The first, faint lights of morning seeped through the stone walls of the orphanage, barely breaking the dimness of the dormitory. Aurelion opened his eyes in his rough wooden crib, which felt as if it were carved from stone. He was six months old now. The past four months had been the first months of his captivity in this world. He could move his arms and legs, sit up with support, and even crawl clumsily. It wasn't enough for him to go wherever his headstrong will dictated, but at least he could move. A tiny mercy.
Cries and whimpers had already begun to rise from around him. But there was one that drowned out the others with its shrill, never ending scream. Aurelion hissed inwardly. "Ah, she's started again, the Dormitory Siren... I wonder when her lungs will finally give out? That's one of the greatest mysteries I haven't managed to solve in these four months."
He looked around. Cribs were lined up side by side. Most were simple and functional like his. The orphanage had clearly been built hastily after the war, but it wasn't a complete den of misery either. The Northerners' pragmatism showed itself here. The walls were sturdy, the floor relatively clean, and the staff seemed to be trying to meet at least the basic needs of the children. Still, this place was a prison. It wasn't warm or comfortable. İnstead, it was crowded, noisy, and chaotic. Especially his own body... "Ah, this useless pile of flesh and bone! Zero control! When I think of my soft bed and quiet room from the past..." He gritted his teeth, or rather, his still toothless gums.
The door creaked open, and a few Northern women in thick clothes entered. They were all familiar by now. They dispersed methodically into the dormitory, heading for the cribs. With mechanical movements, they changed the babies' diapers, dried them with rough cloths, and murmured a few meaningless words to some.
Aurelion waited for his turn. And he hated waiting. Especially when, like now, there was an urgent "situation." He needed to be changed, he felt it with his entire being, but all he could do was wait. "Damn it! The most humiliating part of this body is this uncontrolled excretory system. Whenever it wants, wherever it wants... No warning, no possibility of control! My body just betrays me," he grumbled inwardly, fidgeting helplessly.
Finally, one of the women approached his crib. She was a middle aged woman with grey hair carelessly tied up, dark circles under her eyes, but a look that wasn't entirely indifferent. Aurelion recognized her. Her name was Helga, he thought, she often tended to this dormitory.
Helga leaned over the side of the crib. "Ah! So you were here, little pointy ear," she said, her voice tired. Aurelion now recognized the term "pointy ear" and knew what it meant. It annoyed him every time.
The woman examined him. Aurelion, as usual, looked back at her silently, with his piercing golden eyes. Helga smiled faintly. "You never make a sound, do you? Always looking so well behaved. I swear, you're the best behaved child in the entire orphanage."
Aurelion laughed inwardly with scorn. "Well behaved? You foolish woman! I'm just not wasting my energy, and I'm observing my surroundings, that's all." He knew the word 'well behaved. He had associated it with 'being quiet.'
Helga reached in to lift him from the crib and, at the same time, pushed aside his blanket. The sharp smell that hit her nose made her wrinkle her face. The tired smile from before vanished. She grumbled as she undid Aurelion's diaper. The sight that greeted her was apparently not very pleasant.
The woman shook her head. "For the gods' sake... Well behaved, yes..." she said, then looked at Aurelion again and continued, her voice a mix of teasing and a crude joke, "...but you're also the one who shits his diaper the most in the entire orphanage!"
At that moment, the dam of all of Aurelion's pent up anger burst. Four months of intensive language immersion had been enough for him to understand, without a shadow of a doubt, what the woman was saying and implying. SHIT HIS DIAPER THE MOST?! This humiliation! This crude accusation! She was mocking him for a biological necessity beyond his control!
"YOU IGNORANT, RUDE NORTHENER! THIS ISN'T MY FAULT! THIS IS THE RESULT OF YOUR INADEQUATE CARE ROUTINE AND THESE DISGUSTING, PRIMITIVE DIAPERS! HOW DARE YOU MOCK MY HELPLESS STATE?!" he roared inwardly. He clenched his fists, his face must have been red with anger, but the only sound that came out was a slight whimper. "Just you wait, Helga! One day... One day when I've fully mastered this damned language and freed myself somewhat from this wretched body, I will personally teach you the meaning of hygiene and refined taste! Perhaps for the first lesson, I'll shove the plans for the new sewage system I design down your throat!"
Helga, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him, thinking "these elves are so sensitive," had already begun to clean him with a weary expression. She finished her task with her usual mechanical movements, tied on a clean diaper, and placed Aurelion back in his crib.
Aurelion was left there seething. Clean, yes, but his spirit foamed with rage. This woman... this orphanage... this world... They were all testing his patience. And his patience was about to run out. But first... first, he had to learn their language and get past this damned crawling stage. Revenge, after all, was a dish best served cold. And it seemed his dish would be getting much colder.
