The Magus Echoes of the forgotten

Foreign

Mark's mind raced with doubt and uncertainty. His thoughts were abruptly cut short as he was pulled out of the tunnel, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Emerging from the tunnel, his vision blurred and everything around him became a jumbled mess of sounds and colours.

Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming urge to shout.

However, all that escaped his lips was a cry that resembled that of a newborn.

"Uwaaaah!"

He was disoriented and confused.

'What?! What's happening?' were the first thoughts that flooded his mind.

Slowly, the muffled voices became clearer and more discernible.

"Congratulations, Your Grace! You have been blessed with a beautiful baby boy. It is an honor to witness this joyous moment and be part of bringing new noble life into the world."

The midwife triumphantly declared.

"Congratulations, Your Grace..."

"Congratulations, Your Grace..."

The ladies-in-waiting followed.

The room exploded in cheers and cries of joy.

Mark listened carefully, trying to absorb the information that was being shared.

And boy, was he caught off guard!

'Baby? I-I am a baby now? Was I just born? So, the bright light at the end of the tunnel... Oh no! I was actually inside a womb?! That means...'

Mark was feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

'No, no, no... let's not think about that...'

He needed some time, time to assess, process, and come to terms with all the information he had just received.

The first thing he noticed was that he could understand the language being spoken around him.

That was certainly a reassuring sign.

But the idea of being reborn and everything that came with it was just too much to take in.

'It can't be. Am I dreaming... No! I've heard of cases like this before... Damn it, it's just as I feared. I must be in a comatose state. That's the only logical explanation. I was surfing through an empty darkness, blind and immobile, yet somehow able to sense myself and my surroundings... If that isn't a sign, then I don't know what is...'

Slowly, Mark opened his eyes and was immediately bombarded with a kaleidoscope of colors and figures.

It took a bit of time for his infant eyes to get used to the light.

The first figure he saw was the appealing face of the midwife.

She appeared strict and seasoned, yet her visage held a certain allure.

Her brown eyes were like mirrors reflecting the wisdom that only time could bestow.

She was dressed in a traditional attire - a long, flowing gown with ankle-length hem and full-length sleeves.

Over her gown, she wore a practical pinafore tied securely at the waist to cover her front.

Meanwhile, Mark lied limp in the her arms, looking left and right trying to make sense of his current situation.

He could hardly believe that this was the place where he had woken up.

The scene had him utterly baffled.

'Stop wasting your energy on pointless thoughts! The real question is, where on earth am I?!'

Taking in his surroundings, he already came to the conclusion that he was not in a hospital. That much he was certain of.

The room exuded extravagance in every aspect. It was vast and opulent.

'But if this isn't a hospital... then where am I?'

He swallowed, an existential quiver running from the base of his skull all the way down to his toes.

'This place... it's filled with treasures!'

Mark, in his whole life had never witnessed such a collection of valuable materials that screamed wealth and grandeur, all in one place.

As the room fell into a hushed silence, the midwife completed the task of cleaning the newborn, gently wrapping him in a clean cloth.

"You did well, Namaah... It's a healthy baby boy," the midwife softly spoke, approaching the mother who was being attended to by the ladies-in-waiting, ensuring her cleanliness.

"Asselin, I... I'm at a loss for words. There are no words that can truly express... my... our gratitude. Your exceptional care and understanding of our situation, it's something I'll never forget. Your expertise and presence have always been invaluable to our household, and we will forever be indebted to you. Thank you, truly... thank you."

Asselin gently removed her white bonnet, letting her neatly tucked long gray hair flow down her back.

"Oh, please don't worry yourself over it. I simply did what was necessary. She did most of the work. Your wife possesses quite the spirit, I must say."

The father, with an idiotic grin and teary sapphire blue eyes, grasped Asselin's hands, nodding like a stray puppy. However, his gaze never wavered from his baby boy.

"But still! You saved our baby boy. You did it!"

His voice was not loud, but it carried enough sincerity to make everyone in the room listen with rapt attention.

Even Mark, whose mind was in a whirlwind of confusion, found himself drawn by the voice, his gaze directed towards its source.

