First Birthday Party (1)

{ 26 DAYS LATER… }

'In-Incredible!' Mirac stammered internally, his eyes widening in disbelief as he gazed, mouth open, at the scene before him.

At the heart of the castle, the grand reception hall was lavishly and opulently adorned to celebrate young Prince Mirac's first birthday.

The vanilla-white walls, adorned with paintings depicting scenes of battles and noble courts, were illuminated by golden chandeliers that cast a warm, radiant glow.

Through the large arched windows, there was an enchanting view of the night sky, studded with countless stars that sparkled like diamonds on a dark velvet canvas.

The polished stone floor was covered with richly decorated red carpets, along which the noble guests moved with elegance.

In the center of the hall, positioned parallel to each other, two large and long tables of carved wood were laden with culinary delights: succulent roasts, finely decorated pastries, and exotic fruits, while tall glasses of wine and pitchers of mead sparkled under the candlelight.

Servants and butlers, dressed in uniforms even more elegant than usual, distributed small gifts and sweets to the guests, who chatted and laughed, enjoying the abundance and the festive spirit that filled the hall.

Along the walls, groups of musicians in colorful attire played cheerful melodies with violins, harps, and a grand black piano in the center of the orchestra, creating a lively and joyful atmosphere. In one corner, an artist was painting the scene, capturing the moment in a work of art that would commemorate that special day forever.

As expected, at the center of attention was none other than the birthday boy himself!

Dressed in an elaborate outfit of light-blue velvet, Mirac was seated on a throne adorned with gems and fine fabrics, placed at the end of the hall to give him a full view of the celebration.

Around him, elegantly dressed, the five principal members of the royal family welcomed the guests. Each guest, after offering their wishes to young Mirac—often accompanied by a wrapped gift—would bow respectfully to him and the royal family.

'All… all of this… is for me?!' Mirac wondered, stammering inwardly as his eyes took in the towering pile of gifts accumulating near his throne and the expansive hall decorated for the celebration.

In his previous, miserable life, Mirac—or rather, Vector—had never had a birthday party. For over 65 years, since his father's death, no one had ever cared to celebrate him. Not even at the orphanage! 

For Vector, there had never been cakes, wishes, or gifts: only loneliness and regrets.

For this very reason, Vector felt a deep sense of gratitude and joy for this celebration.

His new parents had taken care of every detail with love and dedication, filling the hall with joy and color. It was a luxury that VECTOR had never known and now, as Mirac, he savored it with a heart overflowing with emotions he had never felt before.

'Thank you…' Vector thought, addressing his new parents in his imagination with a voice trembling and full of emotion. 'I'll make sure to enjoy this night to the fullest!'

With this new resolve pulsing in his heart, Mirac, like a true child, turned a wide smile to his parents standing on his left.

"Aww… Look how adorable he is, Arthur!" exclaimed Ginevra, noticing her son's happy expression and giving her husband's shoulder a little tap in her excitement.

"You're right, dear," replied Arthur, turning to her and then smiling affectionately at their child.

"He seems quite happy," observed one of the three triplets, standing in line to the left, just after the King and Queen.

'Michelle?' Mirac guessed, still unable to distinguish his sisters precisely. 

Each time he tried, he always lacked concrete clues to support his guesses.

"Can you blame him? After all, the first birthday is always the most important," explained another sister.

'Veronica!' his youthful instinct suggested this time.

"True! Especially when it's for the 'Risen Prince!'" concluded the last, presumably Camilla.

Mirac's smile almost faded as he remembered the presence of his three sisters, at whom he cast a slightly annoyed glance.

'Did they really have to be invited too?'

But after all, even if they acted a bit like spoiled princesses, Mirac had started to feel a bit fond of them over the course of the year.

'Every now and then, even though it was only a few times, they came to visit me and kept me company by playing with me. Should I thank them by rewarding them in some way? Maybe I could stop calling them "little brats" and switch to a term that's more "soft and delicate." But which one?!'

After a thoughtful moment, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his three sisters, Mirac felt an idea emerge in his mind. A shy smile spread across his face.

