Beginning

In the beginning, there was a solitary radiance. It was accompanied by a gentle sensation of weightlessness, a fleeting moment of repose. There existed a comforting warmth, coupled with a subtle yearning to surrender to the unknown.

Surrender? Surrender to what?

Before a chance to face such a question came along, a tremor coursed through him. In an instant, he became aware of the sensation of cold.

The icy touch seeped into his being, penetrating his tender flesh. Thus, a newborn's delicate frame experienced its inaugural encounter with the brisk, unyielding air of the world outside the womb.

***

The color. The color that spread across my field of vision. The foremost notion that pervaded my consciousness was 'white'. As my brows knitted together, I tried my best to steady my focus.

After a couple of seconds, I slowly appeared to find myself, as I was lost in contemplation. It transpired that within the recesses of my cognition, there existed two distinct sets of memories.

One was of the body in which I resided in currently. Whose inaugural remembrance entailed a fixed gaze at the pallid expanse of the chamber's white ceiling, which was currently above me.

The other set of memories belonged to me, Tristan Carter, a Minister of State in the U.S. government, who suspiciously found himself here, in this predicament, after going to sleep upon a typical day of work.

Or at least I think this set of memories belongs to me—it feels fuzzy when I try to discern between the two. I feel as if I could be either of the sets of memories, but I truly feel that Tristan Carter's side is more dominant. That may be due to it housing considerably more memories than the other.

'What the…'

Just as I was going to swear, I looked around and saw the interiors of this dark room. I saw unknown patterns through the faint light.

The interior was completely different from the buildings that were on Earth. My mouth naturally widened because of the things I'd never seen before.

'Where am I? Why am I here? I'm sure I was in my room when I fell asleep last night.'

Although my room also had a white ceiling such as the one this room had, it was far from similar. The one in front of me was littered with elaborate designs and engraving, not to mention the golden chandelier that I can clearly see from the side of my eye.

This is not my bedroom, nor any room in my house.

'Could this be the White House? No, that wouldn't make any sense. Besides, not even the White House is this elaborate.

'Then… was I kidnapped? Those abhorrent leeches of the Congress surely held venom in their heart for my quick ascension in the political field, but even they wouldn't operate so boldly, as to result to kidnapping a minister. Wait…'

As I continued to rummage my mind for even the smallest clue of my situation, something caught my attention—no, in fact it seized and demanded my attention.

The hand. The hand that looked to belong to a toddler; perhaps a child even younger than that. The hand that I could see was definitely not mine. It 100% didn't belong to me. And yet, when I squeezed and balled my fist, the hand did as well.

There was also a mental notion present that felt almost as if it was lulling me into the believe that I had always had such small hands. That I'd been born in such a way.

'What the hell?!' As this thought resounded within my mind, I involuntarily emitted an incoherent groan, resonating loudly enough for its echoes to reverberate throughout the room.

It emerged as a high-pitched utterance, and my mouth with the absence of teeth blew a flurry of minuscule bubbles of saliva, bursting in swift succession and moistening my plump cheeks.

It became painfully obvious at this point. Although the concept made zero sense to me, I wasn't one who liked to delude myself. I was a baby; that much was certain. The pressing question remained, however: "Why?"

Rationally pondering the possibilities, I couldn't conjure up many plausible explanations. Yet, a peculiar notion nudged at my consciousness, despite its inherent illogicality.

It was extremely illogical, but unlike myself at the moment, I chose to entertain it, allowing the whimsical thought to take hold.

'Let's say I lost my body due to some odd, unexplainable reason, or worse—I died. Does that mean I was given new life? Reincarnated? Or perhaps I was born as a baby with previous, unaltered memories?'

Such fantasies and daydreams had long been relegated to the depths of my mind, buried beneath the weight of my responsibilities and aspirations.

With the passage of time, the pursuit of higher education and the demands of my political career had rendered such indulgences in fictional realms wearisome and frivolous.

Games, movies, friendships, and social endeavors were all relegated to the minimum, or completely removed from my life entirely. Anything that did not align with my goals and ambitions in the realm of politics was suppressed and confined to the recesses of my consciousness.

Yet those thoughts returned, more intrusive and compelling than ever before. They seemed to hold a grain of truth that outweighed any other explanation I could conjure. Not much longer, my mind made a swift switch, and I began to ponder over such a scenario.

