Chapter 2: Adjusting to a New Life

As the sun slowly climbed overhead, its warm rays spreading across the city, the young boy stirred in his bed. His eyes fluttered open as light streamed through the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. He let out a small yawn, his mind slowly waking up from the sleep that had stolen his consciousness. As he sat up in his bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, the memories from theprevious night began to flood back to him.

He saw flashes of his past life as Arthur Smith- the power, the authority, the battles won and lost. He had been a god amongst men, a leader of men. But now, in this new life, he was nothing more than a child, dependent on the care and attention of others. As he sat there in his bed, the weight of his past life pressed down upon him, a suffocating blanket of memories and experiences that seemed so far removed from his current reality. He felt a flicker of frustration and helplessness, his newborn throat unable to articulate the emotions swirling within him.

He longed for a way to communicate, to voice the confusion and frustration that welled within him. He felt like a stranger in his own life, like an intruder in the body of a child. He knew what lay ahead, he knew the trials and tribulations that he would soon face, but he had no idea how to prepare for them. As he pondered his situation, he heard a faint noise outside his door - the sound of footsteps approaching. His heart pounded in his chest as he wondered who would be visiting him at this hour. Would it be the woman who had rocked him to sleep the night before, or someone else entirely?

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and the young boy held his breath, waiting for the door to creak open. He felt a strange mixture of anticipation and fear as he prepared himself for the unknown. A moment later, the door creaked open, and the young boy's heart leapt in his chest as the woman who had put him to sleep the night before entered the room softly. She carried with her a tray with a bowl of steaming porridge and a mug of hot milk.

"Ah, you're awake," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "Did you sleep well, little one?" The young boy looked up at her, his heart pounding in his chest. He longed to tell her who he really was, to express the turmoil inside him, but his infant tongue could only manage a soft grumble.

The woman approached the bed, setting the tray down on the bedside table. She sat down beside the young boy, her eyes full of curiosity and concern. "I see you're quite the grumpy one this morning," she said with a chuckle, reaching out to smooth the young boy's hair. "Must be all those dreams keeping you up all night."

The young boy felt a strange mixture of emotions as the woman stroked his hair. In his previous life, he had never known such gentle touch - only the cold, hard reality of war and political intrigue. As the woman gently fed him spoonfuls of porridge, the young boy found himself feeling strangely calmed and content. The porridge was warm and sweet, a welcome distraction from his swirling thoughts. As he finished the last mouthful, he felt a strange sense of contentment wash over him.

As the young boy finished the last spoonful of porridge, the woman gently wiped his mouth with a cloth. She gave him a warm smile, her eyes filled with a strange mix of sadness and affection. "There, there, little one," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You'll understand soon enough. But for now, just be a child. Just be a child." And with that, she left the room, leaving the young boy to his thoughts and memories once more.