'Maybe… B-Big sisters?!'

The word seemed funny to him, a bit out of place, considering he was many years older than they were. 

Yet, it warmed his heart: after all, in his previous life, he had never known the affection of a sister or brother, and now, discovering this new kind of bond thrilled and moved him, almost without him realizing it.

'Yes... That should work!'

Pleased with his stroke of genius, Mirac chuckled to himself, covering his mouth with his small hands.

* * *

The evening continued, and an incessant stream of guests and dignitaries took turns before the throne, coming to pay homage to the royal family with bows and practiced smiles. 

Mirac, seated on his miniature throne, initially enjoyed observing the continuous flow of faces, fascinated by the attention directed towards him. 

However, as time went on, the amusement faded, replaced by a sense of annoyance at the monotony of those repeated gestures.

Many of those well-wishes, he perceived, were not sincere at all: behind every kind word was the shadow of a subtle calculation, a banal attempt to ingratiate themselves greedily with the King and the royal family.

After an hour, now bored and indifferent, Mirac turned his gaze away from the guests and directed it toward the windows. The night sky attracted him more than the empty words of the courtiers.

The stars shone in a deep black mantle, and he lost himself in them, staring at an invisible horizon. As the celestial lights sparkled, Mirac let his thoughts drift:

'From what I've gathered, listening to my parents, the body of this child was born on March 13. Today, however, is the 14th of the same month. I imagine, therefore, that everyone considers the day of my birth to be that of my "resurrection," ignoring the true date.'

Gazing intently at the stars, Mirac continued to reflect to himself:

'Peacock… Southern Cross… El Dorado… The constellations are the same as those in my old world. I assume, therefore, that the celestial bodies and stars in the universe are identical to those of my previous life. The moon is the same as well. They may have different names, but aside from that, nothing seems to have changed. However, having not yet seen any maps of this world, I'm not sure that the countries are the same as those I knew. The landmasses might have different shapes. Therefore, I shouldn't assume that the so-called continent "Harmony" corresponds to a country or a nation in my world.'

Little Mirac, to check how much time had passed since the party and how long was left until the cake cutting, looked towards a grandfather clock hanging high on the right wall.

'Oh right, I almost forgot: I can't read the time from clocks with hands. Tsk, damn math!'

After emitting a sound similar to a huff of anger, since he still couldn't really do that, Mirac slipped back into his thoughts:

'Another aspect to reflect on is TIME. It seems to flow just like in my old world. Moreover, living up to today, I've noticed that the annual division is identical to that of the Gregorian calendar: the hours, days, months, and seasons are all the same! But if I think about it, I wonder how such a thing is possible. Given the strange language and religion of this world, I expected a dating system to be completely different. Could Pope Gregory XIII somehow have existed in this other world? Or is it just a coincidence that the calendars are the same?'

He paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts, his eyes wandering as if searching for the answer written in the air.

'Hmm... No, they're too identical to be a mere coincidence! And the first hypothesis is also unlikely to be true.'

Mirac yawned, a sign of fatigue and boredom in the face of the continuous stream of well-wishes from the guests.

Unbeknownst to him, the time for cutting the succulent cake was fast approaching. But with nothing else to do while waiting, Mirac returned to his bubble of reflection:

'Still referring to the year I have lived here, I have clearly noticed the absence of holidays such as Christmas, Easter, Holocaust Remembrance Day, or Independence Day. This fact, rather obvious and predictable, gave me the absolute certainty some time ago that the history of this world is completely different from the one I know. Therefore, with a different religion, language, history, and who knows how many other different things, why is the annual division the same as in my old world?'

Perhaps Mirac was getting lost in an unsolvable riddle, mulling over a detail that might actually prove to be unimportant.

But just when he was about to let it go, a sudden and bold idea crossed his mind: a crazy theory, but strangely the most plausible, no matter how absurd it might seem.

'Could it be that... the calendar was introduced by someone like me? Or rather... by someone who was reincarnated into this world just like I did?!'