'The Chosen One'

Life is like a game of cards—you never know what hand you'll be dealt next. On one day, you're on cloud 9, feeling like you're holding a royal flush, with everything going your way and all plans falling into place.

The next day, you're dejected. The cause? It could be anything. The loss of a loved one, a poor grade report, the loss of a job…anything.

Nevertheless—regardless of whatever the dismal circumstances were—, in such a state, you feel like you're stuck with a pair of twos, struggling to find your footing and make sense of the unfolding chaos.

Such a metaphor perfectly explained Anakin's current predicament.

'Where am I?'

He inwardly mumbled as the light of the world shone through his perplexed eyes. His mind felt murky, and, for a moment, it was utterly blank, devoid of even the simplest of thoughts.

Gradually, though, the fog obscuring his consciousness ebbed away, and clarity welcomed him back into her warm embrace.

'...Billy'

It was the name of the person who'd dealt him his latest pair of twos, the person who turned his world upside down, the root of his higgledy-piggledy state.

As if by instinct, the name appeared within his mind, and, like a domino, it sparked the resurfacing of a flush of memories and emotions.

'I—I'm alive? H—how?'

The perplexity in his eyes deepened, overshadowing the plethora of emotions ravaging his soul. He felt like he was seeing things. How could he possibly be alive after what happened? He had never seen or heard of someone surviving a bullet to the head.

'Heaven, perhaps?'

He sought a possible explanation for what he was currently experiencing. He refused to believe he had survived a direct headshot; after all, he wasn't superman.

Heaven was his first answer, but his rationality forced his line of thought into a different direction.

'No, someone like me would never make it there so it can't be it. Plus, I doubt Jesus has a place in his kingdom for agnostics like me. Ah, what a shame, would've loved to have a chat with him.'

He became increasingly absorbed in his internal monologue.

'A dream then? Yeah, that sounds better.'

No, that couldn't be it. Everything felt too real to be a dream. Besides, how could dead men dream? Unless…

'...or maybe my life was a simulation? By the gods! The skeptics were right!'

One by one, he cooked up several different explanations, and as the thoughts went by, it became increasingly apparent to him that they were becoming more absurd.

He started to wonder why he was even speculating about it all. In the end, it was ultimately pointless, and he was someone who never did pointless things.

'That fucker! He killed me! He fucking murdered me in cold blood! And, for what? I was never mean to him, hell I was probably the only person who bothered to be nice to him. This is what I fucking get for trying to befriend the fucking edgy Redneck. Fuck me!'

The intense anger that he had been distracting himself from suddenly burst forth, filling him with unbridled fury that even the devil would be afraid of.

He never deserved any of it. His dreams, hopes, and hard work had all been brutally crushed by a boy who was destined to be mediocre. It was unfair…unbelievably unfair.

'Haah, why am I even surprised? When has my life ever been fair? All I get is shit, and when things start finally going my way, I get fucked over. God, or whatever divine entity that created all this, I hope you had a damn good laugh watching my life. You'd better have, because its fucking comical!'

The fury consumed his thoughts and torched his rationality. All his life he had been dealt twos, and, at some point, he genuinely believed he was destined to get them.

From being orphaned, to being bullied, to being abused, to being physically crippled, in 18 years he had gone through what millions of people would never experience in their lifetimes.

Though, contrary to what one would expect, the never-ending flurry of calamities never extinguished his blazing desire to live and make something out of his treacherous life.

Life had presented him with more lemons than he knew what to do with, and he was hell-bent on making the juiciest lemonade out of it. Through hard work and with unwavering determination, he would carve out a life that would mock even luck itself.

It was the same unwavering determination that sustained his infectious optimism. Not once had he lost hope, even with his dire circumstances.

He saw every setback as an opportunity, whether it be a chance for personal growth, or an avenue to learn something new. Anakin Ross was dogged in every sense. He was a warrior who never made excuses and fought tooth and nail for everything he wanted in life.

His broiling spirit and dogged nature culminated into a scholarship to attend the Massachusetts Institute of Technology for a degree in Electrical Engineering.

The morning he read the acceptance letter was the happiest moment of his life. It was the fruit of countless sleepless nights, hours of hard work, and a stroke of fortune — the thing that eluded him the most.

