THE FALLEN HERO

Chapter 3: Rebirth

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Warmth enveloped me. Gentle. Comforting. As I slowly opened my eyes, my vision blurred, and my body felt weak. I felt... strange. I was cradled in someone's arms-fragile and small. Blinking against the soft light, I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

The first thing I saw was a face-a man, likely around 28 or 30, staring down at me with wide, joyful, almost excessively happy eyes. His face was so close I could feel his breath.

Wait... what? Who is this guy?

Confusion swirled in my mind. Where was I? Who was this man? And why on earth was I being held like this?

Before I could think further, the man's face began moving closer. His lips pursed slightly as if... as if he was about to kiss me.

HEY! HEY! What are you trying to do here?! WAIT! STOP! I'm a straight guy!

Panic surged through me. I tried to move my hands to push him away, but they felt heavy-no, impossibly weak. My thoughts raced. No way, dude! I can't give you my first kiss!

Summoning every ounce of strength I had, I lifted one trembling hand. Just as he was about to plant a kiss on my face, I placed my tiny hand over his lips, stopping him in his tracks.

Phew. That was close.

As I stopped him, I tried to take in my surroundings. Glancing around, I noticed a woman to my left, leaning back on a bed. Her face was slick with sweat, her expression a mix of exhaustion and disbelief. Beside her, an elderly woman sat by the bedside, equally stunned.

Everyone in the room froze. Their wide, shocked eyes bore into me, disbelief written all over their faces.

My gaze snapped back to the man holding me. Tears welled up in his eyes, his face a mixture of joy and... confusion? As I stared at him, the weight of realization crashed down on me.

My hand-it wasn't just weak. It was tiny. Baby-sized.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no...

My breath hitched as the pieces clicked into place. The woman on the bed-she must be my mother, who had just given birth to me. The old lady? Probably a midwife.

And the man holding me?

Oh crap.

This should be my father.

I now rested in my mother's arms. Her expression was soft, filled with unconditional love. She brushed a tender kiss against my forehead and murmured something soothing-her voice like a lullaby. The words, however, were lost on me.

The midwife-the old lady-had already left, leaving just the three of us in the room.

I shifted my gaze to my father. He was sitting in the corner of the room, his back turned to us, staring at the wall. His shoulders were slumped, his head hung low.

I think I really hurt his feelings.

The realization hit me hard. If I were in his place-if my firstborn child pushed me away during our very first meeting-I'd probably feel devastated too. I don't know exactly what he's feeling, since I've never been a father myself, but I can tell he's struggling with sadness right now.

This whole situation is... complicated.

The midwife had grown suspicious earlier. When I instinctively pushed my father's face away, her expression froze in shock. I mean, I can't blame her-it's not every day you see a newborn baby moving their hands deliberately or reacting like a full-grown adult.

I must've overdone it.

If I don't start acting like a normal baby soon, I'll attract even more suspicion. The last thing I want is to be labeled some kind of anomaly right after being born.

So I used my trump card: The Baby Cry.

When everyone was shocked earlier by my deliberate movements, I cried as loud as I could to redirect their attention and act like a normal newborn. It worked-for now.

But my father...

Now he thinks his newborn baby hates him. That's why he's sitting in the corner of the room, drowning in sadness. It's hard to watch him like this, but I don't know how to fix it. Not yet, at least.

Dear, don't be so sad. Babies do things like that... at least the crying part, I think. Hehe.

My mother's voice was soft but carried a nervous chuckle. Clearly, she hadn't forgotten the moment I moved my hands and shoved my father's face away. Seriously, Mom? That moment was already bad enough without your little chuckle.

Still, she sounded optimistic. "Come now, dear. The baby's calm now. The little one won't cry again, promise."

But my father remained in the corner, unmoving, his face buried in his hands.

And then, he started sobbing.

Ah, crap. I didn't mean to make him this sad. Was it really that bad? Did I crush his spirit so thoroughly that he'd never recover?

The room grew tense. I glanced up at my mother, trying to gauge her reaction.

Oh no.

Her expression had changed. Her soft, loving gaze was gone. Instead, her eyes now held the wrath of a queen whose patience had just run out.

"Dear," she said, her voice calm yet terrifying, "stop acting like a baby yourself and come here."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

I turned my gaze toward my father. The poor guy stiffened, visibly shivering under her tone.

