Chapter 9 – The Quiet Days
The next few days went by in a blur for baby Joshua.
> "I don't have any strength in my body… even moving my hands makes me tired,"
he complained inwardly, opening his tiny eyes again.
These past days hadn't been enough for him to get used to his new form.
All he did was eat, sleep, and poop.
Yes — the once greatest man had been reduced to that.
Whenever he was awake, he tried to analyze his surroundings.
The space was small — so he guessed it was a hut or a modest wooden house.
Around him were three people:
a young woman, a man, and a middle-aged woman.
He felt an unexplainable connection with the young woman — her voice was familiar, gentle, and filled with warmth.
He realized she was the one he heard before he saw the light.
His mother.
The man, her husband, was always away during the day and returned at night — tired, sometimes sweaty, sometimes stained with blood.
Joshua assumed he was hunting.
But strangely, no meat ever arrived.
The middle-aged woman — the midwife — came and went often, bringing food, herbs, and clean clothes for the couple.
She smiled a lot, but Joshua noticed the way her eyes often darted toward the forest edge, as if expecting something.
After observing for several days, Joshua concluded that they lived deep in the forest, far from the nearest village.
It was peaceful… but something about the quiet felt wrong.
The days passed softly, but every time his father came home — with blood on his hands and no game to show — that peace grew thinner.
Joshua might have been a baby again, but his instincts were still sharp.
And something inside him whispered —
> "This isn't normal."
That morning felt… different.
The quiet air carried a weight — like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Even baby Joshua could sense it.
His heart, though small, beat faster than usual.
When he opened his eyes, something was off.
The familiar presence of the midwife was gone.
His father — nowhere to be seen.
And for the first time, he wasn't in his mother's arms.
He lay alone on the small bed, wrapped in soft cloth.
His mother moved around the room, gathering things in haste, her hands trembling slightly.
Joshua tried to call out — but all that came out was a weak cry.
> "Ah… my little one,"
she said softly, rushing over to lift him into her arms.
Her embrace was warm, but her heart was pounding hard — too fast.
She rocked him gently, whispering lullabies that cracked between breaths.
> "Shh… it's okay, Mama's here."
The rhythm of her heartbeat calmed him for a moment, and soon, the exhaustion washed over him again.
Just those few seconds of crying drained his fragile body.
His eyelids grew heavy.
Sleep claimed him once more.
---
When he awoke, the world was chaos.
The sound of hurried footsteps.
A man's urgent voice — his father's.
> "We have to go. Now! It's not safe here anymore!"
His mother's breathing quickened.
He could hear bags rustling, wood creaking, hurried whispers.
Joshua tried to open his eyes fully, but his vision was hazy.
He caught faint glimpses — his mother clutching him close, her face pale and wet with tears; his father shoving open the door, scanning the forest.
There was no sign of the midwife.
> "Hurry!"
his father shouted, his tone sharper than ever.
The woman nodded, clutching Joshua tighter to her chest. They stepped outside, the cold wind slapping against their faces.
Joshua wanted to stay awake — to see, to understand — but something was wrong.
His body felt heavier than before, his vision dimming again.
> "Why… can't I… stay awake…?"
he thought, before the world slipped into silence once more.
It was as if someone — or something — wanted him asleep.