Part 1
It's been six months since I first came to this world.
The days were boring and stressful. I didn't know if a normal baby would have already been able to understand at least a little of what my parents were telling me but I couldn't seem to understand a single word except for my name: Raphael.
I was beginning to move a little bit, even though moving is too big of a word, maybe groveling pictured it better. This damn little lump of meat had no strength at all...well, nothing I could do about it and I wasn't even interested in getting stronger for the time being. Nevertheless, I had a plan.
Since I had a lot of time on my hands I was able to think hard about my situation. I'll have to admit that, for a month or so I strayed from my rigorous thinking path and got interested in exploring the place, but it was just a momentary distraction. Reality soon struck me back with its fierce hammer.
I did not want to live a second life. How could I?
Withstanding the crushing feeling of loss still residing in me, the boiling rage building up within whenever I thought about Delrick, the sadness that filled my heart every time the face of the girl I loved and the family that left me popped up in my dreams. I often found myself lost in thoughts about them.
"Would they still be thinking about me?" "Could they be sad about my death?" "Were they present at my funeral?" "What if I had done things differently?" But most importantly: "Do they even know of my death or was I just a nameless corpse cremated and buried under a nameless tombstone?"
The mere thought of it gave me the chills and I found myself crying not just once. To even worsen my miserable condition was my supposed parents' behavior.
I was treated with so much love. Every noise I made, every move, every little shout...every time something happened one of them came running. Especially my father. At first, I thought he was the typical absent father judging by his young age and appearances but I soon found myself very wrong. Even though I couldn't understand a thing of what he was saying, he spent hours and hours every day talking to a clueless me. When he was working on his books and papers he usually made a break every half an hour and turned towards me to cuddle me as he spoke.
In my past life, the idea of having a child of my own never crossed my mind. I couldn't see myself as a father but I also couldn't help but wonder whether that was how a father should act. [If so...-] I thought looking at the man speaking to me with the most slappable baby-face a human could possibly have [- Then, damn! This guy's got my respect. His patience is absurd!]
Mother was no different even though she was way busier than father- I supposed he was the lazy one of the couple- when he was at home. Every time I made the slightest movement or the slightest sound both of them could be seen jumping out of joy like a kid on Christmas...I was speechless. How could they treat me with such love when I'm not even their true child? Why were they reserving me such a blessing when, in my time of need, my real family had forsaken me?
This wasn't right.
It wasn't right for me and it wasn't for those two who were looking after me with so much care.
[This treatment should not be reserved to me but to your real son!] I cursed many times over, unable to express my feeling, hoping that my thoughts would somehow reach them, yet they never could.
Out of respect for them and pity for me, I came up with a plan. A ruthless plan that made me shudder the first time it came over my mind. I needed to die a second time, hoping I would not reincarnate again.
How much could I downplay death?
A foolish man, whose wish was to die, was granted a second shot at life. One that countless people around the world begged their God for...How ironic!
I postponed the plan until I was able to at least crawl around the house. I was sure that a certain degree of movement was required to commit the atrocity boiling deep inside my head. The details of how I would commit the act were still misty to me but I was positive about finding a way. I had a lot of time on my hands for that.
Once the plan was established, all that remained was to wait and time, once again, felt like eternity dragging its claws over my body.
Part 2
[It's time] I thought, more to convince myself rather than everything else.
I was now an eight and a half months old precocious baby. In just two months I had learned to crawl well enough to explore the rooms by myself. I could climb on things that were a little lower than me and my strength increased to the point where I was able to push or pull light things.
The first time I crawled, father cried and screamed out of joy while mother acted more composed and gave me what I thought were praises together with a soft candy. That same night father got drunk. Soo drunk that I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him dancing half-naked on the table while mother glared at him as if he was trash. Either way in this world, when the child learns to crawl is a big enough event to get blackout drunk, or father was just being as exaggerated as usual. The latter option seemed the most probable.
The scary thing was that I was happy seeing this scene...proud parents. Getting disowned by my family must have left a very deep scar, deeper than I imagined, because that scene really filled my heart with joy. It's funny how even such a small event, such as parents being proud of their crawling child, would affect me to the extent where I almost thought of quitting the suicidal plan. Almost.