After about half an hour of chaos, crying, and a diaper changing marathon, all the babies were finally ready for the day. The caregivers picked them up one by one and carried them to the common hall, where the morning cacophony echoed at a much higher decibel. This was the orphanage's beating heart; or rather, its stomach, rumbling with hunger.
Aurelion watched from the caregiver's shoulder. Babies like him, swaddled or slightly older and able to sit, were placed on simple floor mats and low wooden stools. The older children had already started a race for spots.
The hall was utter chaos. A few burly children, probably five or six, pushed smaller ones, gulping food while eyeing their neighbor's bowl. There were criers, shouters, and spoon bangers. Caregivers occasionally intervened with a sudden slap to an unruly child's nape or head. But a few tired caregivers weren't enough for so many children. Chaos was the hall's natural state.
Aurelion watched from his temporary low crib, a look of world weary resignation on his face. "Primitive," he thought. "A microcosm where the strong crush the weak, basic instincts reign. That blond haired, pig like brat... Zero leadership, all brute force." As he waited for the sea of mud they called 'food' to arrive.
And there it came. The same grey, sticky, unidentifiable mush, served in a metal bowl, practically thrown before him. Aurelion eyed it with disgust. Flags of rebellion rose. "No! I eat it myself this time! I'd rather die!"
The first caregiver approached, dipped a spoon, and offered it. Aurelion was resolute, shaking his head vigorously, lips pressed tight, eyes squeezed shut. Resistance!
The novice caregiver, surprised and a little panicked, mumbled, "Come on... Open up... Nice mush..." Aurelion resisted. But then, the savior arrived.
"Is there a problem, Lena?" Helga's tired but firm voice. Lena mumbled, "He doesn't want to eat, Aunt Helga."
Helga stood over Aurelion, looking at the full bowl and his tightly shut mouth. "No fussing, little man," she said, her voice sharper. "Everyone finishes their food. Open up!"
Aurelion stubbornly resisted. The last straw for Helga. She grabbed his tiny chin, her bony fingers too strong for a six-month-old. Her thumb pressed his lower lip down, forcing his mouth open.
"You cruel, filthy, wicked woman!" Aurelion's inner voice roared. Anger and humiliation from losing control, his will disregarded, rose in his throat. Helga, unhesitating, shoved the spoonful of mush into his forced open mouth.
As the tasteless, sticky mush spread on his tongue, Aurelion, normally enduring, gagged with uncontrolled rage and disgust. But it wasn't enough to expel the mush.
Helga didn't back down, shoving a second spoonful in. "See, not so bad," she said, impatience clear in her voice. "Come on, let's finish this."
Aurelion was forced to give in, swallowing helplessly. The victor, once again, was the cruel world and its representor Helga.
When the torture ended, Aurelion lay in his crib, angry and exhausted. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to suppress his rage. Then, a familiar silhouette. Linnea.
The woman with glasses and a yellow bun, seemingly in charge, walked the hall with papers, giving instructions. Aurelion focused on her. Different. More organized, intelligent, important. He tried to catch her words, picking out "list," "stock," "doctor," "Roric." His ears perked at "Roric."
Just then, Linnea pulled aside the blond, burly brat. She scolded him in a tone that was extremely clear and firm. The boy grumbled, then hung his head. "Hah! That's it," Aurelion thought. "Brute force isn't always enough. Authority. And intelligence. Interesting."
As Linnea walked away, her eyes briefly met Aurelion's. A short, thoughtful expression, then gone. She turned to another paper. Aurelion caught the glance. "She notices me. But what's she thinking? A threat? Or just a headache?"
Later, after post meal cleanup, caregivers took crawling-stage children from their cribs. Freedom of movement, at least. Aurelion, placed on the floor, looked around. A corner of the hall was for his age group: simple wooden toys, old mats. Limited freedom, but freedom.
Placed on the floor, Aurelion looked around. The other brats were predictable, chewing on blocks, cloth, or each other's feet. Aurelion sighed inwardly.
Then, something different: a palm sized stone, matte, deep dark green, lay among the toys. Irregular shape, smooth surface. Not an ordinary pebble. An indefinable 'intrigue.' "What's this?" he thought. "Too different for a toy." His analytical engine started. He had to look closer.
He crawled with determination, arms and legs not fully coordinated, but his goal clear. Halfway there, he noticed another movement: a chubby child, a few months older, also heading for the stone, letting out an excited "Ooooh!" and speeding up.
A tiny race began. Aurelion gritted his teeth, speeding up. His controlled crawling initially gave him the lead. The stone was almost at his fingertips! But the other child, drawn more strongly to something from the stone, crawled faster, more erratically, and overtook him at the last moment.
"No!" Aurelion screamed inwardly. The chubby child reached the stone seconds before him, picked it up, waved it nonsensically, then tried to bring it to his drooling mouth.
