Every birth should be celebrated, that's what birthdays are for isn't it?
When Clothius began to remember, there was no one by his side other than a familiar voice telling him that his name was Clothius.
The voice then disappeared.
He had to learn from the simplest things by himself. Perhaps he'd be dead right now if a slave trader didn't find him in time, dying in the streets of hunger.
The slave trader was doing his usual run, until he accidentally stepped on a dying child. The dying child was obviously… dying. But a flip of the child to its face lead to a different opinion.
From an random object to a valuable good.
When Clothius opened his eyes, he was at the palace. He was given the name of Clothius from a man with an familiar voice, the first voice he has ever heard.
The man introduced himself as Edward.
Clothius stared into Edward's green eyes, feeling his fear of uncertainty lowering. One look around the room with many beds lining the walls, he felt a sense of familiarity. No, it felt more like nostalgia than familiarity as if he had lived here, longing for the moments before he had to move out of this place, before he made any mistakes.
————
In another room of the palace, a boy light blonde hair drenched in sweat woke up.
His chest going up and win rapidly trying to calm himself.
Was it an nightmare? But dreams are dreams after all, Atropo, the boy covered in sweat, couldn't remember what the nightmare was about.