For the first time, he had felt that things were finally going his way. He dreamed of attending the famed MIT, becoming a millionaire, and marrying the love of his life, whoever she was.

To many, these things sounded utopian, but for Anakin, it was a matter of how much sweat he was willing to pour in. To him, nothing was impossible.

Ironically, he had received the letter a day before everything went to shit, a day before Billy Reed annihilated the hopes, dreams, and stories of Anakin Ross and many others.

He still vividly remembered the chaos that ensued when the first gunshot went off. Mass hysteria…screams…pandemonium.

What was supposed to be a normal recess had devolved into a complete clusterfuck, and he, the kid who used a wheelchair, was among the first of its casualties.

The stampede caused by the gunshot had knocked him off his wheelchair and left him at the mercy of the students's feet.

Astonishingly, he survived the onslaught of stomps that brought him to the depths of hell, but it was all for naught as Billy Reed easily picked him out as he chased everyone.

Ruger LCP, he had seen the gun on youtube prior to that moment. It was a semi-auto firearm that made for an extremely popular concealed carry gun. Surely, Billy Reed must have been infatuated with the gun. He wouldn't put it past the fucker.

He still remembered the boy's sinister, almost derisive, leer. They invoked a fear Anakin had never felt before. Overwrought with the emotion, he had begged the boy to spare his life at the top of his lungs.

'Please Billy! Please! Don't kill me!' The words were still fresh in his mind, and the mere thought of it filled him with endless rage. They left Billy unfazed, and the boy merely snickered in response to his pleas.

'Don't worry, cripple, it'll be quick. I'll put an end to your miserable life.' the boy had said, and Anakin felt like screaming 'Go to Hell, fucker!' in retaliation, but Billy robbed him of the chance to do so.

There was a flash, and a loud bang, but that was it. No pain or 'life flashing before my eyes' moment that he, weirdly, expected.

Anakin Ross had perished, erased from the face of the Earth to join the souls of many in eternal slumber.

For the first time, Anakin was shaken. He had lost everything. All his hard work had been flushed down the drain. He would not be going to MIT, or playing Call of Duty with his best friends at 3am after graduation, or meeting the woman of his dreams. None of that was happening.

The realization shattered his spirit, and for the very first time — time that he could remember— forced tears out of his weary eyes.

'Is it so wrong for someone like me to dream? Is that not a privilege I'm allowed at the very least?'

He quizzically wondered as his mental state broke down. He just wanted to die for good. He'd had enough.

The nihilism that he had long suppressed with his overwhelming optimism toyed with his heart, and the fury he felt gradually dulled, being replaced by a bottomless abyss. Nothing mattered anymore.

As the thoughts of his life faded into obscurity, Anakin finally took notice of his surroundings. He seemed to be lying down on his back, and he could see…chandeliers? They looked opulent, and were embellished with what looked like dazzling jewels.

What's more, there was a striking fresco of what looked like an angel carrying a bow. It was astoundingly intricate and covered a large portion of the ceiling.

'How beautiful. This thing must've cost a fortune to paint. I'm no aesthete, but even I've got to admit it's simply a masterpiece. It looks like something straight out of the 19th century.'

Anakin intriguingly contemplated at the sight of it. He looked to his left and right, only to be met by the sight of what seemed to be…

'Wooden bars? That's weird…'

Not only that, they appeared small, and strikingly similar to the one's on a baby's crib. But that couldn't be right, how could he be a baby?

Instinctively, he reached out to touch them, and the moment he did his jaw dropped. His hands were unbelievably small. Immediately, he tried to sit up, but soon realized his movements were extremely limited. He couldn't even raise his head, talk less of sitting up.

"What the hell?"

The earlier confusion he felt resurfaced, but what caught his attention was his voice. It sounded like a high-pitched squeal….or, a baby's giggle.

The sound of it immediately caused him to feel apprehensive. It confirmed his ludicrous speculations. He was indeed a baby.

"The fuck is going on?!"

He squealed in stupor. What sorcery was this? Why was he a baby? Suddenly, another thought popped up in his mind, and he hurriedly looked down at his crotch region.

He saw nothing, and he immediately feared the worst, but calmed down upon realizing he was clothed.

With all the strength he could muster, he reached down to pat it. He felt something, something small, and all his worries vanished immediately.