The piercing feeling of guilt, dragged out of me by the constant thought of deceiving such a pure and loving family, crushed every hope for me to turn back to sleep. And it was with darkness, cloaking the world with its comfortable silence, that I began moving my limbs toward the edge of my wooden cradle.
A dim light filled the room, not bright enough to disturb my eyes but just enough to show me the way to the window. A beacon of dread, an admonishment of what I was set to do...to make things right. Slowly I climbed out of the wooden cradle, trying to make as less noise as possible but, unsurprisingly, making the wood squeak timidly under my feathery weight.
As I reached the floor, I waited for a couple of interminable minutes, just to make sure that no footsteps were coming to check out the noise in my room.
[Safe!] I thought, realizing I was almost holding my breath as I waited for one of my parents to show through the door. No one came hence my mission continued.
I started the crawling march to my gallows: the window. I moved slowly, making sure that both my palms and my knees were lightly leaned on the floor every time I was taking a cautious step. It took quite a considerate amount of time in order to reach the base of the window without making a sound. It was nauseating how well it was all going.
Then, the strength I had developed became needed. In order to get to the window, I had to surpass two obstacles: the chair and the desk. While balancing my weight as best as a toddler could, I climbed on top of the seat of the chair exploiting the horizontal stakes as a ladder. Surprisingly I found myself in need of a break. Both my body and my mind were getting tired. Maybe it was because the closer I got to the window the closer I was getting to my death, but with each passing minute, my mind kept feeling fuzzier.
The ascent began again.
As soon as I reached the table I had to avoid father’s papers and quills. It took a lot of time but I managed to make no sound. I had reached my goal. The window was there, right in front of me, waiting for me to cross. My heart began to beat at a speed comparable to the moment before a race, but it was not beating with excitement or adrenaline as it did in the past. It beat with worrisome restlessness.
I pulled a window sash that I was able to leave slightly open in the afternoon- lucky my parents didn't notice- and crawled on top of the window. The chilly night's wind greeted me by the window's threshold, sign that I was out. I reached the edge, firmly grabbing the strips of wood to help myself stand. There, a two-floor fall was waiting for me. There was no way a baby could survive that.
I got nostalgic. I had already seen this...my last moments in my past life. Somehow, though, this time was different. My chest felt a heaviness I wasn't sure how to explain while my thoughts felt disconnected and blurry. Was I doing the right thing? I stopped for a second to look up.
There, a scenery that even the most accomplished painter would have never been able to reproduce on canvas, stood strong in all its majesty in front of me. An almost full moon shone gently upon a rustic medieval city.
Wooden roofs with stone chimneys were parting the heart of the city from the starry night's sky. Mountains could be seen far back and, closer to the city, a set of low hills covered by a light forest of tall trees added that natural touch of green that freshened my eyes. To my left, a row of hundreds of houses culminated with high, stone walls that surrounded the entire city. A wide road cut through the sea of houses. Only a few drunkards and what looked like prostitutes still walked the streets at that unruly hour.
To my right, the type of building changed. The houses started to get higher and better looking, made of fancier materials than dark wood and stone. Richer in a word. A couple of high towers could be spotted in the far distance and, close to one of them, a building I had never seen in my past life rose from the overhead ground and touched the blue sky. The true symbol of the word "medieval": a castle.
Beautiful grey stone covered its walls while reddish tiles adorned the roof. It didn't look extremely big in the distance but it was a castle nonetheless. With towers, walls, spiers and what seemed like stained, colored windows tall enough to be considered art.
Right under it, lights dampened the soft touch of the moon's light with artificial, fiery sources of lite. Full of life, the town square extended beautifully protected by the imposing presence of the castle. Though I couldn't hear any sound. Maybe I was too far away to hear anything but if lights were on then probably some taverns or bars were still open and the drunkards I had seen before were staggering in search of the next drink in the heart of the city.
I stood there, motionless, for what seemed like hours in awe, admiring the beautiful landscape that flowed before my eyes and taking in every single detail that caught my eyes.
I was astonished… That is until I looked down. The little garden adorned with colorful flowers and surrounded by a low, stone wall, was a grim reminder of my reason for being there.
