Light.
Blinding and all-encompassing. Not the soft glow of starlight or the deep shimmer of the void. This was warm, bright, real.
Then came the cold air. The sounds.
I gasped—automatically. For the first time in what felt like eternity... I breathed.
I blinked.
Wait—was I blinking?
Limbs. Movement. Sound. Touch.
And then, something odd.
I was being held—gently but securely—in the arms of someone in a white coat. Her face was blurred, her voice distant, but I could tell she was female. A nurse? No—a doctor. Her gloved hands adjusted a blanket around me, and I saw the glimmer of medical tools nearby.
I wasn't just alive.
I had been born.
"...Huh," I thought sluggishly. "So that's what the light at the end of the tunnel is."
If I still had the strength, I probably would've laughed.
"You know," I mused, "a lot of people are going to make jokes about this if they ever found out. 'The light at the end of the tunnel' was just a woman giving birth. Typical cosmic humor."
Everything was small now. My senses dulled but real. It was overwhelming in a way, but I was too focused on what came next to panic.
The doctor carried me gently and turned. That's when I saw her.
My new mother.
She looked young—barely in her twenties at most. Tired, clearly exhausted, but the kind of exhausted that came with peace, not misery. She had a strong face framed by long black hair that stuck slightly to her temples from sweat. But it was her eyes that truly caught me.
Bright crimson.
Not fierce like fire, but glowing softly—like embers kept warm in the hearth. Her eyes looked down at me with something I hadn't seen in lifetimes.
Love.
Hope.
Unfiltered care.
She didn't even speak yet, but I felt something in my chest twist... and then slowly unfurl.
I was drawn to her.
"This... this must be my new mother," I thought, awe creeping in. "She's... beautiful. Not just physically. She feels right."
Warmth enveloped me as she took me from the doctor's hands. Her embrace was soft but protective. Her breathing was shaky, but her touch never faltered.
And in that moment... I felt something I hadn't in a very long time.
Happiness.
Real. Raw. Happiness.
I wasn't numb.
I wasn't alone.
I was... alive.
The joy welled up so quickly it almost startled me. Was this what it was like? To be loved before earning it? To be cared for simply for existing?
I blinked up at her, feeling tears pricking the corner of my eyes—not from sadness, but from relief.
My heart thudded gently in my tiny chest.
"I'm alive," I thought. "And I have... a family."
Then her voice cut through my bliss, soft and confused.
"...Why isn't he crying?"
Her words made me freeze. "Right. Babies are supposed to cry, huh?"
The doctor stepped closer, examining me.
"There are some cases where a child is just quiet at birth. But we still need to make sure his lungs are working properly."
And then—
SMACK!
Right on my rear.
OW.
I yelped—not a full scream, but enough of a cry to satisfy medical standards. My little face scrunched up, and for a moment, I glared at the doctor with all the fury my tiny baby self could muster.
"You hit me," I growled internally. "Unforgivable."
But then the warmth returned.
My mother pulled me back into her chest, holding me closer, tighter, softer. Her body was like a safe cocoon, the rhythm of her heartbeat slowing mine.
I sniffled. Nuzzled deeper into her. Letting the pain fade.
"I'm happy," I thought again. "I finally... have a family."
Then her voice spoke again, just above a whisper.
"I promise, little one... I'll protect you. Love you. Forever."
I closed my eyes. The world faded to calm again.
"Now that I've seen my mom," I thought, letting out a tiny, content breath, "I don't need to experience what it's like to be a baby. So..."
I grinned internally.
"Peace out for now, Mom."
My consciousness faded inward, drawn to the familiar realm of my mindscape.
Just before everything went black, I heard her say it:
"His name... is John Silver."
"Not bad," I thought with a sleepy smirk. "Not bad at all."