'Phew, I'm still a boy, thankfully.'

He sighed in relief. He had nothing against women, but he knew he definitely did not want to be one. That would be weird. He'd lived his entire life as a boy, after all.

Why he was worried about this, Anakin wouldn't be able to tell you. Logically speaking, it should be the least of his concerns.

"Reincarnation…"

The thought finally came to him. It was something he had only seen in novels, but never for a second thought it was real. It defied common sense, and logic was the cornerstone of his personal doctrine.

Nonetheless it amazed the now infant Anakin. Surely, that had to be the only logical explanation. New body, old memories and personality intact, a seemingly novel world. If it wasn't reincarnation then Anakin wouldn't even be sure of his own name.

Though the thought sparked no excitement within him, contrary to what one would expect. Frankly, he didn't care.

Everything seemed dull to him, and all he wanted was to rest peacefully. Unfortunately it seemed he wasn't catching a break from living.

*"...Darling…wake up…I think I just heard the baby. He made a noise!"*

(A/N: The asterisks mean Anakin is unable to understand what is being said)

*"...Mm?....Vittoria, my love, what is it? Are you alright?"*

Two distinct voices reached his ears, and Anakin immediately felt on edge. He instinctively turned his head towards the source of the voices, but saw nothing.

The first voice sounded euphonic, and soft, like that of a fair maiden, while the second sounded deep, and husky, like that belonging to an adult man.

In addition, their accents sounded weird. He couldn't think of a word to describe it. Refined was the closest descriptor he could think of. Their words were like gibberish to his ears too. He couldn't understand any of it.

'Well, It's certainly not english…'

Anakin humored himself internally as he tried to make out what kind of language they were speaking. He knew some German, a little Japanese too, but they sounded nothing like it.

* " Yes, Adgar, I'm alright. We must check the baby. He made a noise, I'm certain of it!"*

The feminine voice sounded ecstatic, and somewhat relieved. It confused Anakin, 'She sounds excited, why though?' he perplexedly wondered, still listening on.

* " Are you absolutely certain? That can't be…"*

Even the supposed man sounded excited, though more dumbfounded. It deepened Anakin's curiosity, and the baby tried to nudge his head, still attempting to glimpse the voices' sources.

*"Yes, I'm absolutely certain. Quickly, Adgar, we must check! He really made a noise!"*

*" Alright, I'll go check. You, however, must remain on the bed. It hasn't been long since you've birthed our son. I worry you're straining yourself too much."*

* " No, I'm coming with you. Don't try to stop me, you've never succeeded in doing that. What does it matter if I'm straining myself? Our son is alive! He's alive!" *

* " Fine, fine. Just take it easy. Please, Vittoria." *

The feminine voice sounded increasingly vibrant, and Anakin heard some brief shuffling, followed by soft, yet hurried footsteps.

*" My son…you're really alive…"*

By now, the two voice sources entered his vision, and for a moment, he stopped breathing. Their appearances were nothing short of breathtaking. The woman, who he assumed was his mother, was the embodiment of pulchritude.

She was a vision of grace and beauty, almost like some immortal goddess. Her pearly white skin seemed to glow with a warm radiant light, and her smile was as bright as the sun. Her hair was a waterfall of chestnut threads, cascading down her back like a river of sunshine. Her deep amber eyes felt like mini suns, that set Anakin's spirit ablaze.

Similarly, the man was the epitome of masculine charm, a work of art in human form. With chiseled features, and a strong jawline, he flawlessly encapsulated the essence of masculinity. His piercing eyes were an oceanic blue, and his hair was a dark silky mahogany mane that flowed like a river in the wind.

His posture was firm, and proud, exuding an unmistakable confidence that crowned his charismatic smile. Everything about him was captivating, and Anakin couldn't take his eyes off him.

'Are these people real? It shouldn't be humanly possible to look this beautiful. And their garments, they look archaic, strikingly similar to those night gowns worn by aristocrats…'

He was slack jawed. These people would give even the famous models back on Earth a run for their money. Looking this good should be criminal!

*" His soul has stabilized. It seems we were worried for nothing."* The man suddenly muttered, relief evident in his tone and expression.