"NEVER!" Aurelion lunged, grabbing the stone just as the child was about to mouth it. The chubby child, surprised then angered, tried to pull it back. Aurelion held on. A ridiculous but serious tug-of-stone began.
The bigger child initially pulled Aurelion back. "Time for a trick," he thought. He quickly put his other hand on the stone, using all his tiny strength to pull it with a sudden, unexpected movement. His opponent fell on his bottom.
Victory! Aurelion clutched the stone, pressing it to his chest. With momentary joy, he raised it, letting out a proud, meaningless "Guuuuu!"
The scuffle attracted attention. At his peak of triumph, Aurelion met a pair of blue eyes: Linnea.
"Oh shit," Aurelion thought, his cry cut short to a "gu?".
Linnea quickly came over, looked at the stone. A slight frown. "You can't put that in your mouth, little elf," she said, skillfully taking it from his clenched fingers.
Aurelion's raised hand dangled. Utter disappointment. Linnea, turning the stone, glanced briefly at Aurelion's empty palm, her eyes lingering a fraction of a second on the faint golden Scale Sigil. Her expression was hard to read. A brief pause, then her professional mask returned.
But looking at the stone again, her expression changed, brows furrowing. She turned to the caregivers, her voice sharper. "What is this energy stone doing here?! How many times have I told you to be careful! What if one of them had swallowed it?" Aurelion just watched.
"Energy stone?" Aurelion repeated inwardly. "So that's its name. And it's dangerous. Interesting... Very interesting. And that woman... she looked at my hand again." New questions formed. This world might be more complex and dangerous than he'd estimated. And he was part of this complexity.
As the last lights of day filtered through, the common hall calmed. Dinner chaos over, children played quietly or dozed. Aurelion sat on a mat, lost in thought, the dark green energy stone on his mind. How it had slipped away! Won in a fair fight, then stolen by the woman with glasses.
Just then, a familiar silhouette: Captain Roric. No heavy armor, but his stern soldierly air remained. He stood aside, surveying the hall, especially Aurelion's corner, with his usual expressionless face.
Aurelion noticed. "That rude warrior again... Regularly comes and stares. What does he want?"
Roric's solitude didn't last. Linnea approached. They spoke in low voices. Aurelion focused, trying to crawl closer. Luckily, other children were tired, not blocking him or chewing his foot. He could hear more clearly.
"...any problems?" Roric asked, his voice short and sharp.
Linnea shook her head. "No, Captain. He's growing." Her eyes shifted to Aurelion. "But... he's different."
Roric's brows furrowed slightly. "Different how?"
Linnea paused, searching for words. "Not like other babies. Quiet, yes, but not vacant. He observes. Constantly analyzing. And... learns quickly." She paused, then added, "It's as if... he's too intelligent for his age."
Aurelion heard, smiling inwardly with scorn. "So you finally noticed, Linnea. Yes, I'm intelligent. More than this horde of brats, probably more than you lot. But will knowing this help me, or create danger?" Linnea finding him 'different' flattered his pride but also rang an alarm. Being different could mean being a target.
Roric listened expressionlessly, then looked at Aurelion, his gaze more intent. "The War Chieftain is taking a special interest in him," he said simply. "Keep an eye on him."
"The War Chieftain... The silver-haired, clawed giant. Still interested," Aurelion thought. "Why? What did he see? That faint mark on my palm? Or something else?" Unnerving.
He made a decision: confront them. Maybe get a reaction, a clue. He crawled towards them. They noticed.
Aurelion stopped before them, looking seriously at Roric, then Linnea. He opened his mouth.
The sound that came out was: "Ba... da... gu?".
No change on Roric's face. He just kept looking. Linnea smiled faintly, stroked Aurelion's head. "Yes, sweetie, you're here. But playtime's almost over, bedtime soon."
Aurelion's grandeur deflated. Frustration. Not understood. He grumbled inwardly. "Futile... Must find a way to communicate. Or a more effective method." Linnea firmly turned him back.
That night, as the orphanage lay in deep silence, Aurelion was a storm of silent thought within his crib. The day's frustrations had only sharpened his resolve. This helplessness, this ignorance. They were temporary.
His golden eyes fixed on an unseen future. "This body is a cage, this world a puzzle," he seethed inwardly. "But cages can be broken, and puzzles can be solved."
The memory of the energy stone, Linnea's knowing glances, Roric's scrutiny, and the War Chieftain's mysterious interest. All were pieces he would eventually fit together. They were all connected to him.
"I will grow stronger. These muscles will develop. This mind will absorb everything," he vowed. "Every slight, every mystery, every obstacle will fuel me. One day, I will not be a helpless babe at the mercy of others. I will have power."