Six months passed in the blink of an eye for Nicolas, a name now familiar to him as his own. As each day went by, he grew more accustomed to his surroundings. The language, he found, was surprisingly easy to grasp—English, just as it had been in his previous life. He wondered why, but not too deeply. After all, this world was nothing like Earth, yet still tethered to his past in odd, almost comforting ways.
Nicolas marveled at how quickly he picked up on things. By six months old, he could understand most of the conversations around him, even though he couldn't yet speak. His mind, still sharp from his previous life, devoured knowledge from the smallest cues. His parents often cooed and played with him, their laughter filling their modest, warm home. His mother's soft hands cradled him with care, and his father's voice, though deep and a bit gruff, carried warmth that Nicolas found reassuring.
In those quiet moments, nestled in his mother's arms or playing on the floor with his father's large hands guiding him, Nicolas felt an odd sense of belonging. He found joy in the small, simple things—his mother's lullabies that drifted like a soft melody through the evening air, the way his father would hold him high above his head and spin him around, making him laugh in that innocent way babies do. He was beginning to enjoy this life, with its quiet serenity.
However, there was something else, something Nicolas couldn't quite shake. Occasionally, a faint sense of strangeness would cloud his mind. It wasn't always there—only in brief moments, when something didn't quite fit. He was still young, after all, unable to fully process the world around him, but that nagging feeling of oddity never fully disappeared.
One evening, a knock came at the door. Nicolas was in his mother's arms, his tiny fingers grasping at her dress as she hummed softly. His father stood up, muttering under his breath about unexpected guests as he strode to the door. Nicolas watched from his mother's lap as the wooden door creaked open, revealing a man standing in the dim light of the setting sun.
At first glance, everything seemed normal—another person coming to congratulate his father on the birth of his son. Nicolas' mother whispered something softly, a smile lighting up her face as she looked at the guest. But something about the visitor unsettled Nicolas. His small body tensed, his fingers curling tighter into his mother's dress as his eyes widened.
The man stepped forward, his voice deep and slightly rasping as he extended a hand to Nicolas' father, offering what seemed like a friendly greeting. But as Nicolas' gaze fixated on the man's face, his heart began to race, pounding in his tiny chest. The man's face was wrong. It wasn't human. His features were grotesque—his nose long and twitching, his eyes beady and dark, like small, glistening marbles. His skin, covered in a thin layer of fur, stretched tight across his cheeks. It was the face of a rat.
Nicolas blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Was this real? His small mind raced to grasp the impossibility of it. The man's face, contorted in some unholy fusion between human and rodent, moved and shifted like it was natural, as if he belonged in this world. His father, however, didn't react. He greeted the man warmly, shaking his hand with no sign of discomfort. His mother smiled, still humming gently, her eyes soft as she looked at the visitor.
Nicolas' stomach churned. He felt a creeping sense of wrongness, a sharp instinct that screamed something wasn't right. His breathing quickened, and his small body wriggled in his mother's arms as if trying to escape, but she held him tightly, her hand patting him gently on the back.
The visitor bent down slightly, his rat-like face coming closer to Nicolas, and for a moment, their eyes locked. Nicolas felt a shiver run down his spine, his tiny body trembling. There was something in those eyes, something cold and calculating, a predator's gaze.
But then, just as quickly, the visitor straightened up and laughed—a laugh that sounded hollow to Nicolas' ears. His parents exchanged pleasantries with the man, speaking of mundane things like the weather and crops, while Nicolas stared, frozen in confusion.
Was this normal? Was everyone in this world like this, hiding behind human appearances? The thought gnawed at Nicolas as he sat quietly in his mother's arms, his mind drifting back to the fantasy novels he used to read in his previous life. In those stories, there were often worlds filled with strange creatures, beings that walked among humans disguised by magic or their own powers. Perhaps this was something similar.
As the visitor finally left, waving goodbye with a slight bow, Nicolas watched his parents' faces. His father's broad smile, his mother's soft expression—neither seemed disturbed by what had just happened. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Nicolas tried to push the strange encounter out of his mind. Maybe this world was just different, full of creatures that weren't quite human, much like the worlds in the stories he had once loved. Maybe this was normal here. Still, the image of that rat-like face lingered in his mind, unsettling him in ways he couldn't yet explain. But for now, he was just a baby, and there was little he could do except observe and wait.
In the warmth of his mother's arms, as the evening sun cast a soft glow across the room, Nicolas' small body finally relaxed. He closed his eyes, the day's strange events swirling in his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep, the quiet murmurs of his parents the last sounds he heard.
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At the village chief's house, Jorah walked in with a deep frown on his face.
"Judging by your expression, it's something to do with the bear Wesen, isn't it?" the village chief asked, his tone grave.
Jorah nodded. "We've searched everywhere, but we still can't find it. I think it's safe to assume the Wesen has moved on to another place, and we don't need to worry anymore."
The village chief didn't relax upon hearing this. Instead, his fear deepened. The blood moon was less than a month away.