Ethan blinkd and look around
This isn't the hospital he thought.
The room felt wrong too quiet, too small.He shifted, confused, until his gaze dropped and his breath caught.
A crib
Why... Why am I in a crib?
Panic crept in as he raised his hands. They
We're tiny fragile, smooth. Not hands of a 49 year old man pushing 50. his heart pounded as he kicked his legs, only to find they were just a small, barely strong enough to move.
Slowly he turned to the side .
A mirror capturing his reflection.
It was a young boy with oceanic blue eyes, staring back at him, wide and unfamiliar.
Soft strands of blonde gold hair framed a child's face round unmarked by age or exhaustion .
It wasn't him.
At least I died meaningfully, he thought
Even if my life amounted to nothing
Ethan was gone.
The door swung open, and a young blonde girl stepped in, radiating pure joy her laughter bubbled. through the room like sunlight every step she took seem to lift the air inside even before she spoke her happiness was impossible to ignore wrapping the space in warmth and light
The girl crutches by the crib and to lift him into her arms. Her hair a tangled blonde mess, it fall over her shoulders, streaked with
dirt from whatever she had been doing. Her hands were small, roughened bye work, barely strong enough to hold-him she held him with care.
he froze. There was something... Familiar about her. The scent, the warmth of her body, the way she held him instinctively-it struk him a memory. She was his mother.
The realization didn't came with shock. It can quietly like it always been there.
She shifted slightly adjusting her grip careful not to wake him even though he was already awake. Her movements was clumsy but gentle like someone still learning through trial and error.
Up close you can see it now.
She was young. Too young
He thought to himself she looked at least 15.
Her face still had a softness to it, untouched by time, and yet there was exhaustion in her eyes that didn't belong there. The kind that came from worry, not age.
She looked down at him biting her lip.
You're awake she murmured surprise been quieter almost I'm sure that's...Good
her voice wasn't confident it wasn't practice it trembled just a little.
I'm 15 she whispered, not to him but to herself-if saying it out loud would
made it less real. I don't know if I'm doing this right
She laughed softly, breathless and brushed her thumb over his cheek.
I still haven't even named you.
She hesitated searching his face her smile was small but genuine.
Ryshal she said. yes it suits you Ryshal my son.
But you can call me Elara, she said finally, her tone. Small but deliberate. but... You can call me Mom,if you too
Her smile faded slightly as she looked down at him, with warmth in her chest tightening with a quiet worry. She gently placed him back into the crib, her hands lingering on the edge of the crib a bit longer than necessary.
Even in this small, peaceful room, she knows the world outside would not be kind,
and that one day he would have to face it
She would not be able to shield him from everything.
She let out a soft sigh; her smile returned gentle and luminous a quiet light in the stillness of the room. She bent slightly letting her gaze settle on his tiny face, and for a heartbeat, the weight pressing down. On her chest ease.
I'll be back soon"she whispered, her voice
Carrying warmth like sunlight spilling through a window. A stray strand of hair fall across her face, and she brushed it away almost unconsciously, as if the small, fragile life before her deserve every gentle motion.
With a deep exhale, she straightened , letting her eyes linger on him one last time. Then almost silently, she turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her-a sound that echoed far heavier then it seemed
She was gone
Rshal laid there, staring up at the ceiling like it owns him answers.
Well I'm not Ethan anymore that's obvious well I guess I'm Ryshal now not a bad name actually.
Even so, question lingard and his mind what was that voice I heard as I was dying? Well I might as well forget about it it wouldn't help me now.
The crib shifted beneath him as his tiny hands twitched and his legs kicked against the soft mattress. His hands felt impossibly heavy , his arms weak and uncooperative
Every movement reminded him just how small how utterly helpless his body has become.
Ryshal tries to sit up. Failed. tried to turn his
head failed again. The frustration press down on him more than the weight of his own body. The situation absurd and yet he couldn't deny one simple truth.
Alive.He was still alive
And that was something