2 Book One: Fire. Chapter 1: Awakening.

Cognitive Dissonance.

That was essentially the first thought that came to me as soon as I became self-aware.

What's the dissonance? Well, for starters, a one-year-old child shouldn't know these words. And probably shouldn't be capable of sarcasm in their thoughts, either. Actually, these thoughts shouldn't exist at this age at all.

But that's alright, those are philosophical questions, something to ponder in the coming days, since there's nothing else to do anyway. You lie there, observing the same surroundings, eating, and defecating. Life is super, indeed.

The only saving grace is the fact that I'm a child, and all my energy, apparently, goes into the super-heavy, in quotes, mental exertions, so I'm awake for maybe two hours a day, and the rest of the time I sleep, resting from the ongoing absurdity.

I also find it absurd that I'm fully self-aware and even capable of rational thought. I'd probably name my surroundings if I could, but a child's brain is a child's brain. How I'm able to think clearly, I don't know, but remembering anything about my surroundings is beyond me. Absolutely nothing sticks in my mind. Perhaps if I spent less energy on my mental commentary and more on trying to observe or remember speech, I'd fare better, but it is what it is. I'm not going to spend my waking hours just listening to what people coo at me or staring at the wall, memorizing where I specifically lie and ponder.

But I have plenty of time for my thoughts. Who am I? Where am I? Why am I? What am I? Alright, I know the answer to the last question, I'm a human. As for everything else, I have no idea.

Never mind the name, although what "God" is, I can't find any memory in my head, but shouldn't I at least know some vague features of myself? Only words and their combinations come to mind, and even then, I'm not sure. I'm not speaking out loud, after all. Maybe these are just thought-forms that seem like coherent speech to me. But then again, thought-forms do come to mind.

Which shouldn't be happening in a child who hasn't even recognized their surroundings yet. In this, I suppose, I am certain. But it doesn't change the situation.

I'm very keen to find out anything about myself. Both about myself as a child, who needs to sleep again, and about myself as whoever I was before. I'm sure I was someone. I can't justify it, even to myself. For understanding's sake, the argument "well, it's obvious" sounds like a decent one in my head. But I don't even have that. Just a solid conviction that I was someone before. Just was, and that's it.

And it's damn interesting to know who.

What did I do to deserve this? A second life? Of course, who knows how things will turn out, maybe this will be a punishment, but so far, it seems more like a reward. If only someone would confirm that it indeed is.

***

Three years have passed. And now I understand why Einstein didn't speak until he was four. Why bother?

It wasn't until around four years old that I started to slowly remember my surroundings and recognize images. First off, I thought I was born somewhere in Asia. What that is, I don't know, but the name came to mind by itself at the sight of low tables without chairs, tea ceremonies, chopsticks, and other attributes. However, the structure in which I... well, exist, doesn't strongly resonate with that Asian flavor. It's a mix of different cultures. Exactly which ones, I can't remember. Moreover, here and there, I could see iron pipes and various, seemingly steam-powered devices, hinting at some sort of steampunk. Given their scarcity, it felt more like the dawn of steampunk.

"Steampunk" - the associative link suggests it's about steam, pipes, copper colors, and so on, but where I learned this word and how I know it, I couldn't say.

The language situation is similarly complicated: absolute gibberish, unlike anything at all. But either I'm that smart, or a child's brain absorbs new information, but associations started forming immediately and I'm gradually remembering the names of different objects. It shouldn't be long before I start communicating properly.

Finally saw dad when I was about three. Probably not for the first time, considering I just didn't remember my surroundings earlier. A gaunt, grim face, some traditional clothes, and the now-standard jet-black hair, surprisingly long and styled in some manner. He looked at me as if I were just another piece of furniture, nodded at something, mumbled a few words to me, and went about his business. Aristocracy, apparently, at least that word comes to mind just by looking at this person.

And it turns out I have an older brother. He's only a couple of years older, probably three, and he almost tails after our father. He tries to mimic his face and shows zero interest in me. Just like Draco Malfoy, considering the local context. If only I knew who that is...

Then, a whole delegation marched into my humble abode. A bunch of dark-haired, pale, gaunt individuals, very similar to each other, came straight to me.

