The first thing I remembered was dying. That should be impossible.

  His soul settled gently, merging with this small, delicate body like the last piece of a puzzle. A faint pressure bloomed in his chest—a soft gasp, a reflexive breath. Somewhere in the distance, something beeped in response, like the world itself acknowledging his arrival. He opened his eyes for the first time—again—unsure what to expect after everything he'd experienced.

  Where am I? My chest still hurts. My arms won’t move right. Everything’s too bright—too loud. I don’t know what this place is. I just want to go back.

  An orb flickered softly, above a crowning baby, casting its light through a filamented magitech veil suspended over the birthing table like a glove guiding him from womb to world. The membrane pulsed faintly with stored Essentia, brushing against him like running your fingers across nylon fabric stretched too tight—buzzing, dry, and it didn't hurt, but enough to make him tense.

  He hovered weightless as a thin shimmer wrapped around his limbs, keeping him from thrashing while the others prepared the next steps.

  What is holding me? Is this magic? It doesn’t feel like the kind in stories. It’s tighter. Buzzier. Like static holding my skin in place.

  Immediately, cold air rushed into his lungs as something sharp and metallic cut cleanly through his connection to safety and comfort. He shivered uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the harshness of reality—cold air and wetness seeping into his skin, and rough textures scraping his fragile form.

  No air. Help! I can't cry, I can't breathe—it's like drowning without water.

  The merfolk nurse cupped the baby's fragile head as it emerged. Her third hand with glowing runes traced his shoulders to stabilize breath and Essentia. She spoke in a melodic, detached language.

  Okay—breathe. Just breathe. In. Out. There. Almost. It's shaky... but it's working.

  Still, the sleek metallic orb occasionally pulsing with sterile blue light coordinates the medical team’s movements. The nurses moved purposefully, their steps practiced. Their conversations had a strange harmony of syllables.

  What did he just say? Oh, this might be difficult; they don't speak English. Aion'dosil could have clued me in on the extent of non-humans in this world. But they look like professionals. That's a relief.

  Aside from the baby, a soft chime signaled the activation of a suspended UI display. Rows of transparent holograms flickered into view, each line pulsing with diagnostic data synced to his vitals. Jett didn’t know what the flickering lights meant—just that they watched him. Measured him. Somewhere, back in a life he barely remembered, he’d seen something like this in a doctor drama show. Only if it was with monsters and cybertech. Scary only when you realize they’re watching you.

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  None of this feels safe. Do they think this is normal? Because it isn’t. Not for me.

  The glowing hands moved closer, their touch sending jolts of strange sensation through him, causing his tiny body to tremble uncontrollably. His vision began to sharpen, exposing details of this unsettling creature—a face covered partially by a smooth mask, large eyes reflecting shades of silver and deep sea-green, shimmering scales shifting subtly along its neck and wrists.

  The nurse’s third arm twitched—smooth plating flickering with strange symbols. It wasn’t organic. Its joints whirred faintly, mechanical and deliberate. The shimmer of runes bled into the air like drifting embers. Beneath their collar, a broken-winged butterfly tattoo caught the light.

  Three-arm merfolk. We meet again. A tattoo… I know that. That's real ink. I know what that means back home. But here? No clue.

  He stiffened at every movement around him, feeling small compared to giants. One of the nurses stepped to the side, clearing space as another leaned in with a flick of her wrist—adjusting a suspended field rune just above his head, making sure he stayed floating in place.

  A nurse halfway through logging data, hesitated—just for a second—before continuing, her stylus trembling ever so slightly.

  The air shifted. The doctor had stepped closer, smoothly and without announcement, filling the quiet with a presence too exact to be incidental. The doctor was already staring at him. Jett’s gaze dropped to the doctor’s neck—just above the collar, where a faint tattoo curved into view. It looked almost like the nurse’s butterfly tattoo.

  Same mark. Same break in the wings. This isn’t just decoration. It's the same carved identity. That makes it worse.

  Jett’s breath caught. Everything about it looked wrong—too quiet. Like a giant bird trying to pretend it belonged in a place like this. It wasn’t human. And Jett didn’t know what that made him. Maybe it was something about the doctor’s body—tall, feathered, and distinctly avian dress in doctor's clothes. Maybe it was his elongated neck, or the way he tilted his head just ever so slightly to observe—like a predator sizing up a hatchling—that made Jett's body tense.

  I don’t know you. Why do you keep looking at me like that? Is it because you’re a bird? Do all your kind have those dead-looking eyes? Where are my parents? I don't have a beak; you're not my parent.

  A flicker of fear skittered through him, irrational and primal. His eyes flicked once toward a woman covered in sweat with moon-silver hair, but no words passed between them. The familiarity that lingered was buried beneath silence.

  Is that her? Is that my mom? I want her. Why isn’t she saying anything?

  His limbs went slack, and confusion bled into unease. He started to cry, sharp sounds bubbling out of him, not from pain, but from frustration and fear.

  "Krya fa sol?" The avian doctor’s voice was soft but unnerving. He didn’t blink. Just tilted his head slightly, as if recording the outcome of a test. "Selo va mir," the nurse replied softly, smiling down at Jett reassuringly.

  The containment shimmer dimmed as a nurse canceled the spell, letting gravity take over. Wrapped tenderly by another assistant in a soft, finely woven blanket imbued with comforting warmth, Jett was passed carefully into his mother's waiting arms. Instantly, her familiar heartbeat calmed the tempest of his fears.

  I didn’t understand her words. I didn’t even know if she could see how scared I was. But that warmth—familiar, steady—wrapped around me like something I’d forgotten and now found again.

  A bearded man—his father—stepped forward urgently, relief and wonder etched deeply into his features. He reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he touched Jett's tiny fingers gently.

  Hey—wait. I just got to Mom. Don’t take me yet. Let me stay here a little longer.

  "Mirialos," his father whispered, voice thick with awe and relief. "Velis ka shorin."

  Jett gazed at him, the words unintelligible yet rich with warmth and reassurance. His skin was strange—smooth in some places, but with patterned ridges like hardened scales. Jett didn’t understand it. His ears weren’t quite human either—longer and swept back slightly, with soft, ridged frills at the base, like gill-fans that didn’t move. A trait that felt inherited.

  Is that… him? He doesn’t look like me. But I feel it.

  The thought brought no fear, just a quiet weight. A truth sliding into place.

  His mother’s eyes glistened slightly as she cradled Jett gently, whispering more incomprehensible but comforting phrases. Though confusion lingered, Jett found solace in these interactions, feeling a spark of connection amidst the overwhelming.

  I still don’t get any of this. But they’re warm. And I’m tired. Maybe I can stop trying so hard now.