The darkness was complete --silent, vast, and eternal.
Quinn gasped for air, instinct overriding consciousness. Panic struck first. His lungs burned with the sudden flood of oxygen, his limbs flailed without grace, and the cold air stung his raw skin. Everything was a blur: light too bright, sounds too loud, sensations too new.
He was no longer dying.
He was...alive
He felt arms wrap around him -- warm, trembling with emotion. A heartbeat thudded against his ear,steady and strong. A scent, faintly of ash and flowers, filled his nose and settled home in a way he couldn't explain.
"There he is", a woman's voice whispered, thick with awe and relief."My son"
Son?
Quinn tried to move, to speak, to understand -- but nothing responded. His muscles were weak, his mouth useless. He had no control. Horror crept into his mind. Was this some strange afterlife? A punishment?
But then he realized the truth. The impossible, terrifying truth.
He was a baby. A damn newborn.
From the corner of his blurred vision, a glimpsed a vaulted stone ceiling high above him. Black and gold banners swayed gently in air. Around the room stood armored figures, their helms dented and cloaks stained-- warriors who had seen war, but still stood proud.
Who were these people? Where was he?
He didn't know. He couldn't understand the language fully yet, but something in the voice that held him, in gentle strength of her grip, in the steadiness of her warmth -- it grounded him.
He has no answers. No power. No freedom.
But one truth settled like spark in the corner of his young, flickering mind:
This time, he wouldn't waste the life he'd been given.