Reality punched me back from my daze. I wasn't there to enjoy the scenery but to reenact the last moment of my past life. I felt relief in knowing that the last image imprinted under my eyelids would be the scenery that so intensively charmed me.
I breathed in. A large amount of cold air filled my lungs, tickling my still infant body.
My mind cleared a bit.
[I would have liked to know your names, but thanks for everything father, mother. I... really hope this will not hurt you for too long. I wish you a loving son and maybe a cute daughter...Thank you...truly] I thought, a small, brave tear falling down my cheek as I turned around to look one last time at the room.
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I let go of the hand helping me keep my balance and my weight shifted towards the front, inevitably leading to the slow start of my fall. My eyelids closed and a smile crept on my lips sheepishly.
This truly seems like a Deja Vu but...would this time work? Would I be finally cleared of my pain?
With the weight of my thoughts waning and the gentle wind saying its farewells, I fell.
Part 3
Gravity was assisting in my fall, helpfully pushing down my weightless body to its most certain end. The emptiness in my head felt blissful, like a hot shower on a cold day. I was just enjoying the last moments of cold air caressing my still soft skin.
Suddenly, an unexpected pain bore through my left ankle and rapidly spread through my leg until it reached further up on the back of my head. The sudden stop of the flow of gravity made my blood shift dangerously to my head, gifting me a feeling of extreme discomfort. Coupled only by the pain spreading like posing through my flesh.
I regrettably opened my eyes and looked in surprise as an arm stuck out of the window and firmly grabbed my ankle. My ears rang and heavy breaths brought piercing pain in regular intervals inside my lungs. Another arm stuck out of the window and reached for my waist. Gentler this time.
I was being pulled back up. What did go wrong? I was sure I had made all the preparations necessary and never made a sound, so why?
Once I got pulled back into the room, the scene that unfolded in front of my eyes felt surreal. The two arms that were now around me, holding me up, were hairy and strong. The arms of someone who used to do heavy jobs. Those were my father's arms.
He had no shirt on, as he usually did when he slept, and the hair on his chest brushed roughly against my cheeks as the man lulled me almost crazily. Looking further up, my eyes were met with a face that I would never forget. One that would keep appearing in my dreams for years to come. An expression of sublime joy mixed in terrible perfection with the purest, deepest fear.
His skin color, usually of a healthy sun-kissed tone - probably due to his prolonged time out in the open - was now a of deathly white as if his life essence was drained out of him completely. Tears were falling from semi-closed and swollen eyes as the green of his irises almost disappeared in the black sea that were his dilated pupils. A pathetic, cracked smile was trembling, wetted by the constant stream of pearly tears.
His whole body jerked and soon, the man prideful of his strength fell to his knees.
In front of him, a woman, also on her knees, was profusely crying and loudly sobbing while trying to cover her face with shaky hands but failing to do so. My mother. She was also trembling and looking at me through the gaps between her fingers. Her bed hair all over her face was giving her an even more desperate look.
She crawled towards me and father. As soon as she was close enough, her hands flew towards my head, caressing me gently. A careful but shaky hand was caressing the top of my head while tears were falling from both sides, dropping on my head and torso. The man tried to open his mouth but only hollow air escaped his throat. The woman looked at the man for a second with pain visibly fading, then hugged both me and the man simultaneously.
No words were needed. I understood perfectly the meaning of those actions. How could I be so naive? Hoping they would not suffer for long?
What kind of heartless fool was I?
They consider me their son of course they would suffer! What kind of parent wouldn't suffer while burying their own child?
I understood. I was their son, their only child. They spent eight and a half months looking out for me and in my moment of need, they were there. I didn't know how, but they were there.
Did they hear something? Perhaps a feeling? Or just pure casualty? I didn't care. They reached out to me when I most needed it and that was a lot more than enough.
I didn't need words. I stretched my small arms and grabbed the closest piece of skin of both my mother and father I could find. Their eyes turned towards me. The child that for eight months never spilled a single tear in front of them was now crying. A profused cry filled with a river of feelings. A cry without sound nor sobbing. Just tears falling down slowly from each cheek.
The hug tightened. Only one thought struck my mind at that exact moment, like a ray of sun as it breaks the cloak of grey clouds.
[Could I, perhaps, give myself and this world...a chance?]