*" I noticed too. How, though? The doctor said it was faint, and chaotic, almost like it was struggling to exist. He said he'd die within a week! What nonsense! We should have his head for spouting such rubbish!"*

The woman aggravatedly spat, and the man merely flashed a faint smile, knowing his wife didn't really mean what she said.

At least, that was what he hoped. He knew she could be bloodthirsty, and, if he was being honest with himself, it was one of the things he loved the most about her.

*" I'm about as clueless as you are, Vittoria. Our son's situation is something new. There are no records of anything similar to it. I'm just thankful he's alive, I was worried to death." *

The woman smiled at his statement, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before proceeding to lift Anakin —who was still awed at their looks— from his crib and into her arms.

*" It seems he was crying. His eyes are still a bit watery."* The woman mumbled affectionately. * "Look, your mother is here, everything will be fine now. Ah, look at you! You are so adorable! Muah!"*

She showered Anakin with a torrent of kisses, and the young boy felt strange.

On the one hand, he wasn't used to being treated like a baby, while on the other, the woman's exuberant motherly love illuminated his spirit, and weirdly, made him feel a bit better.

*" He has your eyes, Adgar. Actually, he looks a lot like you, now that I'm seeing the two of you side by side."*

The woman said, and the man chuckled in response, * "It seems I won our bet. I told you he'd look a lot like me. If it's any consolation, though, he has your nose."* he replied with a smirk

*" You don't need to be so smug about it."* The woman shook her head amusedly, * " Enjoy your victory while it lasts. Next time, I'm sure I'll be the one laughing."*

*" Next time?"* The man's eyebrows flew up, and his lips curled.

*" Yes, next time."* The woman sultrily responded, * "You're not scared, are you?"* she playfully teased.

*"Scared?"* The man scoffed lightly, *" I'll take you on any time, I hope you're prepared…"* he seductively whispered into the woman's ears, approached her from behind, and kissed her neck.

*" Adgar…"* The woman's cheeks turned a deep red, and Anakin could feel the brewing sexual tension between the two. It stupefied him, and snapped him out of his reverie.

'Jesus Christ, get a room, you two…' The boy internally remarked, ignoring the fact that he was in their room. Nonetheless, their unbridled passion made him wonder about their love story. Surely, it had to be something straight out of a movie. He wouldn't be surprised, if it was.

* "Adgar, stop, the baby's watching us."* The woman suddenly put an end to their romantic charade, and the man ceased his actions, though his expression was unwilling.

Suddenly, he got an idea. He waved his hands, causing a pale blue intricate-looking magic circle with mysterious runes littering its circumference to materialize.

From it, a swan made of ice emerged and flew towards Anakin, who's eyes nearly popped out of its sockets at the sight.

'What! What was that? Sorcery?!'

Inwardly, he speculated, though his expression was one of immense shock. Magic! He had just seen real magic! And, for some reason, it looked eerily similar to the magic circles he'd seen in the Dr. Strange movies.

Bewitched, Anakin's eyes never left the swan, and while he was distracted, the man resumed kissing his wife's neck. Though, he stopped once the woman voiced something.

*" He's been strangely quiet all this while, but suddenly became giddy upon seeing your magic. It seems he likes it…"*

*" It's only natural,"* he casually replied, * "He's an Aldritch, after all. Magic runs in his blood, and his reaction is expected. It's a good sign for the future."*

*" Indeed, you Aldritch always tend to be absorbed in the arcane."* She mumbled, smiling. Then, she suddenly thought of something, * " By the way, have you thought of his name? You said you wanted to name him."*

*" I did,"* A smile crept up the man's face, * "Our son is to be named according to my father's wishes. He shall be called Arlo. It's a shame father's not here to see it. He'd have been all over the place had he been here."*

The man's tone dulled towards the end of his statement. His father's death was something that evoked many emotions within him, but he maintained his calm demeanor.

'Aldritch men must never display weakness. Through suffering, they gain strength.' The words that had been ingrained within him resurfaced, and he exhaled softly.

As if sensing his emotions, the woman gently caressed his cheek, but said nothing. Instead, she continued to stare at Anakin, and the man did so too, vivacious smiles gracing both their faces.

Today was a jolly day, after all. Their son had survived his foretold calamity, so there was cause for celebration. Today, the 17th of August, 1648, Arlo Aldritch, The famed Watchmaker, was born.