The Starting Point

The void that had been my only companion was suddenly ripped away, replaced by a new sensation: sound. Muffled voices, speaking in a language I couldn't understand, filtered through the haze of light that engulfed me. I struggled to make sense of it, to grasp onto something tangible.

Slowly, I forced my eyes open, squinting against the brightness. The world came into focus, and I found myself staring up at a beautiful woman with long, flowing silver hair and skin as white as snow. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of green, sparkled with warmth and joy. She smiled at me, and in that moment, I felt an unexpected sense of comfort.

Next to her stood a giant of a man, nearly three meters tall, with broad shoulders and muscles that looked like they could crush stone. His face was rugged, framed by a wild mane of hair and a thick beard. Despite his intimidating appearance, his eyes were soft, and he was laughing heartily, talking to the woman with an ease that suggested deep familiarity.

I tried to sit up, to speak, but my body felt foreign and unresponsive. I realized with a jolt that I was no longer in my own body. I was smaller, weaker, like a newborn.

The room around me was like something out of a medieval fantasy. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and the walls were made of rough stone. Swords and shields hung from hooks, alongside a massive helmet and a giant axe that seemed to dwarf everything else. A large, flickering lamp cast a warm glow, creating dancing shadows on the walls.

The man and woman continued their conversation, their voices melodic and rhythmic, though the words were incomprehensible to me. But there was one word I understood, repeated several times with evident affection: "Rain."

It took me a moment to realize they were referring to me. "Rain"—a name, my new name. The giant man leaned down, his enormous hand gently caressing my tiny form as he repeated the word "Rain" with pride and love. His touch sent a shiver of warmth through me, a sensation I had never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I felt cherished, valued, and truly seen.

My new mother's smile widened even further, her eyes brimming with happiness as she gazed down at me. It was a look of pure love, a gaze that spoke volumes without saying a word. Tears welled up in my eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions coursing through me. This was a feeling I had never known—a feeling of belonging, of being wanted and cared for.

As my tears flowed, the mother and father suddenly grew concerned. The mother said something to the father, her tone conveying worry, while the father's expression turned sheepish. Then, as if on cue, the mother burst into laughter, and the father joined in, their voices filling the room with warmth and joy. It seemed the mother had chided the father for inadvertently scaring me with his imposing appearance, and their laughter washed away any lingering tension.

Days passed in a blur of confusion and wonder. I lay in a cozy cradle, surrounded by soft blankets and gentle light. My new mother tended to me with the utmost care, her every touch filled with love. But I couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at me. Before, I was just a beggar, always on the run, hiding from others to avoid being harmed. This level of care was new to me, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

The father of this body, with his booming laugh and larger-than-life presence, often burst into the room with a force that startled me. He would scoop me up in his massive arms, swinging me around and planting kisses on my cheeks. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at his exuberance, unused to such displays of affection. But when the mother saw this, she always rescued me from the giant man's enthusiastic embrace, playfully scolding him and kicking him out of the house. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight, relieved to be saved from the father's overwhelming affection.

Mealtimes were a revelation. The food was unlike anything I had ever tasted—rich, flavorful, and abundant. My mother's cooking was a marvel, and my father's appetite was legendary. They ate with gusto, sharing stories and laughter as they savored each bite. It was a joyous, chaotic affair, and I couldn't help but marvel at the warmth and love that filled our home.