I didn't answer. There was no need for an answer.
I had already decided.
Part 4
The next few days felt strangely weird.
I had been in this world for more than eight months now, living with my mother and father. Yet I didn't know much, if not anything, about them. So, with my choice to give this second life a chance, my extreme curiosity for a medieval kind of lifestyle, my interest in the figures I called parents and my newly acquired ability to crawl, I started my exploration journey around the house.
The first thing I discovered was that the house was bigger than I thought. It had three floors, two above the ground and one under. Some kind of basement I found out while accompanied by the watchful eye of my father. To my surprise, it was huge.
A half-hidden door led down a set of narrow stone stairs. To access the door, one had to first enter a room right beside the living room that was used as a storage room, judging by the amount of dried meat, strange-looking oils and vegetables.
The basement itself was pretty dark except for the same type of switch-less lamps used around the whole house. On the wall facing the stairs, fresher food was stored in boxes, barrels and mostly shelves. The furthest wall was completely assigned to wine storage while the section closest to the stairs hosted some odd and colorful rugs and hides, other than some weird wooden machines that I had never seen before.
[Soo...This is my father's kind of a "man's corner"?] I thought, crawling- and staggering - between the vast collections of pelts.
On the first floor, I noticed a room that I seemed to miss the previous times that I was able to enter the living room. I cursed my ignorance for not noticing that a whole lot of space was missing between the second floor and the first. Leading into the room was a fairly big double-door placed right next to the stairs, big enough to promptly jump to the eye.
With curiosity and frustration building up in a corner of my excited mind, I signaled, as best as a toddler incapable of speech could, my interest in the room. That is by banging my palms repeatedly over the door until someone would take notice of me.
Even though some time had passed, the fear and worry I would sometimes see in my mother's eyes was able to clutch with icy nails on my heart. Knowing that, I forced myself not to be frustrated over the fact that I was constantly followed by one of the two of them, if not both.
[Rest assured father, mother I will not try anything like that again!] I thought as I babbled some incoherent words while watching them open the doors for me.
Behind those doors laid the room that was bound to become my favorite in the future: a giant library. A soft, crimson carpet covered the floor as three rows of five shelves each stood tall, even more than my father, filled with various different books and spaced apart by a little more than a meter. In the corners of the room armchairs, little couches and coffee tables were placed symmetrical, calling forth a sensation of maniacal order that truly suited the mood of a library. The fur that covered both armchairs and couches was the same as the ones I noticed in the basement. This made me realize that, maybe, the weird machines I had seen there were used by father to assemble furniture.
[It's decided! As soon as I learn how to read-] I thought, sinking into the softness of one of the smaller armchairs [- this place will be my second bedroom. Since this is where I live now, I've got to at least know what kind of place I've been reincarnated in. I'm sure I'll find something useful here!]
Upstairs, I came across some rooms whose existence was unknown to me. The place was a maze of rooms and hallways, at least for a baby. The study I used as a "bedroom" was right in front of the stairs. The reason they put me in the study, I understood, was because that room was the closest to both my parents' room and the lower floor.
Next to my parents' bedroom, I discovered some kind of dressing room. The walls were covered in wardrobes and a set of three tall mirrors were placed in the very center of the room while a whole corner was reserved solely for the purpose of makeup. That explained the lack of furniture, except a couple of bedside tables, hangers and chests, in my parents' bedroom.
Thanks to those mirrors I was finally able to see myself for the very first time. I didn't mean it as a brag but the expression of surprise on my face must've betrayed me since both father and mother began chucking at my expenses.
Shiny, short black hair and crystal light blue eyes that seemed to be made of ice, a small nose with a slightly wide bridge and some puffy red cheeks completed my portrait reflected in the mirror. My body was indeed that of a baby but I could tell, that in my previous world, a face like that would've been the talk of all the housewives in the neighborhood.
My journey through the house continued and I was met with two more rooms, this time poorly decorated. A single bed, a wardrobe and a bedside table, together with some paintings and embroidery on the walls, were all that I could find in them. Guest rooms at best.