'If I had indeed passed away after I went to sleep last night, the only logical cause could have been poison, considering my excellent health. Moreover, given the animosity of certain members in Congress, poisoning was definitely a more plausible course of action than kidnapping, as much as I despise entertaining such notions.'

Accepting this fact was easy. Besides, I had no intention of burdening my mind with futile speculations about my killer's identity; it held no relevance now that I was no longer in the picture.

And to be honest, I couldn't care less about it. I had done far worse things to climb the ladder of power, and I would have gone even further if it meant advancing my position. Such was the ways of politics.

Not to mention, dying unconsciously would be a blessing to anyone. Anyone who disliked pain. Anyone who were afraid of death. Anyone, but me at the moment.

The demise in such a manner did not come without its inherent drawbacks. And that became much more obvious as I continued to throw my eyes all over my surroundings.

Confusion. Confusion plagued my mind. And if there was anything I harbored with utmost disdain, it was the imposition of capricious and irrepressible situations. So as I assessed my current circumstances, questions ran amok in my mind.

Abruptly, a distinct clicking sound resonated from the depths of the room, reaching the sensitive ears of a baby's body, in which I resided, snatching all my senses in its direction.

Unfortunately, my feeble frame lacked the capacity to swivel my head and ascertain the source of the sound. So instead, I had to resort to heavily relying on my keen sense of hearing to glean insights from my surroundings.

The click, resembling the opening and closing of a door, was succeeded by barely audible footsteps, barely imprinting themselves upon the floor.

Apparently a visitor had clandestinely entered the room, seemingly intent on evading detection, or perhaps underestimating the astuteness of what they perceived to be an ordinary newborn infant.

Regardless, after having already seamlessly faced the grim specter of death already, it instilled in me a newfound sense of vigilance.

I couldn't help but feel a tinge of wariness about the visitor. The notion that the visitor could potentially be an intruder or an assassin crept into my consciousness.

It would explain why they wanted to enter as stealthily as they had done. It also added that the house I was currently living in was also wealthy to some extent, or at least it appeared that way from what I could gather.

It wouldn't be a surprise if there might be something valuable in the house worth stealing, or worse, someone they wanted to harm.

As the footsteps drew nearer, my heart quickened its rhythm. It was remarkable how the human instinct could swiftly shift into a fight-or-flight response when faced with uncertainty and unfamiliarity.

Helplessness took hold of me. And the primal urge to either confront or escape the impending danger coursed through my tiny body, heightening my senses and sharpening my awareness.

Soon the figure of the visitor became clear, revealing the silhouette of a woman. Her presence cast a shadow over my body, obscuring any glimpse of her facial features.

The weight of anticipation pressed upon me, causing my breathing to quicken and my inhalations to grow shallower, as if each breath threatened to steal away my precious air.

Coincidently I could also hear a second pair of footsteps that had just entered the room as well. They were heavier, and sounded dull, different from the sound shoes would make when making contact with the floor.

Weirdly, a soothing warmness enveloped me, embracing me with an unexpected tranquility and stabilizing my heart rate. It was an odd feeling. One that my confused mind didn't have enough energy to think about.

By the time the woman had extended her arms and cradled me in her embrace, I felt completely calm. A profound sense of serenity washing over me, soothing my previously agitated state.

***

*"It seems Lord Sariel has indeed awakened. I had heard a noise from his room and panicked. Good thing I rushed here when I did, otherwise who knows what he would have done in here alone."*(Please, remember that '*' indicates words that the MC isn't able to understand.)

After saying these words, the woman, clearly dressed as a maidservant, looked over her shoulder at another figure who stood dutifully behind her and smiled.

*"Thank you for calming him down Chansey,"* she said.

The pink round figure smiled brightly as she blurted a cute high pitch response. "Chansey~"

Then she looked back down at the ebony haired boy in her arms. *"He looks so at peace now—"*

Before the maidservant could even finish her sentence she was caught off-guard by such an intense stare the baby was giving her Chansey. It was such a comically unnerving and odd expression for an infant baby to have, no matter how surprised he was.

***

My mind was going into overdrive at this point. My mind hadn't even taken into consideration that I couldn't understand the language the woman spoke a few seconds ago, and instead, I stared elsewhere.

What I could see in front of me made literally no sense at all. The short, almost stout figure standing behind the woman wasn't real. It couldn't be real—It was supposed to be fictional, made and created alongside a franchise by another human such as myself for kids and children all around the world.

'What the hell is a Chansey doing here?!'

Once again, my small mouth had blew some saliva bubbles involuntarily.