Among them, of course, were my father and brother, but they kept a distant and seemed to be waiting for something. It became clear in a second: a man very similar to my father stepped forward, albeit in fancier clothes. His family? Probably. They asked me to stand somewhere, surrounded me with candles, waited, examined me from all sides. Waited some more. And then left me to my own devices. After that, both my father and brother tried their best not to look at me, and if they did, it was as if I were trash.

Well, I might be exaggerating a bit, but that ritual meant something, and I apparently failed it. Now, to the senior male relatives, I am nobody and called almost nothing. Perhaps I didn't behave as an aristocrat's son should, or something like that. But what did they expect from a five-year-old, who no one but the servants cares for? I'd understand if they had been teaching me etiquette or reading books to me since birth, something that aristocratic children usually undergo... though I'm not sure about that. What I can say for sure is that I was never an aristocrat and have never seen them in person, so I can't guess how things work or are supposed to work among them. But one thing I'm certain of: their test is crap. And no, I'm not bitter that, being clearly older than my age, I didn't understand and failed something a four-year-old should pass. Maybe just a little.

Or maybe they were testing something that wasn't up to me and was supposed to "work on me," so to speak, and it didn't. That seems more likely the truth. Then the question is: what were they expecting by placing a few strange candles around me?

But the most significant event that happened to me was the first word I uttered when the nannies took me out to the local garden.

Yes, nannies. Maybe I have several mothers, harems and all that, but there's a distinct feeling that my mom is the dark-haired, pretty... well, not a girl, but you can't quite call her a woman either. Basically, my mom is a dark-haired, well-dressed, pretty young woman in her twenties who occasionally appears before my eyes, and spends very little time with me, clearly not fully understanding what to do with me. Though I'm supposedly the second child... she should have gained some experience.

And so, I logically concluded that the older, less well-dressed women around me were nannies. It was in their presence that I uttered my first word.

In the garden near the house where I was strolling, I finally managed to get a good look at the house from the outside, deliberately avoiding glancing at the huge castle nearby. If the interior architecture was solid and more European in style, despite the occasional presence of shoji - doors made of dense, translucent paper affixed to a doorframe and visually reminiscent of a grid. These typically Asian rooms with shoji, as I understood, were more a nod to some traditions and a peculiar reception area for guests. Thankfully, for the most part, glory be to whoever it may concern, the large rooms were still separated from each other by normal, universally understandable doors.

So, if it's somewhat bearable inside, the outside is pure Asia with a massive red-tiled roof and various metallic flourishes at the corners. Though, of course, the style is still disrupted by pipes that appear here and there. Moreover, these pipes seemed not just slapped onto the structure but were quite intentionally planned during construction. That really makes one think. The house is old, meaning the steam devices are not exactly the latest models.

What does this mean? First, it's wise to stay away from the pipes. Scars might make a man more distinguished, but I'd rather do without them. Second, it seems progress has somewhat stalled. As I mentioned, we're aristocrats, meaning we're not a poor family, so cutting-edge technologies should be clearly accessible to us. But they're not. There are only the installations laid down with the house's foundation. This means that not only were such systems already tried and integrated into daily life by the time the house was built - surely, the family wouldn't install untested and dangerous steam devices in their home? But also, a considerable amount of time has passed since then.

So, we're stuck with an embryonic steampunk in an Asian style that's stalled in place. For some reason, thoughts about the inefficiency and low efficiency of such systems come to mind, along with some ideas for improvement, though I haven't even seen the "heart" of these installations. It's just a pity that all this is so vague and unclear that it's easier to recall a dream from two days ago in detail than to grasp what occasionally passes through my mind.

But that's not what made me speak out loud. Far from it.

Above the entrance to the house hung either a flag or a banner. With a clear emblem. Three different tongues of flame, depicted in black ink on a red background.

And after several minutes of staring at this flag, I uttered the only thing that came to mind:

"Shit!"

The nannies around me started to chatter excitedly, oh, the child made some sounds, although they didn't understand them, but he did make them! They began to fuss around me, cooing, asking me to repeat it.

And me? What about me?

I'm in Avatar, damn it.