Richard spent his first day in this new world in a cycle of monotony and curiosity. Life as a baby was simple; his responsibilities reduced to eating, sleeping, and making noise. Yet with that simplicity came the luxury of time—time to think, observe, and piece together the world around him. Lying helplessly on his bed, wrapped in his mother's protective embrace, Richard began his first steps into this foreign life with a determination to learn all he could.
Observing his surroundings, he noted the modest, almost medieval setup of their small wooden house. His family's clothes were simple, frayed at the edges, and their belongings were few. He was certain his new family was poor, perhaps struggling even to make ends meet. Richard's priorities became clear: he needed to learn the language and find a way to earn money. His previous life had taught him the value of wealth in the most bitter way.
Ranav spent most of the day in his mother's company. She was gentle and kind, watching over him with undivided attention, often murmuring softly to him. Though he didn't understand her words, he sensed her affection, her voice's gentle rhythm a constant reassurance. He finally learned her name: Naveena. His own new name, "Ranav," was often repeated in her tender, almost musical voice. He was certain he caught two more names: Trinav, his father, and Vivita, his sister.
The next morning revealed how different his life would be. With surprising energy, Naveena began her daily tasks with Ranav securely wrapped against her chest in a simple sling. Through half-closed eyes, he observed her fluid movements, the strength in her arms as she carried him around the kitchen, chopping vegetables with practiced ease. She had an oval face, pale white skin, slightly pointy ears, long silver hair streaked with a hint of red, and a confident poise that spoke of a life shaped by hard work. Whether from a biological connection or the comfort of her care, Ranav couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride in her.
As she prepared breakfast, Ranav studied the unfamiliar foods with a pang of disappointment. Although his current diet prevented him from tasting the odd vegetables, the sight of them boiling over the fire made him long for something more flavorful. He noted the rustic setup of the house: the kitchen, pantry, and dining area all fit together in one open space with three small bedrooms off to the side. There was no television, fridge, washing machine, computer, or any kind of modern household equipment—no sign of electricity. Their limited resources were painfully evident, especially the absence of an indoor bathroom, which seemed to be located somewhere outside.
By evening, Ranav had exhausted himself trying to understand the language and structure of his new world. He gave in to his body's instincts as his mother fed him, trying not to dwell on the awkwardness of it. After each feeding, drowsiness overtook him, and he'd sleep, slipping between moments of wakefulness and hazy dreams of his former life. And so, the cycle continued.
The realization of his helplessness stung deeply. His previous life, his love for Sarah, his independence—all felt like dreams slipping further away. The trauma of his past life remained, weighed down by a sense of loss he couldn't articulate. Memories flooded him—his mother, Patricia; his father, John; his grandfather, Paul; and his grandmother, Margaret. He tried to remember every detail of his past, fearing he might forget the Smith family.
The next few days followed a similar routine. He fed, slept, observed, tried to understand the language, and, most importantly, walked down memory lane repeatedly.
But amidst the despair, an idea sparked. He remembered his father, John Smith, who had been a member of a small dojo. His father had once brought him there to learn the fundamentals of Aikido and the art of dual-blade fighting, "Niten Ichi Ryu," with the katana and wakizashi. Though Richard had been too young to appreciate the discipline, he now saw the value of those lessons. He'd practiced the routines, knew the breathing techniques like the back of his hand, and had memorized each stance over the years. Perhaps he could use this training to strengthen his fragile body.
Lying in bed, he focused on his breathing, mimicking the foundational exercises his instructor had drilled into him. His old dojo instructor's words echoed: "Everything is within. Everything exists. Seek nothing outside of yourself." He began regulating his breaths, inhaling deeply, pausing, and exhaling steadily, focusing his attention on the energy within.
At first, he felt nothing. The room was dim and still, but he kept going, letting each breath take him deeper into a state of calm, acceptance, and surrender to the present. His small, weak body couldn't hold out for long, and he'd soon fall into drowsiness. Days passed with no results. Then, one day, after what felt like an eternity, he sensed a cool, faint energy flowing through his body, a shiver of strength starting in his lower abdomen and radiating outward. His eyes opened wide in surprise—he felt a trace of strength, a subtle warmth that steadied his mind. It wasn't much, but it was enough to renew his determination.
As days turned into weeks, Ranav practiced his breathing technique daily, nurturing that hint of energy. It wasn't enough to give him real strength yet, but it was a start. Each time he felt the faint energy course through him, he reminded himself of what he'd lost and what he could still gain.