Victor awoke several hours later, drenched in sweat. His dreams had been fragmented and strange, and he could immediately sense something was wrong—deeply wrong. His body didn't feel like his own. The smells in the air were unfamiliar, pungent in a way that made him nauseous. Even more disturbing was the loss of coordination. When he tried to move his right hand, his left twitched instead. He attempted to push himself up with his left foot, only to find it too weak to respond, like it had forgotten how to bend.
As his vision cleared, the truth struck him. He wasn't in any room he recognized. Surrounding him was what looked like a wooden cage—no, a crib—far larger in proportion than it should be. Everything was massive, oversized… or was he just small?
He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His mouth formed only soft, unintelligible noises. The effort alone drained what little energy he'd gathered, and he slipped back into sleep without resistance.
Time passed—how much, he couldn't tell—before he was moved. A giant of a woman loomed over him, lifting him with ease. The foul stench from earlier was gone now, replaced by a sensation of being clean. Yet the humiliation of helplessness lingered.
He focused, tried to take control of his body. Maybe now he could move something, anything. But instead, something inside him fired off on its own. Like as if a switch had been triggered, he began crying. A raw, soul-wrenching wail burst from his tiny lungs. It wasn't just crying; it was grief, betrayal, and despair all at the same time. His emotions were going rampant as he wailed.
Just like his body, his feelings seemed like they weren't his to command, he felt it was going to be this way for some time.
And once again, the energy faded. Exhausted from the emotional outburst, he fell asleep quickly.
The next time he woke, it was feeding time. He didn't know how or why, and he didn't bother to think. Something else—another part of him—just accepted it. A second brain, an instinctive part, seemed to take over, phasing him through this strange new life. There was no use fighting it—not yet. Whenever he tried, all that came out was another cry. A cry that made someone nearby gently pat him until he fell asleep again.
It was a few months later that he finally was able to control his body. He guessed it was about five months in when he could finally move how he wanted—at least a little—and stopped relying so much on the auto-instincts that had helped him through the more embarrassing parts.
During these short months, he found out he was living a completely new life, in a new world no less. He had only gone outside three times—or at least, those were the ones he recalled. His parents seemed to take extra good care of him.
He still felt sad about his mother back on Earth, but slowly, he began to develop an affection for his new parents. The two were gentle with him.
His mother—a girl no older than he had been when he was on Earth—was young, beautiful, and elegant all at once. She usually wore her hair in a bun, with a few strands of dark golden-brown curling in front of her face with a variety of colorful and youthful gowns.
She smiled instantly every time she got close to him—a smile so contagious, he couldn't help but do the same.
As for the time she invested in him, she was with him most mornings, only leaving him with his caretaker for a few hours each day. His father, on the other hand, was exactly what he had hoped for in one. Victor couldn't help but recall his own father from his childhood back on Earth. Having another was strange, but the same feelings bubbled up again—it was as if a part of him had regressed.
His father seemed a little more careful than his mother when handling him, though. At times, it felt like he was more reserved, as if holding something back.
Then there was his caretaker, an elderly woman who stayed with him for the rest of the day. She quickly grew into the perfect grandmother in Victor's mind—something he didn't have in his old world. His grandmothers had long since passed, so he was glad to find someone to fill that space again.
As his memory improved and he began to learn new words, he started connecting the few names people used when referring to him.
He was often called Auren Arkwright.
His father was Duke Tristen Arkwright, and his mother, Tilia, was usually addressed as Lady Tilia Arkwright, though sometimes he heard Duchess Tilia. That alone made Victor wonder if he had been born into nobility.
Judging by his father's wealth and the number of people working for them, it seemed very likely.
He couldn't even remember all the faces of those who cared for him, except for Granny Martha. For some reason, she was insistent that he remember her name—something he found amusing as he struggled to gain control over his mouth. Repeating her name in various forms became a kind of game during those quiet hours spent with her.
For now, that was all he could focus on without getting a headache. It seemed that thinking too hard about his past life would put too much strain on a baby's mind, so he learned to let it go, at least from time to time.
But one of the most important discoveries of this new life came from something unexpected.
It happened during an intense dream.
One night as he slept, it was normal until he began yearning for something—ice cream. Not just any kind, but the popsicle he used to eat every Friday back on Earth. The craving was so vivid, so overwhelming, that he could almost feel it in his hand while he slept.
And then… he did.
When he awoke, his tiny fingers were wrapped around something cold and sticky. To his shock, a real ice cream popsicle had appeared in his grasp, exactly like the one from his dream.
His father was the first to arrive in the room that night, clearly alarmed by the sudden disturbance. He inspected the frozen treat, even taking a few cautious bites before instructing someone to clean it up.