Towards the beginning of light

I'd spent most of my days trying to learn as much as I could from my mother's nightly stories. She would gently caress my ears, trying to lull me to sleep—but the further her story went, the more curious I got. I intently listened to every word she said. Whenever she stopped too early I flail my arms in anger hoping she would continue.

My full name was Kael Aelwyn—my father had told me it was given by my late grandmother, who had died before I was born. Aelwyn meant "blessed light." The title was bestowed by a former king as a pledge of loyalty, during the height of my grandfather's glory days when he served as Duke at the edge of the kingdom. But after he lost his life in a war between the kingdoms of Elyndor and Celinor, our family was stripped of its nobility and began living as commoners, which gave me the indication that this world operated under the same flawed hierarchy I once ruled over.

My parents' gazes held a mix of intrigue and wonder, as though they were looking at something precious yet incomprehensible. I could only attempt to cross my arms in comprehension; the tender look on their faces told me everything without so much as a word. I couldn't internalize the warmth I felt.

What was it? This feeling...

Would they empathize… if they knew I wasn't truly their son?

My parents didn't stop cooing at me. My mother shot my father a teasing look and nudged at him, saying the ladies should be careful around me—that I'd be a lady-killer one day. She called me her "cute little potato." I often let out a small sigh at her words. But after catching a glimpse of myself in a small circular mirror made of reflective plastic—I had to admit... I was a cute potato. I had my mother's shiny silver hair, which gave me an elegant touch, my father's gentle dark eyes were noteworthy, and my cheeks were undeniably chubby.

But then again... why would I do something so harsh to a lady?

Somehow, my father had managed to convince my mother to let him take care of me for the day. Maybe she was just tired of his constant whining. My father was practically skipping as he walked, grinning from ear to ear while cradling me in his right arm. I, on the other hand, had to fight the urge to puke up the milk I'd just drunk from all the bouncing movement he made. The moment we stepped inside our shop, he gently yanked me up in front of his face and placed me in a square wooden infant cage padded with soft cloth at the bottom then he looked at me with that idiotic grin of his, like he'd just granted me an honor, and said,

"Your papa was prepared for this day, so I made you a bed!"

Yaa thanks father!

After a while, various people passed by—some wore shiny iron armor from head to toe, with swords hanging at their waists. It was expected for knights to carry weapons, but even those in worn-out clothes were armed. From what I observed, I learned one thing: in this world, weapons were freely allowed.

The more I drank in information, the more I found myself pondering—forcing my tiny brain to understand everything I could. I had no idea how my father knew I was curious regarding new things, but every now and then, he'd sit me on his lap and tell me stories from his youth with his friends—most of them were just glorified ramblings about how amazing he was. Only a few were actually useful.

Whatever that strange little fluffy creature was, I could've sworn it chuckled at my inner thoughts like it could actually understand them. Even when my parents chatted about giving Fluf a bath, he would instantly run off and hide somewhere.

The days passed quickly, and Fluf's behavior grew more suspicious. At first, I thought it was just my infant imagination—but soon, he proved me wrong.

With nothing better to do, I crawled toward my father's study room. I bumped my head against the door to push it open—and what I saw made me raise a brow, Fluf was lying on his back, one leg crossed over the other, holding a book and actively flipping through the pages. The moment he noticed me, he froze for a moment and immediately dropped the book and began pretending, licking his fur.

I sat on my butt and stared at him with a deadpan face.