Alex's heart, though tiny and fragile, raced with panic. He tried to focus on Leo's cheerful babbling, but the sound only heightened his distress. The contrast between Leo's joyful sounds and his own strained, inaudible attempts at communication felt like a cruel reminder of his inadequacy.
Was he somehow responsible for what had happened? Had he, in some inexplicable way, caused the real Alex to vanish or be harmed? The thought was overwhelming. He imagined the parents' distress if they discovered that the real Alex was missing or injured, and he couldn't shake the guilt that threatened to engulf him.
Inside, Alex was drowning in a sea of memories. He recalled the battles he had fought, the strategies he had devised, and the betrayal that had led to his death. These memories were vivid and intrusive, making it hard for him to focus on the present. He often found himself staring at the walls of the nursery, lost in thought.
He tried to act like a normal baby, but his attempts were often clumsy. He would attempt to mimic Leo's gurgles and coos, but they came out wrong, lacking the natural spontaneity of his brother's sounds. His movements were deliberate, almost calculated as if he were trying to remember how a baby should behave.
During feeding times, Alex's mother would look at him with concern. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face as she leaned in, blue eyes searching his for some sign of normalcy. "Alex, sweetheart, can you look at Mommy?" she would ask, her voice filled with worry. Alex would turn his eyes towards her, but the connection felt distant, forced. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know he was okay, but he didn't know how.
His father's attempts to engage him were equally challenging. He would lift Alex into the air, trying to elicit a reaction, but Alex's mind would wander, distracted by flashes of his past life. "Come on, Alex, give us a smile," his father would say, bouncing him lightly. Alex would try to smile, but it felt more like a grimace, and his father's expression would falter.
In moments of solitude, Alex would lie in his crib, staring at the ceiling or the wall, trying to make sense of his new existence. The shadows cast by the mobile would remind him of strategic maps, and the gentle lullabies his parents played would sometimes bring tears to his eyes, evoking memories of comrades lost in battle. Especially one of his mentors whom he managed to outrank due to his contributions:-
Dimitri leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared at the ceiling. "You know," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness, "I've always thought it would be nice to just have a normal job. An office worker, maybe. No battles, no drills—just a desk, a coffee machine, and maybe a couple of friendly coworkers."
Alex, sitting across the table with his uniform impeccably pressed, raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You know serving our country is important, right?"
Dimitri shrugged, a half-hearted grin playing on his lips. "Of course, I get that. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to live a simpler life. All this danger and chaos can get a bit overwhelming. You can't eat honor, kid."
Alex's smile faded as he sighed, glancing down at the table. "Yeah, I know. And I do appreciate the honor and everything, but there are days when it feels like a lot to handle. I mean, look at you. You've been in this for years and still manage to keep a smile on your face."
Dimitri's expression softened as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and understanding. "Years in the service teach you a lot about resilience. And believe me, there are days when I'd trade all the medals for just one quiet day in an office."
Alex's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Really? Even with all the respect and accolades, you'd think about switching?"
Dimitri nodded slowly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Respect and accolades don't always fill the void left by endless paperwork and missed family dinners. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like to just clock in and out without all the added pressure."
In this life, he tried so hard to be normal but somehow, fate mocked his existence. He felt isolated in his silent world. Leo's laughter and cries echoed through the house, a constant reminder of what he should be like. Alex felt a pang of jealousy at times, wishing he could be as carefree and expressive as his brother. But the weight of his past life was too heavy, grounding him in a reality that no one else could understand.
Family gatherings were particularly difficult. Relatives would fawn over Leo, delighting in his every movement and sound. When they turned to Alex, their smiles would falter, replaced by puzzled frowns. "He's so quiet," they would whisper. "Is everything okay?" Alex would try to interact, to join in the joy, but his efforts always felt forced and unnatural.
Despite his parents' growing concern, Alex couldn't bring himself to fully embrace his new life. He was caught between two worlds, struggling to reconcile the man he had been with the baby he now was.
He wanted to connect with his family, to be the son they hoped for, but the memories of his past life were an ever-present barrier. How can he tell them he was haunted by memories, not his, how can he tell them the fact that he might unknowingly kill the real owner of this body and how can he act like a baby if he is not one?
As the weeks turned into months, his parents' concern deepened into something darker. They lived in a world of magic, aliens, and Gods, where unusual behavior often hinted at something more sinister. Alex's unnaturally calm demeanor and unsettlingly wise eyes began to worry them. Whispers and rumors about children born with unnatural abilities or possessed by otherworldly spirits circulated in their community, feeding their fears.
One evening, as Alex lay in his crib, his parents stood nearby, whispering in hushed tones. "I don't understand it," his father said, his voice filled with a mixture of confusion and fear. "He's not like other babies. There's something... off about him."
His mother nodded, her eyes filled with a growing dread. His father nodded, his gaze fixed on Alex's dark green hair and emerald eyes. "I've heard stories about children with strange powers, about those touched by the Gods or worse. What if Alex is... different?"
*****
Their fear and uncertainty began to shape their interactions with him. They would watch him with wary eyes, their once gentle touches becoming hesitant. His mother, who used to sing to him softly, now did so with a nervous tremor in her voice. His father's playful attempts to engage him became less frequent, replaced by cautious observations.
Alex sensed their growing discomfort. He could see the fear in their eyes, hear the apprehension in their voices. It pained him, knowing that his inability to fully immerse himself in this new life was causing them such distress. He longed to tell them that he was still their son, that he was just struggling to reconcile his past and present, but he had no way to convey these thoughts.
