him full force.
The bodies of the Inn's guests lined the wooden floors, their guts strewn in sick patterns. Gripping his mouth in disgust, Arin tried to restrain himself from throwing up. "W-what th- Mariam!" He yelled as he rushed through the halls and towards the front office. He barely had any time to focus on the sheer brutality of the death in front of him before his heart dropped.
Trying not to slip on the guts of the deceased guests, he'd eventually make his way to the front desk and..."Oh god..."
A man in a black robe held Jorik by his head and only his head, the rest of his body having been cut from the limbs. His face permanently stuck in a perpetual state of shock.
"Ah, you managed to wake up from the illusion. Then you'll do nicely."
"W-who the hell are you and what have you done!?" Arin's eyes were wide, his head filled with indescribable fear...he was still useless.
"I asked this foolish man here very simply for your room's location, and he decided to pick a fight with me, so I killed everyone in this Inn. I mean, they technically killed themselves, but you don't need to know how."
Arin's legs refused to obey him for a moment. The stench of blood and iron coated his lungs as he stumbled backward, eyes locked on the robed figure. "Y-you… you monster!" he spat, voice shaking. But deep down, he knew words were worthless.
The man tilted his head, as if amused. "Monster? No, boy… I am a servant of destiny. And you… shall become the vessel."
Arin's stomach churned. "Vessel? For… what?!"
The figure stepped closer, the shadows of the hallway stretching unnaturally around him. "For a titan far greater than you could ever imagine. You will serve, willingly or not."
Fear propelled Arin backward, away from the robed figure. His hands gripped the wooden railing of the staircase. "Where's Meriam!"
"Really, that's your question? I have no idea who that is, but I think I have an idea." Stepping aside, the man would reveal her body, her belly cut open, with her stomach hanging out.
"..." Arin's face was blank, having gone into shock. This was the woman who had taken him in and had been talking to him just a few hours ago, and she was...dead. Like all that had come before her.
A sudden force slammed into him from behind. He crashed into the wall, pain flaring along his ribs. His vision swam with red spots, his ears ringing with the echo of that twisted lullaby: Rock-a-bye… baby…
Then, as quickly as it began, the world shifted. The hallway blurred and bent, shadows twisting into grotesque, impossible shapes. Voices whispered, hundreds of them, all chanting the same words: Law… Vessel… Choice…
Arin's chest heaved. He didn't understand, didn't know what any of it meant, and yet a cold certainty settled over him: he had to survive. He had to get out.
A flicker of metal caught his eye, Jorik's fallen sword, its blade smeared but intact. He lunged for it, gripping it with trembling hands. The robed figure laughed, a hollow, echoing sound.
"You have spirit," the figure said. "Perhaps too much… but spirit alone will not save you."
Arin tightened his grip. "Then I'll find something that will!"
And with a roar that sounded nothing like the boy who had gone to sleep hours ago, he swung the sword.
CRACK
It broke on impact with his robe. The metal shards, flying everywhere. "That's cute, but unfortunately...You just aren't strong enough."