Pawn III

As the light becomes clear, Xander found himself in a realm of surreal brightness. Shapes and shadows coalesced into distinct forms, and amidst the luminous haze, he discerned a radiant figure, a woman, ethereal and tender.

The brilliance softened, and he felt a gentle descent, as though cradled by unseen hands. Gradually, the celestial glow receded, revealing a vast expanse. Xander's perception, once obscured by the dazzling light, now sharpened.

A warmth enveloped him, and as his awareness grew, he sensed a rhythm, a heartbeat, not his own. The world around him echoed with muffled sounds, like distant melodies. Colors unfolded before his eyes, vibrant and new.

Suddenly, a hand reached down, fingers delicate yet firm. Xander's view shifted as if the universe tilted, and he found himself cradled in the arms of a woman—a midwife orchestrating his journey into this unfamiliar existence.

The woman's face, gentle and serene, greeted him. He felt the sensation of being embraced, cocooned in a tender embrace that transcended the boundaries of understanding.

"It's a boy," the midwife's voice rang softly in the room, a declaration that echoed with profound significance. She meticulously attended to the newborn, cleansing him with a tenderness that spoke of ages of practiced care.

The woman lay there, her body marked by the labor she'd endured, her features glistening with sweat and streaked with tears. Despite the evident exhaustion etched upon her face, an overwhelming sense of fulfillment and joy radiated from her as she cradled the newborn against her chest.

The baby nestled in her embrace, small fingers curling instinctively around her trembling hand. His tiny form, still dewy with the remnants of his celestial voyage, lay contentedly against her, seemingly at peace in the safety of her warmth.

The woman's gaze danced between her newborn and the midwife, a silent language passing between them—a shared understanding of the miracle that had just transpired. The midwife's eyes, filled with admiration, met hers in a wordless exchange that conveyed reverence for the strength and resilience displayed during the birthing process.

Tears of both exhaustion and overwhelming joy streamed down the woman's cheeks, painting a portrait of raw, unfiltered emotions. As she held her child close, a sense of completion filled the room.

Beside the woman, her partner knelt in awe, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he beheld the tiny bundle nestled in his wife's arms. Overwhelmed with emotion, he reached out a trembling hand, brushing his fingers delicately over the infant's rosy cheeks.

"You are so handsome," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. It was a moment of profound connection—a father gazing upon his newborn son for the first time, awe and love intertwining in his tender words.

Tears streamed down his face, a blend of joy, gratitude, and the weight of this profound moment. His gaze shifted between his wife, who exuded an ethereal strength, and the newborn cradled in her arms, his heart swelling with an indescribable mix of emotions.

Xander gaze wandered, taking in the myriad of expressions adorning the servant-like attendants. Some conversed in low murmurs, exchanging elated smiles, while others wore looks of anticipation, eagerly awaiting the baby's first cries—the hallmark of a healthy birth.

The woman, cradling the infant, observed him intently, her gaze a mixture of wonder and concern. "Is he okay?" she inquired, a note of worry edging her voice. The midwife, momentarily startled by the absence of the expected cries, glanced between the serene baby and the growing panic in the room.

A sudden sense of urgency permeated the air as the midwife's initial surprise escalated into apprehension. The absence of the newborn's cries, an expected symphony signaling vitality, now manifested as an unsettling void that gripped the room.

Reacting swiftly, the midwife's hand moved with determination, delivering a sharp but gentle slap to the baby's tiny backside. Xander, caught unaware in this new existence, was jolted by an unexpected sensation—a searing burst of pain that flooded his consciousness.

A cry, raw and primal, ripped through the room, breaking the anxious silence. It was a chorus of relief, a symphony of life's affirmation that reverberated off the walls. The midwife and attendants, their worries instantly assuaged by the newborn's wail, exchanged relieved glances and warm smiles.

As the baby's cries echoed, Xander, grappling with the unfamiliar sensation of pain, found himself embracing this primal act—a physical manifestation of life's arrival, a sensation both shocking and oddly comforting in this newfound existence.

Xander's gaze fixated on the midwife, an intensity burning in his eyes. "Do you have any idea who I am? I am a Demon Lord, Xander Nightborn!" His inner voice roared with indignation, yet only the sweet, innocent babbling and cries of an infant echoed in the room, melting the hearts of those who surrounded him. To them, he was just an adorable and innocent newborn.

Amidst the commotion and the solemnity of the moment, the woman who had given birth looked tenderly at the newborn in her arms. "Honey, let's name this child Aden," she suggested, a soft smile gracing her lips as she leaned in close, the warmth of affection evident in her eyes.

But within the depths of the infant's consciousness, Xander struggled with a tumultuous storm of emotions. His awareness, clouded by the newness of this existence, fought to assert his identity and dominance, a desperate attempt to convey his true nature.

Desperation etched his features as he attempted to voice a warning, a threat from the depths of his being. "How dare you change my name!? I'll—" His intent to intimidate and assert his authority was crystal clear in his mind, but to his dismay, only the gurgling coos of a newborn emanated from his tiny form.

The room, oblivious to the turmoil within the infant, cooed and gasped in delight at the adorable sounds that escaped him. Their adoration for the innocent babe painted a stark contrast to Xander's inner turmoil, a dichotomy that further frustrated his attempts to assert his former identity.

The door creaked open, and a woman's voice sliced through the air, laden with authority. "What are you all doing here?" she demanded, her tone clipped and commanding.

The husband, still teary-eyed and overwhelmed with the arrival of his newborn, stepped forward. "Ma'am, my baby has just been born," he announced, a touch of pride softening his voice.

The woman, seemingly unmoved, cast a quick, dismissive glance around the room before fixing her steely gaze on the father. "Well, good for you," she retorted brusquely, her demeanor unyielding. "Now, everyone, back to work. Chop-chop!"

With a sense of practiced efficiency, the attendants in the room snapped into motion, dispersing swiftly to resume their duties. Their previous elation and shared joy over the newborn's arrival quickly dissolved into an atmosphere of disciplined focus, their tasks taking precedence over personal sentiments.

The room, once filled with the tender anticipation of new life, now bustled with a controlled flurry of activity, each person resuming their roles with practiced precision. The woman's commanding presence left no room for sentimentality as the routine of the household resumed, indifferent to the profound moment that had just transpired.