The man standing before him appeared somewhat foolish, yet undeniably charismatic nonetheless.

The man was of above average height, around 5'11 (1.80 meters), appeared to be in his late 30s. Thick brown hair neatly combed with a trim matching goatee. Lean build.

He wore a crisp white shirt tucked into tailored black trousers, accentuating his frame. A simply knotted black silk tie completed the modest yet refined look.

He looked like the type to roll up his sleeves when work called.

Mark felt strange and puzzled.

'Why is he crying? His wife just gave birth to their child, so why the tears?'

He couldn't comprehend why the man exhibited such a foolish grin while shedding tears.

'Is it some sort of wealthy custom? The rich... they do have the most peculiar rituals. But then again, money holds sway! Moreover, that doctor, or whatever she is, referred to him as 'Your Grace.' What's that all about?'

Mark had only come across such titles in plays and novels, acknowledging those titles for individuals of great nobility.

'How strange... But then again, stranger things have indeed happened. Well, this entire situation... 'strange' doesn't even begin to describe what's unfolding...?'

As his curious gaze swept across the room, it eventually settled on a figure who regarded him with an expression as if he were a precious treasure.

Delicate, pale arms extended, cradling him gently.

Words failed to capture the essence of her inhumane beauty—her long, flowing silver hair cascading in soft waves down her back, and her eyes shimmering a deep gold.

Donned in a simple, soft white garment, she surpassed any comparison. She embodied flawlessness.

Mark could hardly believe that someone so breathtakingly beautiful could exist. She seemed like a creature out of a fairy tale.

'Is this person...?'

Their eyes locked, and if there was any doubt in his heart, now there was no doubt—this woman was his mother.

'What is this feeling?'

Mark was overwhelmed by a mixture of discomfort and strange comfort. This warm feeling felt utterly foreign.

It was a feeling he was not accustomed to.

Tears welled up in his eyes as deep, forgotten emotions resurfaced.

Kindness embodied flesh.

Love coursing blood.

Warmth emanating presence.

In that moment, all he desired for was to prolong that pure sense of contentment, to savor the warmth and comfort at any cost.

After a harrowing journey that felt like a lifetime of torment and hell, he believed he deserved this much—to embrace her for as long as possible, to be nurtured within her warm embrace.

Namaah, her voice laced with tears, spoke softly as she gazed down at her precious newborn son.

"...Yon..."

Her adoring golden eyes traced every inch of him.

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of his new name.

He couldn't comprehend it. She had simply called him by a foreign name, so why did it affect him so deeply?

Unable to contain his emotions, tears streamed down his face, unbidden.

He was someone who had shouldered responsibilities and learned self-reliance at a young age. He despised crying, having shed tears only a few times in his life, and never finding solace in it.

However, this time was different. As he cried, there was no trace of regret. Unexpectedly the more tears flowed, the less it hurt.

Emotions he had ignored and buried deep within suddenly flooded to the surface.

Tugging at Namaah's garment, Mark cried out loudly. He didn't understand his own actions, but he was consumed by a state he couldn't comprehend. He simply followed his instincts.

Observing his wife with their newborn, Noah smiled and embraced Namaah tightly.

"Thank you, my dear. You did so well," he said, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I-I know I haven't been the best husband, but... you can count on me to be the best father. I'm willing to bet that our son's first words will be 'daddy'..."

He grinned foolishly, boasting.

"You better," Namaah whispered, resting her head on his shoulders. "He is special, Noah. Our son is special. He is the one the world has been waiting for. Someday, he will change everything. Will you support him?"

Noah's expression faltered for a moment, but he nodded with a foolish grin.

"Hehe, of course! You can count on me. I may not have a clue about this whole 'changing the world' thing, but I'm not someone to be taken lightly, dear. Besides, we're both here for him, and if there's anything..."

But Namaah gave him a look that silenced his words.

"Noah Lance, will you support him?"

Noah became apprehensive. His face solemn rid of any playfulness.

"Of course, dear!"

With a tired but content smile on her face, Namaah spoke softly, "I'll be rooting for you, so make sure you take care of our child."