Rebirth

Lucien drifted slowly into consciousness, a dull haze clouding his vision and thoughts. It felt as if he were rising from the depths of a dream, pulled reluctantly into reality. He tried to lift a hand, but his body wouldn't respond. Instead, a pair of blurry shapes loomed over him, faces twisted with expressions he couldn't quite make out.

Confused, he struggled to make sense of the situation. Had he gone back in time? His memories were hazy, fractured—he'd been in his strider, fighting through a battle… then pain, fire… and then, darkness. It didn't add up. Lucien's gaze drifted over the people surrounding him, trying to make sense of their appearance, but his vision was limited, almost… infantile. Is this some sort of time anomaly? he wondered, the thought echoing through his still-foggy mind. Did I… revert to childhood?

The image of the people around him sharpened just slightly. He could make out an elderly woman, her features softened by wrinkles, holding him gently. Beside her stood a young girl with an uncertain expression. Lucien's heart skipped. These weren't familiar faces. None of the people hovering over him looked like his family from before. He blinked, struggling to clear his vision, but the blur remained, thick and impenetrable.

The woman carrying him smiled and murmured something he couldn't understand, her voice warm but tired. A moment later, she handed him to a woman lying on a bed nearby. Lucien's heart raced, both from his physical weakness and a strange apprehension. He studied her face, noticing the sheen of sweat on her brow, the exhausted rise and fall of her chest. She was young, with a beauty that was gentle rather than striking. Her skin was pale, almost sickly, as if she had been through something physically taxing.

The woman gazed down at him, her expression softening. She stroked his cheek with a trembling finger, murmuring in a voice that held a tired joy, "I'll call you Lucien… my little Lucien Lupercell." Her tone grew faintly wistful as she said his surname, and Lucien noticed the young girl beside her wince slightly at the mention of it. An absent father, he guessed instinctively. There was something unspoken here—a shadow of pain buried in that simple name.

Lucien's thoughts were becoming sluggish, his newborn body unable to sustain such mental strain. Seems a newborn's brain isn't built for this much processing, he thought, feeling his grip on consciousness slipping. Sighing inwardly, he gave in, letting sleep pull him under.

When he opened his eyes again, Lucien was vaguely aware of being shifted around. His older sister held him, her presence familiar in a way that his still-developing brain found soothing. She carried him to his mother, who reached out and gently cradled him to her chest. A faint sense of discomfort flickered through his mind—this was all profoundly strange, and yet he couldn't deny the warmth that eased his anxieties. His mother began to nurse him, and though he hesitated at first, the hunger gnawing at his tiny form urged him forward. I'll be a man and take it, he thought, resigned to the unusual experience.

Years passed, each one bringing new revelations. He learned to walk on unsteady legs, stumbled over his first words, and slowly adjusted to this unfamiliar world. With each passing day, his mind grew sharper, his sense of self solidifying. Yet, the physical differences in himself and the people around him were stark. He stared, at first confused, then stunned, to see that everyone around him had long, slender ears and—tails. His hands reached back, feeling the smooth, muscular length of his own tail, and he bit back a wave of shock. This isn't just some alternative version of my old world.

The place where they lived was strange, too. It was always crowded, and every space felt small, cramped. When he grew old enough to walk around outside their small room, he was struck by the sheer scale of their living quarters. It wasn't just a building. It was an enormous, labyrinthine structure filled with countless other families, each occupying a cramped section in an endless maze of floors and stairwells.

He'd overheard his sister Lara call it a "hive city," and it was aptly named. A colossal, sprawling complex that stretched out endlessly, all built vertically rather than horizontally. Each "layer" of the city was another layer of misery for its inhabitants, everyone packed tightly together like insects. The air was thick with a smell he could never quite place, a sour odor that clung to everything, a constant reminder of the decay.

Their home was simple and spare, with only a few battered pieces of furniture, and his mother often wore an exhausted expression, her hands rough from endless work. She seldom smiled, though when she did, Lucien found himself wanting to preserve that expression, to somehow shield her from whatever hardships wore her down.

One evening, Lucien's sister returned, her expression shadowed by fatigue after a long day. She collapsed into a chair, wiping her brow, and muttered about her "hustle" as though it was something ordinary—just another part of her routine. Lucien had noticed that most of the people around them didn't have last names, referring to one another by first names alone. But his family did, and it was something that had puzzled him for a long time.

After gathering his courage, Lucien turned to his sister one evening, his young voice piping up, "Lara, why do we have a last name? Nobody else does."

Lara paused, taken aback, then looked at him with a gentle, almost sorrowful smile. She pulled him closer, as if telling him a secret meant for his ears alone. "Because of our father," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight Lucien could feel even with his limited understanding. "A long time ago, a high lord from below came above ground. He got separated from his daughter… there was a skirmish. They were ambushed by bandits."

She took a deep breath, and Lucien noticed a flicker of pain in her gaze. "Our father was there, in the right place, at the right time. When a shot was fired at the high lord's daughter, he… he shielded her, took the shot meant for her." Lara's voice wavered slightly, but she steadied herself. "He died, saving someone from below. They didn't have to, but they gave him a proper burial… and they gave us a surname. Lupercell."

Her words hung in the air, thick with a mix of sorrow and pride. Lucien processed this information in silence, feeling an unexpected swell of gratitude and admiration for a father he'd never known. He was the son of a man who had saved a life at the cost of his own—a man who had sacrificed everything for a stranger.

He was Lucien Lupercell. However, he still felt a ting of foolishness in the mans actions. Afterall, he left behind a wife and two kids, at least when he died in his own world no one would miss him.

Not long later their mother, Lucinia, became bedridden from stress.