A warm, comfy, wet world. Those were the first thoughts of Ciaran after his forced reincarnation. The light was dim, reddish, and the sounds were strangely muffled. A cry of effort could be heard, distorted by the unusual environment.
‘This fluid... Am I in a woman’s womb?’ Right when Ciaran finished getting used to his new situation, the flesh walls that were surrounding pressed painfully on him. The cries became louder, more defined, and definitely gained a shade of franticness. He felt himself slowly pushed, the pressure on his skull was starting to get unbearable. His unfinished bones were bending in order to facilitate the birth and the process was far from smouth.
Suddenly, cold air kissed the top of his head, sending a shiver down his spine. A hurtful ray of light hit his eyes, two hands seized him and he was dragged out of the life-giving womb.
Ciaran took a few sharp breaths and looked around. His eyesight was troubled, devoid of any precision. Still, he managed to catch the sight of an old lady’s face, the figure of a young woman and a ceiling supported by numerous dark beams. Ciaran then gave up on his consciousness, not caring anymore for his surroundings after finding out he was in relative security.
*****
The common language spoken in this world was a weird combination of Earth’s English and French. Ciaran quickly picked up on it and used this newfound knowledge at his advantage. He was the quiet type of baby, always looking around with wide eyes full of curiosity, ears always open to new stimulations.
The truth was that, if the baby was a normal one, it would absolutely cute. But Ciaran was born entirely white from head to toe, and his always attentive white eyes were creeping out most of the adults and children surrounding him.
Meanwhile, Ciaran was totally ignoring the general unease surrounding him. He was focused on collecting as much information as possible. From what he had gathered with his meager ways, he was currently in a particularly poor district of one of the main cities of Europia. Yes the name was similar to one of Earth’s continents, and it highly intrigued Ciaran. The time period looked to be a mix between Earth’s Middle-Ages and Renaissance, with much higher and wider buildings, -probably a courtesy of magic-. He lived in a barely standing house, full of draughts and cobwebs. The windows were simple wooden shutters and the walls were of dry, cold rocks. His “family” was definitely dirt-poor.
Speaking of which, his mother was a young woman in her early twenties with empty eyes. Ciaran’s guess was that she was barely surviving by using her body, and that he was the product of an unfortunate encounter. That would explain the utter lack of maternal love he was experiencing. She was basically ignoring him and only took care of his daily needs without real attention.
Honestly, it didn’t bother Ciaran much. He had more time mulling over his situation and didn’t have to act like a proper baby. If only he was able to eat and relieve himself without help, he would be more than happy with his new condition.
Indeed, Ciaran was trapped in his own self-deprecating and uncertain thoughts. By dying, he had failed at the task he had given himself, namely raising his little sister and replace their parents in their day to day lives. And he was torn, his pragmatic side told him that he wouldn’t be able to go back to his old world, that he had to abandon his former life -as painful as it was- and needed to embrace his new life. Meanwhile, his irrationally loyal side was screaming at him to put every ounce of his strength into searching a way to go back to Earth as quickly as possible.
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Two voices discussing suddenly pulled Ciaran out of his thoughts. The voices were somewhat muffled but the thin screen separating the two rooms of his house weren’t actually that good at blocking sound. The toddler didn’t even need to focus to hear what was going on on the other side of the house.
“Tara, I know what you think about “accidents”, but, please do an exception, just this time.” The voice was old, tired. ‘Probably the elderly woman who helped during my birth.’ Ciaran thought.
“I can’t be bothered with such burden when I have just enough to survive alone. The best way is to sell it.” The one who spoke was undoubtedly Ciaran’s mother. ‘So her name is Tara.’
“You have seen it as well as I did, his eyes were glowing. He is a Gifted! I beg you, you know what those… people do to Gifted children born in the slums.” The disgust was almost palpable in the old lady’s mouth when she spoke of them.
“I-I know, but, even if I wanted to, I can’t.” Tara’s voice was as empty as her eyes.
The old woman sighed. “I will help you take care of him until he reaches the age of five. Then he will get appraised like every child out there and we will decide what we do with him.”
Tara stayed silent a long time before answering reluctantly. “...Fine old hag. But you take care of him if he gets sick. And I don’t want him in my legs when I work.”
“Thank you.” The voice of the old woman almost failed her when she whispered those two words. A few seconds later, the door of the house creaked, announcing that she had left.
Ciaran had more fuel for his thoughts. But a plan was slowly taking form in his mind.
*****
The old woman closed the door behind her before taking a step in the muddy street. She was relieved that the conversation went the way it went. ‘This kid. He is definitely not normal. He doesn’t have an ordinary gift. I can’t imagine the atrocities those slavers would do to him if he were to fall in their hands.’ She was walking down the streets at a brisk pace unbefitting of her old age. She turned a corner and entered an even darker hallway. Finally, she opened the door of a shabby chapel.
The interior was devoid of any organization, cheap books were dispersed on a bunch of wooden chairs, heavy drapes were covering the high windows, filtrating the light. The only place devoid of the ambient mess was the center of the chapel. There laid a black circle shining with violet strands of particles. The more one looked at it, the more one would realize how much details were in it. More importantly, any kind of pattern was absent. It was as if each square centimeter was uniquely shaped.
The old woman walked to the circle and knelt there, taking a praying posture. “Oh, Goddess of Chaos. I found the boy who will free us of that Impostor. It has already been too many years since that fake divinity stole what is Yours. Soon, the balance will finally tip toward Your side again.” The old woman slowly stood up.“I know I am getting old, but I will do everything in my power to achieve that goal.”
When the elderly woman left the chapel, the circle was shining a bit brighter, as if in anticipation for the events to come.
*****
Somewhere, a deep laughter echoed. “Did you really lose that much influence because of that divinity?”
“Shut up you thick headed dunce. It would be even worse if you were the one to handle that situation.”