It had been one full year since that day—an eternity of days and nights that blurred together. For Eren, time seemed to stretch as he lay motionless on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His body was that of a one-year-old, helpless and frail, but his mind was sharp, filled with memories of a life he had once lived.
A life that had been busy, hectic—filled with responsibilities. He had been a 25-year-old mechanical engineering student before this, juggling studies, part-time jobs, and family responsibilities. He had been constantly in motion, his days packed with obligations, always rushing from one task to the next. Now, his days felt endless, yet confined to the small world of his crib. The freedom of time, the luxury of having nothing but endless hours to think and observe, was strange to him.
It was a feeling he couldn't fully comprehend. In his past life, time had always been precious, always slipping away too quickly. He had lived in a constant state of urgency, never pausing to appreciate the small moments. Now, he found himself in the stillness, his body unable to move, his days stretched out like a long, quiet river. There were times when he missed the hustle, the sense of purpose that came with a busy life. But as the days passed, Eren began to realize that this new life, though strange, was full of possibilities. He could change things, make them better. He could live this life with purpose and love—something he had missed before.
Eren's mother often sat beside his crib, watching him with a smile that never seemed to fade. She would gaze at him with a thoughtful expression, occasionally murmuring to herself, "I wonder what's going on in that little head of yours. You're always so quiet, so calm. You must be thinking of something important."
Eren, though unable to speak, felt a sudden rush of warmth. Her words were gentle, kind, but they also made him feel vulnerable. Did she notice? Could she sense that something was different about him? He was no ordinary child, but he wasn't sure how to express the complexity of his thoughts to her. And yet, in that moment, he realized that it didn't matter.
His mother's voice softened as she continued, "How ridiculous," she chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Here I am, thinking my one-year-old is pondering the mysteries of the universe. A child his age can't possibly be thinking anything—can they?" She laughed again, the sound like music to Eren's ears.
"But you are special, aren't you?" she said with a smile. "I can tell. They say raising a child is hard work, but for me, it's been so easy. You've been so calm, so quiet. Like you understand everything already." She paused for a moment, her eyes softening. "Maybe you're just different. I'm sure of it. You're not like the others."
Her words filled him with a deep sense of love and gratitude. He couldn't explain it, but her belief in him, her unconditional love, gave him strength. He had been given a second chance—a chance to make this life better, to live it in a way that he had always wished for in his past.
His mother looked at him with fondness, remembering the other children she had seen over the past year. Babies who cried constantly, demanding attention at all hours. Other mothers were often exhausted, up in the middle of the night, changing diapers, feeding, comforting. But not Eren.
When he cried, it wasn't out of frustration or discomfort. It was clear—he needed to go to the washroom, or he was hungry. His cries were soft, gentle, never panicked. It was almost as if he understood what he needed before it became urgent. His behavior was different from the others. It wasn't just his calmness, but his subtlety. He never fussed for no reason.
Her heart swelled as she thought about how easy it had been to care for him. "You've made being a mother so easy," she whispered, brushing her hand over his soft hair. "I don't know how I got so lucky, but I'm so thankful." She looked down at him with tears in her eyes, filled with pride. "You're truly special, Eren."
As she spoke these words, Eren felt a spark of hope. Special. Maybe this life was going to be different after all. He had been given this second chance to change, to live fully, to make things right. It wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving. He had the opportunity to do better this time, to make a difference.
He wasn't sure exactly how, but he knew one thing—he wasn't going to waste this life. He had time now. Time to reflect, to learn, to grow. He would do more than just observe. He would act, shape his destiny, and live it with purpose. His mother's love and faith in him would be the foundation of his journey.
The years ahead would be different. He would no longer be caught in the rush of a busy life without meaning. Instead, he would find meaning in the small moments, in the connections he made with the people he loved. He would be present in his own life, no longer rushing through it, but truly living it.
His heart felt light, the weight of his past life now a quiet hum in the background. He had a new chance to be the person he always wanted to be. And this time, he would make sure he didn't miss it. There was no rush anymore. Only the calm certainty that, in time, everything would fall into place.
Eren's mother gazed at him one last time before leaving the room. "I can't wait to see what you'll do next, my little one," she said with a smile. "I'm sure you're destined for great things."
He wasn't just lying there in his crib, quietly observing his parents and the world around him—he was piecing together the strange and fascinating puzzle of his existence. One of the most surprising discoveries had been about his parents. His father, Leonard, and his mother, Sara, weren't just ordinary people. They were adventurers—part of the same party that went on daring quests. Eren couldn't help but wonder if people in this world were anything like the characters in the games he used to play.
His father was often away for several days at a time, and it wasn't hard for Eren to guess that he was off on one of his quests. Leonard would return home with stories of his adventures, often exhausted but always eager to make his son laugh. Whenever he was back, he would greet Eren with the most ridiculous, playful antics—flapping his arms as if he were an oversized bird, pretending to stumble and fall just to get a chuckle. Eren, though still a child, would giggle, feeling warmth spread through him at these moments of pure joy. His father's silly gestures weren't just to entertain him—they were to show him love, to make him feel that he mattered and that he was safe.
At night, when Leonard had finally settled in after a long journey, both parents would sit beside Eren's crib. His mother on one side, his father on the other, they would share stories—stories of their past, of their adventures together, and of how they met. Eren listened intently, soaking in the words, though he could not fully understand all the details. What caught his attention the most, however, were the moments when his parents laughed together.
One evening, after Leonard had just returned from an expedition, he sat down next to Eren with a mischievous grin on his face. "Alright, Eren," he said, glancing at Sara. "I think it's time you heard the story of the time your mother saved me from a very embarrassing situation."
Sara rolled her eyes, but her smile never faded. "You really want to tell him that story, Leonard?" she teased. Leonard leaned forward, a dramatic expression on his face.
"Oh, absolutely. It's one for the ages," he said, grinning.
Eren's eyes widened. He could feel the playful tension between his parents, and though he didn't fully understand what was coming, he was eager to hear it.
Sara sighed with a smile. "Alright, but don't blame me for what happens next."