Darsen city neighborhood clinic was nothing impressive—white walls, a faded poster about vaccinations, a tiny reception desk where an exhausted clerk stamped forms with unnecessary aggression. But compared to the hospital where Silas died in Tyler's previous life… this place felt gentle.
The waiting area buzzed with mothers whispering to toddlers, the rustle of jackets, and the occasional cry of an infant protesting reality.
Tyler lay in Grandma's arms, blinking against the harsh lights.
"Poor baby," she murmured. "Those eyes really are sensitive."
Silas filled out a short form, writing carefully. Melissa hovered close, eyes darting between Tyler and the counter.
The pediatric doctor called them in sooner than expected.
Inside the examination room, Tyler was placed on the padded table. The doctor—a balding man with kind eyes—used a small penlight to inspect him.
"Hmm… blue eyes," he said, as if noting something rare. "Very uncommon shade in this region."
Melissa nodded proudly. "Everyone says that."
The doctor leaned closer. Tyler felt the light slice into his vision. He winced, blinking hard.
"Still sensitive?" the doctor murmured. "Yes, I see… his tear film is thin. He'll grow out of it, but for now, he'll need protection. The air quality hasn't been good lately."
Grandma crossed her arms, triumphant. "I told you. We should get him proper glasses."
"You can," the doctor confirmed. "Clear lenses. Light protection. Nothing too heavy."
Silas asked a few practical questions. Melissa asked twice as many.
Tyler, meanwhile, endured the light shining in his cursed-blessed eyes with the patience of someone who had bargained his soul for these orbs.
The doctor stepped back with a satisfied nod."He's healthy. Sensitive, but nothing alarming. Take good care."
Grandma huffed as if she'd personally rescued Tyler from blindness. "We will."
The shop they entered afterward looked like a tiny cave carved into the street—frames hanging on hooks, a dusty curtain covering a storage room, and an elderly optician sitting behind a small desk.
He inspected Tyler with the seriousness of a jewel appraiser.
"Baby glasses?" he asked. "Rare order. But I can do it."
Grandma smiled proudly. "We want soft frames. Good ones."
Melissa nodded quickly. "Something comfortable."
Silas scratched the back of his neck. "And affordable."
The optician lifted Tyler gently, tilting his face toward the window.
And then—
Tyler saw the mirror behind the counter.
It wasn't big. Just a small rectangle of glass smudged by years of fingerprints.
But the reflection was clear enough.
There he was.
Small. Round cheeks. Messy hair. Pink skin.
And those eyes.
Electric blue, startling even in soft daylight.Silver particles drifting like cosmic dust, circling his pupils slowly, lazily, like a constellation caught inside his irises.
They glowed faintly.
Magnificent.Impossible.
Too powerful.
His breath hitched.
The optician frowned at the sudden watering of his eyes. "Ah. Sensitive indeed."
Melissa rubbed his back. "Just a little light. He's delicate."
Delicate.Not even close.
Tyler turned away, heart pounding.
He had power in those eyes.But also vulnerability.He needed to hide them, protect them, understand them before anything else.
The optician scribbled a measurement. "Pick a frame color."
Grandma chose light grey. Melissa suggested soft brown. Silas pointed to a simple blue.
Tyler didn't care which they picked.
He just needed something to dim the silver galaxies swirling in his vision.
Back home, life settled into its usual warm rhythm.
Melissa fed him, humming under her breath while he suckled slowly.Silas fixed a loose cabinet hinge in the living room.Grandma folded laundry while lecturing both uncles about the necessity of saving money.Steven held a tiny rattle above Tyler, shaking it too enthusiastically.Richard complained about his ears ringing.
Everything was domestic chaos. Warm, familiar, grounding.
Tyler couldn't fight sleep. His new body demanded it constantly.He drifted in and out—waking to sunlight, drifting again, waking to voices, drifting again.
But every time he opened his eyes, someone was there.
Melissa humming.Silas smiling.Grandma tucking a corner of the blanket.One of the uncles making stupid sounds.
He had died alone under a bridge.Now he was surrounded by love.
His mind softened.
His anger softened.
His fear softened.
Not gone.Never gone.But cushioned by warmth.
Late afternoon came. Silas lifted him gently.
"Look at him," he murmured. "Already growing."
Grandma chuckled. "He'll walk before you know it."
Melissa kissed Tyler's cheek. "Not too fast. I want a baby a little longer."
Tyler closed his eyes again.
He accepted it.The helplessness, the softness, the slowness.
He could grow into power later.
For now?
He could just be a child in a home that loved him.
Slowly, the haze of sleep pulled him under…
And the world drifted away with a gentle hum.
Afternoon sunlight dipped lower, warming the wooden floors and filling the living room with a soft orange glow. Tyler had just woken from a nap when a knock rattled the front door—sharp, rhythmic, and unmistakably familiar.
Grandma glanced up from her knitting. "That must be Mrs. Nowak. She said she would stop by today."
Melissa lifted Tyler from his blanket and held him close. "Perfect timing. He just woke up."
Mrs. Nowak—round-faced, warm-smiling, wearing a thick scarf and carrying a small woven bag. Her hair was streaked with early gray, but her energy bounced into the house before she even stepped inside.
And in her other arm…
A tiny toddler clung to her coat.
Wide dark eyes. Soft brown hair. Chubby cheeks.
Elijah.
Two-and-a-half years old, barely steady on his feet, still needing a guiding hand.
