Warmth.
That was the first thing Allen felt. Not the vague, ethereal warmth of the Heavenly Emperor's palace, but real, solid warmth — pressed against him in a cocoon of soft fabric and the steady beat of a heart.
There was also sound.
Lots of sound.
And for a newborn with heightened adult awareness, it was a lot.
"It's a boy! Madam Royce, you've given birth to a healthy baby boy!"
The voice was triumphant, almost giddy. Applause followed. Actual applause — the kind you'd expect at a concert encore, not a delivery room.
Allen blinked against the brightness, his brand-new eyes struggling to focus. The first thing he saw was a woman's tearful smile hovering over him. Her long brown hair was damp and clinging to her cheeks, her hazel eyes shining with something warmer than the lights above.
"My baby…" she whispered, voice trembling as her fingers brushed his cheek. "My precious little Allen…"
So this is my mother, Allen thought. In his past life, he'd never seen anyone look at him quite like that — like he was the center of the universe. It was… disarming.
From somewhere behind her, a deep male voice called out, eager and impatient:
"Let me see him! Let me see my son!"
Julia — Allen was fairly certain that was her name — laughed softly without taking her eyes off him. "In a moment, David. Let me hold him for just a bit longer."
"You've had him for nine months," another voice teased, light and amused. "The rest of us are desperate here."
Julia sighed but finally turned, and Allen felt the shift in motion as he was passed into the arms of a tall man whose sharp, handsome features were softened by a grin so wide it almost seemed ridiculous. His dark hair had faint streaks of silver at the temples, but his energy was youthful, even boyish.
"Allen Royce," the man said slowly, savoring the name like fine wine. "My boy. My little heir."
Allen blinked at him. That's my father, then.
"Oh, look at him! He's moving!" David Royce — his father — turned urgently to the doctor. "Is he cold? Should we get more blankets? Does he need something to drink? What about—"
"David," Julia interrupted fondly, "he's fine. He's perfect."
Before David could respond, a new voice rang out — sharp, playful, and dripping with competitive energy.
"Let me see my nephew!"
Allen found himself gently transferred again, this time into the embrace of a young woman with glossy black hair, perfectly manicured nails, and an outfit that screamed expensive taste even under the hospital lighting. She looked down at him with mock sternness.
"Alright, little one," she said, "your Aunt Claire is here. And you should know something — I will not accept any favoritism toward your parents. Got it?"
Allen stared blankly at her.
Claire's eyes widened dramatically. "Did you see that? He's looking at me! He understands!"
David snorted. "He's two minutes old, Claire."
"Don't ruin the moment, big brother," Claire shot back. "Besides, look at this face. He's obviously going to like me best. Aren't you?" She tapped his tiny nose gently.
Allen, being unable to speak, made the executive decision to simply blink again.
"Oh my gosh," Claire gasped. "This is it. I'm ruined. I'm officially going to spoil him rotten."
"Too late," David said immediately. "That's my job."
"Excuse you," Claire replied smoothly, "I'm the fun aunt. Spoiling is literally in my job description."
The next person to hold him was a woman whose refined elegance could have graced the cover of a luxury magazine. Her posture was impeccable, her jewelry understated yet obviously expensive, and her smile softened the sharp lines of her face.
"My grandson," she murmured, brushing a kiss across his forehead with surprising tenderness. "Welcome to the world, little Allen. You will never know a day without love."
Allen's internal voice was dry. Starting to believe that, honestly.
––––
Twenty Minutes Later
The room was full. And not just "a couple of relatives stopping by" full — no, this was family reunion levels of full. Allen had counted at least fifteen different voices since his birth, and he was ninety percent sure some of them weren't even immediate relatives.
"Look at his nose! Just like David's!"
"No, no, those eyes are Julia's."
"Either way, that's a Royce jawline if I've ever seen one."
"Should we get him another blanket? Maybe cashmere?"
"We already brought him cashmere!"
"Then silk?"
Julia laughed from her bed, holding Allen close to her chest. "You're all ridiculous. He's fine."
David stood beside her, puffed up like a proud lion. "Let them fuss. It's tradition."
If this is tradition, Allen thought, I'm going to grow up convinced the entire world revolves around me.
A boy of about eight leaned close to his tiny ear, whispering conspiratorially, "Don't worry, Baby Allen. I'll teach you all the tricks to get extra dessert once you're older."
From across the room, Claire shouted, "Don't you dare corrupt him before I do!"
"I'm not corrupting! I'm educating!" the boy yelled back.
Julia gave them both the Mom Look. The argument ended instantly.
One particularly tall man with an expensive watch crouched beside the hospital bed, peering at Allen with a grin. "I'm your Uncle Richard. You'll like me — I own a yacht."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Wow, Richard, way to try and buy his affection before he can even walk."
"It's called early investment," Richard said, straight-faced.
Allen, swaddled and warm, considered this. A yacht's not a bad start.
Even the doctor seemed faintly amused — and slightly overwhelmed — by the sheer number of Royces in the room. "Madam Royce," he said after finally managing to speak to Julia, "the baby is perfectly healthy. Good weight, strong heartbeat, strong lungs."
David puffed up even more. "Of course he is. He's a Royce."
Julia smirked. "Yes, because genetics alone guarantee perfect health."
Allen's inner monologue: Oh, I'm definitely going to enjoy being part of this circus.
––––
Three Hours Later
By the time evening came, Allen had been kissed, cuddled, cooed at, photographed, and — he suspected — memorized from every possible angle by at least half the room. People took turns holding him like he was a sacred artifact, whispering to him promises of toys, sweets, trips, and "anything you want, just say the word."
He began to realize that this wasn't just a wealthy family. This was an empire with a hobby of doting.
Eventually, the crowd thinned. Julia dozed in the bed, exhaustion softening her features. The room was dim, the noise reduced to a gentle hum.
David was in the chair beside her, cradling Allen as if the slightest movement might disturb the universe.
"You're my son," David whispered, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I'll give you everything. Anything you want. And if I can't give it… I'll find someone who can."
Allen blinked up at him. Careful, old man. I might just take you up on that.
David chuckled softly, as if he could hear the thought. "Don't worry, Allen. Being a Royce means you'll never have to fight for what's yours."
And just like that, the promise of his new life settled over him like the cashmere blanket someone had insisted on earlier — warm, soft, and undeniably luxurious.
~~~~
Quote of the day:
"Sometimes the safest place to stand is in the shadows of giants."