The weight of his limbs felt strange, not just lighter but disturbingly hollow. He tried to lift his arm, his muscles refused to respond with the force he remembered. What’s wrong with me? Why am I this weak?

His vision was still blurry, and the effort to blink felt monumental. As he forced his gaze downward, the world around him seemed absurdly colossal. Walls towered above while the edges of a wooden crib stretched up like prison bars. He looked at his own hand: small and with pudgy fingers wiggling before his eyes. He tried to form a fist, but the movement was feeble, barely curling in on itself. No, no… this isn’t real. I can’t actually be a…

The sudden warmth of hands beneath him made his tiny body jolt. He was being cradled with surprising gentleness as he was brought close to a soft, fabric-covered chest. The material rubbed against his cheek, and the scent of clean linen mixed with the faintest hint of lavender filled his nose. He squirmed, still trying to make sense of his surroundings, but a part of his mind latched onto the texture of the cloth: coarse, woven, worn by someone who had washed it many times.

A blurred face hovered above him, slowly coming into focus: a woman’s face, framed by deep blue fabric trimmed with intricate white embroidery. The habit’s rich color pulled his gaze as if it were the only familiar element in this sea of the unknown. A nun… am I in a convent?

“Such a handsome boy you are, Adrian,” she cooed.

Adrian? He blinked, confusion clouding his mind further. That can’t be right. Adrian… I swear that’s not my name.

Worry swelled, though it was quickly followed by resignation. Maybe it’s best to just… accept it for now, at least until I can better remember things.

The nun shifted him closer as if she sensed his inner turmoil. His mind spun as he tried to piece together fragments of memories, but there wasn't much that could be remembered. I could swear that I was sitting in my throne room not too long ago… but it's all so blurry for now.

The nun’s footsteps echoed lightly in the narrow corridor as she carried him forward. Adrian's senses began to sharpen, picking up the dampness in the stone walls, the coolness of the air, and the faint, earthy scent of aged wood mingling with incense. He was carried into a larger chamber, its ceiling arching far above him, supported by thick beams. Sunlight filtered through tall, stained-glass windows, casting faint patterns of color across the stone floor.

He felt a chill seep into his bones. A place of worship… but to whom?

Adrian's gaze drifted downward, narrowing with effort as he studied the small cluster of nuns gathered at the room’s center. They bowed their heads and clasped their hands, almost statuesque in their stillness. Their voices flowed in soft, reverent murmurs that filled the air. “Blessed,” one voice pronounced with quiet intensity. “Chosen,” another affirmed.

Blessed? Adrian’s thoughts stumbled. Blessed? Me? The words unsettled him. He tried to raise an eyebrow in skepticism, but his forehead only managed a soft, involuntary twitch. Right, almost forgot that I'm still a baby.

The nun carrying him moved forward, drawing closer to the altar. He squinted, trying to make sense of the details emerging before him.

The altar’s surface was elaborately carved with twisting vines and complex symbols, each line carefully etched. Are these just decorative, or do they mean something more? Could they be runes?

At the center of the altar stood a statue. It was tall, serene, and undeniably strange. Adrian’s gaze was drawn to its unusual, avian features. The stone goddess's eyes were unnervingly wide, their bird-like shape giving her an all-knowing, piercing gaze that seemed to look beyond the confines of the room itself.

Her wings, extended in a graceful arc, were detailed down to the smallest feather. In one hand, she held an open scroll; in the other, a cluster of fruits. Perhaps she is a deity of knowledge? Abundance? Or something more obscure?

Adrian strained to remember any scrap of lore from his past life, but nothing came to mind. "I don't recognize that deity. Should I? I think I can remember some, but none like her. Is it my memories? Or is there something else going on...?"

The nuns' soft chanting filled the air, their voices low and rhythmic. As they repeated their words, Adrian caught a single name, spoken over and over: “Isha… Isha… Isha.” His mind latched onto it instantly. Isha. So that’s her name.

Adrian shivered at the sensation, feeling the slippery wetness spread under the nun's gentle strokes. The scent was strong, earthy, with a hint of spice that reminded him of arcane rituals he’d performed long ago. This must be some kind of initiation rite. What’s the purpose, though? The nuns’ voices rose and fell in a melodic cadence, their chants tinged with an unmistakable reverence that filled the air.

Yet, as the ritual pressed on, tension crept into the air. One of the younger nuns hesitated. Her gaze flickered between Adrian and the older nun carrying him. Soon, the younger nun stepped closer with a look of grave concern. Are they expecting me to cry?

His body instinctively attempted a weak, gurgling sound, but it emerged as little more than a soft whimper. Adrian felt embarrassed by the sound’s pitiful nature, but the urgency of the situation pushed him forward. The whimper quickly escalated into a piercing, high-pitched wail that echoed through the chamber, surprising even himself.

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The nuns’ faces softened as a few smiles broke out. “Blessed,” they repeated, voices swelling with new conviction. Seems like I got that right.

The ritual resumed, and Adrian was wrapped tightly in a silken cloth. The nuns carried him across the room to a small, ornately carved table. His new vantage point allowed him to see a series of bottles resting atop the table, each filled with differently colored liquids. His mind churned again. Are those potions? Or just some symbolic offering?