Melissa brightened. "Oh! You brought him."
"Of course," Mrs. Nowak laughed, gently nudging the little boy inside. "His mother's busy with the baby. Daniel has been crying since morning. You know how four-month-olds are—they think the world revolves around them."
Grandma snorted. "And it does."
"That's the problem!" Mrs. Nowak sighed dramatically.
Richard peeked around the corner. "Did you say Daniel's crying again?"
"Like a siren," she confirmed.
Steven groaned. "Poor neighborhood."
"Poor me," she corrected, then waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, Elijah wanted to visit."
Elijah didn't say a word. He just stared at everyone with the seriousness of a tiny emperor surveying his new kingdom.
Tyler watched him with curiosity—and a strange, creeping familiarity.
This boy…This toddler…
Would one day become his closest friend, his buddy, his mirror.
Melissa sat on the floor cushion and placed Tyler on his soft blanket. Mrs. Nowak guided Elijah to sit beside him. The toddler wobbled, stared at Tyler as if he were a mysterious creature, then slowly extended one tiny finger to poke Tyler's cheek.
Tyler blinked.
Elijah blinked back.
A long moment passed—silent.Awkward.But somehow natural.
Grandma chuckled. "Look at them. Already studying each other."
Mrs. Nowak waved her hand with pride. "He's quite smart for his age. Talks a bit, though mostly nonsense… but he's clever."
Elijah babbled something indecipherable. Tyler replied with nothing but a faint coo.
And yet—
Tyler felt something shift inside him.
A memory surfaced, unbidden.
Tyler sat on an old bench behind the school gym. Elijah, now twelve, stood in front of him, eyes blazing with a kind of fierce, naive certainty. His uniform blazer hung loose, and he clutched a notebook filled with scribbled ideas.
"Elijah," Tyler sighed, "these are big plans. You really think we can fix any of this?"
Elijah's jaw tightened."Yes."
Tyler raised an eyebrow. "You sound too confident."
"If we don't fix this country," Elijah shot back, "then who will?"
Tyler tried to laugh. It came out weak. "You're talking like a hero in some movie."
"So what?" Elijah stepped closer, fire in his eyes. "The adults won't change anything. They're too busy fighting over religions—Ignaros this, Veyra that—everyone's scared, no one thinks."
He tapped his notebook hard, sending dust into the air.
"Then we'll change it."
Tyler stared at him, stunned by that raw ambition.
Elijah grinned. "You'll be with me, right?"
Without realizing it, Tyler nodded.
That moment—two boys dreaming under a rusted roof—felt eternal.
The flashback dissolved like mist.
Tyler stared at toddler Elijah now, sitting next to him, holding a wooden bead from Grandma's knitting basket as if it were treasure.
But the memory hadn't finished.
Another surfaced.Darker.Heavy.
A cheap club. Dim lights. Low music. The smell of sweat and beer and resignation.
Tyler sat across from Elijah.
Older now.Thinner.Shadows under his eyes.Wearing a crisp shirt that didn't suit him—too polished, too political.
His smile was hollow.
Tyler frowned. "You look exhausted."
"That's politics," Elijah muttered, swirling his drink. "You either exhaust the system, or it exhausts you."
Tyler leaned in. "This isn't you. You used to talk about changing the country. About fixing things. Now you're… fighting about Ignaros and Veyra rallies."
Elijah scoffed. "Because that's what the people care about. Religion. Fear. They don't want change—they want a side to cheer for."
"That's bullshit."
"It's reality."
Elijah took a long drink, his hands shaking slightly.
"Tyler," he said quietly, "you can't fix corruption. You join it or you get crushed by it."
Tyler felt his chest tighten.He barely recognized the man in front of him.
"Elijah," he whispered, "what happened to you?"
Elijah stared at the bottom of his empty glass.
"I grew up."
They left the bar separately.Tyler never saw him again.
The memory faded.
Tyler returned to the present—his infant body lying next to toddler Elijah, who held a wooden bead and tapped it against Tyler's foot with absolute seriousness.
Tyler's breath trembled.
Viola and Mrs. Nowak chatted happily.
Melissa discussed grocery prices.
Richard were arguing softly about who had eaten the last piece of sweet bread.
Everything was peaceful, warm, ordinary.
Tyler looked at Elijah again.
Here, he wasn't a broken adult drowning in politics. He wasn't a cynical puppet. He wasn't hollow.
He was just a child. Bright. Curious. Untouched.
Tyler felt something deep inside him tighten—a promise forming before he had the words to shape it.
This time… I will protect your fire. This time, you won't be swallowed by the world. I will not let you lose yourself.
Elijah suddenly giggled—a bright, messy burst of sound—and clapped his tiny hands.
Tyler blinked at him, startled.
Mrs. Nowak swelled with pride. "See? He likes your little one."
Grandma smiled warmly. "They'll be good friends when they grow."
Tyler watched Elijah lean clumsily toward him, bumping their foreheads together.
A strange warmth rose in Tyler's chest.
Not in his eyes. Not in his newborn body.
In his soul.
The room buzzed with soft laughter and idle conversation. Elijah kept tapping the bead on Tyler's blanket, babbling nonsense with absolute conviction, while Tyler watched him with adult sorrow wrapped inside newborn innocence.
And there, on the old living room floor of a house full of love, a quiet future began.
A second chance. For Tyler. For Elijah. For everything that once went wrong.