As the months passed, the distance between Alex and his parents grew. They began to avoid being alone with him, always ensuring that Leo was the center of attention. The love and warmth that had once surrounded him were replaced by a cold, wary distance. Alex felt increasingly isolated, a stranger in his own home.
His parents' worry turned to whispers and eventually to consulting with healers and seers, hoping for answers. They would often speak in hushed tones, sharing their fears with trusted friends and seeking advice on how to handle a child who seemed so out of place in their magical world.
For Alex, each day was a struggle. He tried to suppress his memories, to immerse himself in the present, but the past clung to him like a shadow. His parents' growing fear and distance only made his isolation more profound.
He was trapped in a silent prison, unable to bridge the gap between the life he once knew and the one he now lived. This is not what he expected it to be. For most novels or stories he read, the protagonist will be accepted no matter what, either a genius or hated and discarded. Not this.
Alex soon understands this is not fiction but his reality.
*****
The battlefield was a grim, relentless landscape of chaos. Smoke swirled through the air, mingling with the acrid scent of gunfire and the distant cries of wounded men. Explosions rocked the earth, sending debris and dust into the thick, choking haze. Amidst the chaos, Dimitri and Alex fought side by side, their movements a practiced dance of survival and strategy.
Dimitri, battle-worn and weary, moved with a gravitas that spoke of countless campaigns fought and survived. His uniform was a patchwork of rips and stains, his face etched with the deep lines of experience and fatigue. Beside him, Alex, young and resolute, demonstrated skill and determination far beyond his years. Despite his talent and high rank, the brutal reality of war was closing in on him with unrelenting force.
Amid a particularly fierce exchange of fire, Dimitri felt a searing pain in his side. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the sensation as he continued to give orders, his voice strained but commanding. Alex, catching sight of Dimitri's pallor, moved quickly to his side.
"Dimitri, you're hit!" Alex shouted, his voice filled with concern.
Dimitri waved him off, a pained but determined look in his eyes. "I'm fine, Alex. Just... focus on getting us through this. We're almost there."
Alex, despite his fear, nodded and continued to fight with a renewed urgency. But as the battle raged on, Dimitri's condition worsened. The blood soaking through his uniform and the way he stumbled with each step were clear indicators that his time was running out.
Eventually, Dimitri collapsed behind cover, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Alex knelt beside him, his hands shaking as he tried to stem the flow of blood with whatever bandages he had. Dimitri looked up at him, his eyes clouded with pain but also a deep, heartfelt regret.
"Alex," Dimitri managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I need you to know."
Alex's eyes were wide with desperation as he worked to keep Dimitri conscious. "Stay with me, Dimitri. Help is on the way."
Dimitri shook his head slightly, a pained smile on his lips. "No, Alex. Listen to me. I've seen so many young men come through these battles, full of potential and dreams. I've been in this too long, and I've come to realize something..."
He paused, gasping for breath, his strength waning. "You're talented, Alex. You have a future... a future that shouldn't be wasted in the endless grind of war. I wish for you... for you to live a life beyond this. Don't let this be all you are."
Alex's eyes filled with tears as he looked at Dimitri, the reality of the situation hitting him with a crushing force. "But you... you taught me everything. You're the reason I'm here. I don't know how to—"
Dimitri's hand, weak but determined, reached up to grasp Alex's arm. "You'll find your way. Use what you've learned here, but... make sure it leads you somewhere better. I've lived my life... I've served. But I hope you get to live a normal life... a life where you can dream, and love, and just be."
*****
The moonlight seeped through the gaps in the curtains, casting silvery patterns on the walls of the twin's shared bedroom. The soft hum of the night was occasionally punctuated by the distant sound of crickets. Alex lay in his bed, the covers tangled around him, his emerald eyes wide open despite the darkness. His breathing was shallow and rapid, his small frame trembling.
A shiver coursed through him as he jolted awake, the remnants of a nightmare still vivid in his mind. The echoes of past battles and betrayal reverberated through his thoughts, blending with the comforting hum of the present. His heart pounded as he recalled the images of his past life—the clash of steel, the cries of fallen comrades, and the cold, sharp sting of treachery.
Beside him, Leo stirred in his bed, his blue hair splayed out on the pillow, a serene smile playing on his lips as he slept. The contrast between his twin's peaceful repose and Alex's restless distress was striking. Leo, with his cheerful disposition, seemed to radiate a natural ease that Alex envied and struggled to comprehend.
Alex sat up slowly, his movements deliberate and cautious. He ran a trembling hand through his dark green hair which became darker as the year passed, the strands feeling alien against his fingers. The cool night air brushed his skin, but it did little to ease the heat of anxiety that lingered in his chest. His thoughts raced, a tangled web of fragmented memories and the weight of his current existence pressing down on him.
He glanced over at Leo, who was now softly snoring, blissfully unaware of the turmoil plaguing his brother. The contrast between their sleeping forms struck Alex with a pang of loneliness. He had spent so many nights grappling with his demons while Leo remained untouched by such darkness. The nightmare had only intensified his sense of isolation, amplifying the divide that had grown between them.
Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. He padded softly to the window, pulling the curtains slightly to peer out at the moonlit garden below. The familiar sight of the garden's peaceful tranquility was a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded in his dreams. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, but the memory of the nightmare remained like a shadow refusing to be cast away.
As he sat on the window seat, his small frame curled up, and his dark green hair was ruffled by the breeze. The cold air and the soothing rhythm of the night outside did little to calm the turmoil inside him. Each breath he took was measured, deliberate, as if he could away the echoes of his past.