Days passed.
At first, I counted them. Then I stopped. Time in this world doesn't rush-it drips. Slow. Heavy. Real.
Too real for a dream.
I've gathered enough information to understand the life I'm living.
My mother's name is Elizabeth Beffort. She cheats on my father-or at least, he believes she does. I don't even know if I am truly his son.
My father's name is Alexander Hamilton.
They call me Xavier Hamilton.
Strange names. None of them feel like they belong to me.
I try to speak, but something stops me. It's not just that I'm a baby. It feels deeper-like an invisible barrier wrapped around my mind. Even when they talk, I sometimes can't fully comprehend their words. Their language slips through me like water.
My father is almost always drunk. Yet I've learned something important: he isn't poor.
He's wealthy. Influential. Important.
And yet he chooses to live in this decaying house in this forgotten village. He and my mother agreed not to spoil me. Or maybe that's what I think they agreed on. Sometimes their words blur together.
Every second, I question this world.
It feels too consistent to be a dream. Too slow. Too detailed.
If I were honest, I would say I was transported to another world.
But that's not how reality works.
You don't just wake up somewhere else.
Right?
Today, I learned how to walk.
Not for some grand moment. Not for applause.
Just to reach the cookies my mother hid from my father.
No one saw my first steps.
And honestly... I didn't care.
Eight months have passed. I understand them clearly now. I've learned how to speak-but I choose not to.
If I speak too early, I might shatter this illusion.
And I don't want to ruin it.
Despite everything, they both love me. I can see it in the way they hold me, even after screaming at each other.
Maybe time will fix them.
Maybe I can fix them.
One night-
Alexander slammed his fist against the table.
"You cheated on me. I know it. You slept with some degenerate."
Elizabeth's voice trembled.
"I didn't cheat. How many times do I have to say it?"
"He's not my son. I'm going back to my other house."
"Oh, your cold little mansion?" she snapped. "Go, then. You coward."
The argument felt different this time. Sharper.
But I noticed something else.
My mother started carrying a book.
She held it often. Protected it.
One afternoon, I managed to open it.
I couldn't read a single word.
The pages were filled with strange symbols and unsettling drawings-circles, creatures, patterns that made my head ache if I stared too long.
I closed it.
I chose not to care.
"Xavier? Where are you?"
Why does she call for me like I can answer?
...Even though I can.
"Oh, there you are, honey. I forgot to feed you."
She laughed softly and held me close.
After that day, my parents made peace-at least for now.
That night, she laid me in bed and told me a story.
A knight fighting a dragon.
I didn't understand it.
Why fight the dragon?
What did it do?
Couldn't they have just ignored each other?
People here seem obsessed with those kinds of stories.
Heroes. Monsters. Glory.
But I've never seen a television. No phones. No screens.
I've never even seen outside this house.
It's bizarre.
Maybe they're hiding technology from me so I won't grow spoiled.
Or maybe...
It doesn't exist.
I've completed my first year as a baby.
That's everything I've learned.
And yet... something feels wrong.
My memory is becoming fuzzy.
There are gaps.
Holes where thoughts should be.
Sometimes I try to remember my old life-
Jeff.
The name feels distant.
Like it belongs to someone else.
And I'm starting to wonder...
Was that life the dream?