That night, you had a dream.
Or maybe it was a memory. At least, that's what you liked to call it.
After all, you were about one month of age. A one-month-old baby's brain is far from developed enough to hold onto any memories beneath the age of 3. But Zeke had walked you through the story so often (mostly due to your constant nagging) you were able to put together the sequence of events.
He never left out any detail, no matter how small, and you've heard him recount what happened that night so many times, it is now embedded in your mind, as though it was yesterday.
The air was cold. So cold you think you would've frozen to death if it wasn't for the pair of hands carrying you in her arms down the winding stairway, keeping you so close that the warmth brought you comfort.
The dim light from overhead showed only the path forward. The tight passage gave off the sense of being cramped. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairway, a medley of voices and conversations exploded in the seemingly small space. They stopped at once when the figure that held you shut the door behind you.
"Grisha keep it down." the woman's voice was soft but contained an underlying authority. "She needs to get some sleep."
Another visage came into focus, a man studying you from above. The initial thing to catch your attention was his pronounced eye bags — evidence of countless sleep-deprived nights — followed by his spectacles reflecting your infant image back at you. As your eyes began to flicker closed to drift off, they were yanked open again when he broke his silence. "He's not making any progress, Dina."
The sense of defeat in his tone was evident.
"It's okay, we just have to be patient. Surely, he will improve by the end of the year. He just has to train harder and-"
Her comforting assurances were promptly halted by a slamming sound, "We've already given it enough time."
A man unknown to you, originating from the room's far end, let his words resonate in a tone of harsh command. However, his gaze was tethered not on the woman holding you captive but fixated on the table that bore the brunt of his clenched fists. This act alone led you to believe that the woman commanded a significant degree of respect amongst this crew. "We.. we're running out of time. Just think about it. So many of our comrades have already been arrested. Soon enough, if we don't do something, we will all be dead. We can't keep on waiting for your son, Grisha."
His words were greeted by a sea of approving nods from the other assembled figures. Along with reluctant whispers and pointed remarks regarding the incompetence of a royal.
The woman's shoulders tensed up. Her eyes remained on you as if no one else existed. The man's glasses threatened to fall off his face while he rested his hands on her shoulders to catch her attention. "Darling," he murmured delicately, "Zeke simply lacks the physical prowess required of a warrior. We've given him countless opportunities, yet he doesn't possess the tenacity we so desperately need. It's time to face the harsh truth; we need to offer this opportunity to someone with more potential." There was now a second pair of eyes on you. His. They were all glaring. Why were they glaring?
All it took was a subtle nod from her, a silent command to one of his cohorts who promptly tossed over a blade. Without missing a beat, he caught it deftly by its hilt.
You barely had enough time to ponder on the question when something cold touched your upper arm. This time, the woman's warmth wasn't enough to shield you from whatever happened next. Despite your attempts to thrash around, her grasp remained as tight as it could.
Her comfort was gone. Taken away.
"For the restoration of the Eldian empire," they whispered before the cold blade of the knife was dragged down your arm, leaving what felt like a deep vertical line. The man kept it up until he reached the center of your arm. The pain was so intense that it felt like it was going through your bones. It may have sounded like an exaggeration but your pain tolerance was not developed either.
"For its revival...", they kept chanting some uncomprehensible things but your focus wasn't on them. With one swift motion, he executed a horizontal cut. He stopped at that but it didn't matter because even when the blade left, the stinging sensation remained.
You were still tossing and turning. Your cries echoed throughout the room. Like any normal infant, you were unable to communicate your pain except through your body as it shook through every sob. You couldn't even tell where the sensation originated from. You just knew that it hurt. And that they hurt you.
An isolated droplet suddenly merged with the wet trails on your cheeks, taking you by surprise. Blinking, you looked up to find her eyes mirroring yours - both filled with tears. Shame was drawn all over her face. A different kind of pain washed over you. You found yourself craving her warmth again.
Tears clouded your vision, yet amid the uncertainty, you were certain of a fleeting image - a pair of legs in motion, disappearing down the hallway. A phantom had come and gone.
In the blink of an eye, the world around you wasn't falling anymore and you were in his arms. It wasn't a phantom. It was a boy with light-colored hair, pointing a finger at the two figures who hurt you the night before. They were your parents and around them, stood heavily armed soldiers in full combat armor who had surrounded them from every angle. The expression they wore was horrified. They weren't staring at the government officials though, they were staring at you.
You could say they weren't processing what was happening, but that'd be a lie. They most definitely knew what awaited them. They just couldn't envision that this was how they were going down. Betrayed, separated and whisked away.
The tragedy was cut short. You were sure it couldn't have lasted more than a minute before they disappeared, leaving their children behind. Your tiny hand reached to close around the boy's finger which he began to move, slightly tickling you.
"We're the key to humanity's salvation". His vocabulary sounded rather advanced for his age. Or perhaps, he was merely parroting the words of grown-ups. It's common for kids to mimic them. But this one seemed to be lost in thought.
His gaze met your curious wide eyes, "Don't worry, they won't hurt us anymore. But I'm not the one to thank for that. Come, I can't wait for you to meet Mr. Xaver," he said as he steadily treaded away from this dwelling, without a backward glance ever again.