Suddenly, my mother grabbed a pillow from the bed.

Wait. What's she doing?

Before I could process it, she hurled the pillow at my father with the precision of a professional pitcher.

WHUMP.

It smacked him right in the head, sending him tumbling from his chair.

"Dear," my mother said again, her tone like an overlord summoning her servant, "come here. I said now."

My father scrambled to his feet like a soldier caught slacking during training. "Yes, ma'am! Right away!"

If I could laugh, I'd be rolling right now. But I just stayed in my mother's arms, eyes wide, silently begging my father: Hurry up, man. Just come here already! I promise not to cry. Just please, for both our sakes, don't make her madder.

My father practically sprinted to the bedside, his movements awkward but obedient. As he approached, my mother's expression softened, and I felt her grip on me relax.

There. Crisis averted. For now, at least.

My father came close to us, his tear-streaked face lighting up with concern. He rushed over to my mother's side, his sadness momentarily forgotten.

My mother cradled me closer, her voice soft and reassuring. My father leaned in hesitantly, as if asking for permission to hold me again. My mother nodded, passing me to him carefully.

I stared up at him, watching as he held me with trembling hands. His tearful smile returned, and I could feel his overwhelming love.

I braced myself as he leaned in once more.

This time, I didn't stop him.

His lips brushed my forehead, warm and gentle.

Okay, I thought, you win this round, Dad.

As my father held me close, his arms steady and warm, I felt an unfamiliar but comforting sensation swell within me. His tears had stopped, replaced by a gentle smile that radiated a kind of love I'd never experienced in my previous life. My mother leaned in beside him, her expression soft and serene, as though the weight of the world had vanished the moment I entered theirs.

This... this was what I had been missing. A warmth I never knew existed.

I lay there, cradled between them, their love wrapping around me like a shield. In my past life, I had been surrounded by people but always felt so alone. Here, even in this tiny room with just the three of us, I felt more complete than I ever had before.

The silence was tender, broken only by the gentle hum of my mother's lullaby. Her voice was delicate, weaving a melody that resonated deep within me, calming every lingering doubt and fear.

My father gently ran a finger over my tiny hand, his touch hesitant, as though he feared breaking me. "So small," he whispered. "So precious..." His words trembled, filled with awe and wonder.

My mother chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. "Of course, our baby is precious. Look at those eyes-they're filled with so much life already."

Their words echoed in my mind, each one settling into a corner of my heart I hadn't realized was empty.

I don't know what kind of future awaits me in this world, but for now, I have them. A family.

My family.

As I gazed up at their faces, I promised myself something.

This life, this chance-no, this gift-I won't waste it.

As my father held me close, his arms steady and warm

My father looked at me, his gaze filled with emotion-love, pride, awe. Then he spoke, his voice trembling yet resolute, as though declaring something of profound importance.

"From this day forward, you shall be known as Argus. Argus Xandrius."

The name echoed in the room, carrying with it a sense of destiny. Argus. It wasn't just a name; it felt like a promise, a declaration of my place in this world.

My mother's lips curled into a soft smile, and she repeated the name as though savoring its sound. "Argus Xandrius... Our little Argus."

My father's hands trembled slightly as he held me higher, his voice filled with reverence. "Argus means vigilance, strength. And Xandrius... it carries the legacy of our family. May you carry these traits with honor and pride, my son."

My son.

Hearing those words stirred something deep inside me. In my past life, I had been a nobody, a shadow drifting through a world that didn't notice me. But here, I was someone.

Their son.

My father lowered me gently back into my mother's arms, and she kissed my forehead with a tenderness that made my heart ache in the best way possible. "You are our pride, Argus," she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.

I could see it in their eyes-hope, love, and an unshakable belief in me.

I didn't know what kind of future awaited me in this world, but for now, I had them. A family.

My family.

As I gazed up at their faces, I promised myself something.

This life, this chance-no, this gift-I wouldn't waste it.

My father leaned closer, brushing another gentle kiss on my forehead. My mother rested her cheek against my tiny hand. They were both here, fully present, their love evident in every gesture.

I didn't know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: I would cherish this life. Every moment, every experience, every person I'd come to meet.

This is where my journey begins.

As Argus Xandrius.

With them.

With love.

And with hope.