The last room was kind of difficult to understand at first. It was small, with one single wide window of stained grey glass, able only to let the light in and nothing else, three walls made of the same wood of the other rooms and the fourth of stone. Half of the floor sunk by a few centimeters and was covered in smooth stones with a small, black grate in its midst. Iron pipes were placed on the ceiling over the sunken floor while wooden containers of various shapes and sizes filled the other part of the room.
Only when mother turned on a switch close to one of those tubes and water started flowing out I understood that was a bathroom. I had always been bathed in a wooden tub in the study so I assumed everyone else did.
The outside was just a garden surrounding the whole house. A couple of small fruit trees, flower pots and a vegetable garden adorned it.
Once I was done exploring the house I shifted my attention toward it's inhabitants.
Father was a tall man, around 1.70m in height with a well-trained body. His biceps, shoulders, forearms, thighs, calves and back looked defined by the countless hours spent on training. His hands were full of calluses that I assumed were due to some heavy job, before noticing his training with the sword in the garden.
He would spend hours on end training both his body and his sword. I began to keep him company as he trained or curiously looked at his form from the window in the living room. I was no expert in sword forms but his swings were precise and calculated yet carried a strength akin to brutality.
He was a handsome man. Short black hair and a light beard of the same tone complemented well with his squarish, sharp jaw. A tiny nose, gentle almost, yet clearly broken more than once, helped his shiny green eyes and red lips stand out even more. His face was clean of scars, much like his back, but both his chest and arms were full of them. A silver-like metallic earring stood out on his left lobe while a golden necklace dangled close to his collarbone. Two long leather bracelets span from his wrists to half his forearms.
With me being as lazy as I was when it came to waking up in the morning, I never got to see at what time did he leave but I would always see him returning a couple of hours after launch. He would then spend some time with me or in the library before closing himself in the study.
As soon as the sun started to set and the air outside got fresher, he would go in the garden to train, only to continue it after dinner. Then, the whole family gathered and, before going to bed, he would always take some time to keep me company or read me a story - that of course I couldn't understand.
If father gave off the vibe as a strong and- mildly- dependable person, mother would then be described as the smiling guardian angel of our family.
She was a little shorter than father and her physique seemed frail, but it was a facade. In truth, she was unexpectedly strong. I could even spot the faint shadows of a six-pack whenever we bathed together. Long, light brown hair, styled in a high ponytail highlighted the big, blue eyes shining on her gentle face like gems. A small nose, soft to the eyes, and thin pinkish lips, just a few tones darker than her skin, enhanced the image of gentleness that had settled in my mind. A mole on her right cheek finished the job.
She didn't seem to work like father. That or she took a maternity break, if something like that existed in this world. Instead, she would tend to me, keep me company and prepare lunch as I watched her skillfully run through meat I had never seen and vegetables of impossible shapes and colors. Tending to her plants was also part of her daily routine but the lazy me would just look at her through the window.
I gladly noticed how, with a little bit of time, she would give me some space as I explored every single corner of the house. Was it maybe to grant me a feeling of freedom? Either way, it helped me improve both my ability to crawl and my overall strength.
Sometimes another woman would come visit us, bringing her daughter most of the time. It was a friend of mother and the two of them would spend hours talking while I "played" with the girl. She was roughly eight. A very sweet and caring girl who would go out of her way to spend time with me, mostly pointing toward the people passing in front of the house.
I had no idea if it should've been funny and, since I didn't know how a baby was supposed to act, I would just improvise and fake a laugh. She seemed to enjoy it so I kept the act.
After lunch, it was time for my siesta- not that I had been working hard but the warm sunny rays were too tempting and I took up the habit of dozing off on the wooden bench under the window. Then, father would come home and the roles switched and mother would disappear around the house or leave it. Whenever she went outside she would then come home with bags full of groceries together with some odd stones and silks.
If father was behind in his training or busy with something else, then mother would take up the role of bathing me and tucking me to bed, accompanied by an incomprehensible bedtime story.
I was lucky to be born with such great and loving parents but I still held much curiosity about them. I wanted to know more of them and more of this whole new world.
A chance to start again with my 28 years of knowledge from my previous life and the solid conviction that it wouldn't end as my previous did. I was going to do things right.
[I'll live to the very fullest!] I thought, clenching my tiny fist in front of my eyes. The signal of the start of my new life.