The older nun uncorked one of the bottles, and Adrian watched as a thin wisp of vapor rose from the opening. The liquid inside gleamed pale and translucent. As the bottle was brought to his lips, he instinctively latched onto the nipple, expecting the creamy warmth of milk.

The taste surprised him. It was sharper, tangy like citrus, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on his tongue. He swallowed slowly, his infant body unable to manage more than small gulps. This is… not unpleasant. Just unexpected.

He drank cautiously, adjusting to the strange flavor. With each swallow, a strange vitality coursed through his small body, a warmth that spread to his fingertips and toes, filling him with unexpected energy. His muscles now felt stronger, more capable.

The reaction of the nuns to this simple act of drinking was startling. They exchanged excited glances, their hushed conversations quick and urgent. The older nun clasped her hands together, her smile widening as if witnessing something miraculous. Why are they so interested in seeing me drink this thing?

Whatever the liquid was, it had changed something in him. His mind buzzed with questions, but for now, he could do nothing but stare at the glowing faces surrounding him, feeling the strange new energy pulse through his veins.

After the strange liquid had been fed to him, they carried him to yet another room, this one dimly lit by flickering candles and perfumed with lavender. Two of the nuns stepped forward, as they prepared to bathe him.

Water soon lapped over his small body as he was lowered into a shallow basin. The sensation was soothing, almost too much so, pulling his tired mind toward a drowsy haze. This feels… nice. Maybe being an infant again isn't all too bad.

The nuns washed him with a reverence he couldn't quite understand, their touch respectful yet intimate, as if he were something precious. Adrian watched them through half-lidded eyes, gathering any small detail he could.

There were other babies being cared for by other nuns in the distance. The faint sounds of their cries reached his ears, a reminder of his own silence, of how different this experience was for him. One baby wailed as it was dried and swaddled in a soft robe, its fabric the color of cream, the same shade the others wore.

But when it was his turn to be dressed, the robe they wrapped him was a pure white, so much so that it made the cream colored clothes the other babies wore look dirty in comparison. Why am I dressed differently? The nuns didn’t seem to notice the distinction, —or perhaps they did, and it was all part of the unspoken truth: Adrian was special.

But that realization didn’t calm him; if anything, it made the weight of his situation feel heavier. The nuns seem to believe that I am special. My best assumption at the moment is that I might have been born under an auspicious star, or maybe they see something else in me.

Once freshly dressed, Adrian was lifted once more, this time by a pair of nuns who led him through a long, echoing hallway. Beyond it, a male figure stood waiting.

The nuns paused when they entered the room as the man, tall and draped in robes of deep red and gold, turned toward them. He must be a priest. Adrian couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the sight of the holy man's outfit. Goodness, I don't think he could have picked a more ostentatious outfit if he tried.

"Ah, this one has spirit. A good sign for one blessed by Isha," the priest said.

Then, he reached forward and took Adrian from the nuns, cradling him awkwardly in arms that felt colder than the warmth he had been accustomed to. His eyes flickered to the statue of Isha that loomed over the room, the bird-like goddess watching with her carved, unblinking eyes.

Kneeling before the altar, the priest held Adrian high above his head in a gesture of offering. "By the grace of Isha, we surrender this child to your wisdom, to your light."

Adrian’s gaze drifted across the room, landing on the faces of the nuns. A few of them had tears in their eyes, their hands clasped tightly in prayer. What’s so moving about this? The words meant nothing to him. Whatever was happening, he didn’t feel any different.

The priest’s prayer ended, and Adrian was handed back to one of the nuns. Her face softened as she took him, cooing gently while cradling him close. She whispered something under her breath, words Adrian couldn’t catch, but her tone was reassuring, as though she believed the ritual had blessed him in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

They carried him to a small room off to the side, where a simple wooden crib awaited. The nun carefully lowered Adrian into the soft bedding, tucking a woolen blanket around him. She looked down at him for a moment. "Rest here, little one, I’ll be back with more food soon."

Adrian watched the nun’s figure recede, fading into the distance. His tiny body was swaddled in the warmth of the crib's soft blankets, and though they were comforting, he couldn’t ignore the weight of confusion settling over him. I could swear that I… I had been a king of a great nation.

The thought was almost laughable, and yet, here he was, unable to speak and unable to walk. Or maybe… someone did this to me on purpose? Was I a target?

A darker thought slipped into his mind, one that made his stomach twist. Is this some kind of strange afterlife?

His tiny chest rose and fell quickly with an unexpected pang of fear. He clenched his minuscule fists, willing himself to calm down. No, it doesn’t feel right. This world, this body… it's too real, too tangible. He wriggled his fingers, feeling the softness of the blanket against his skin, needing the reassurance that he was still here.

But as the minutes passed, Adrian felt his anger and confusion begin to settle. There are no answers, he reminded himself. Not yet, at least. He couldn’t piece together how he got here, nor could he change it—not with his body so tiny, his abilities bound by the limitations of infancy. If I can’t figure any of this out now, what else can I do but move forward?

He took a deep, tiny breath, exhaling softly as he let the tension slip from his body. If this was truly a new life, then he had no choice but to accept it. Fine, I may be weak now, but it won’t last forever, I’ll adapt and grow. With luck, I'll find out what's going on with this new life of mine.