Bedtime Stories or is it History?

The seasons outside the window continue to change as the years go by.
The infant, Gavin, is now a grown kid, and his vocabulary has had an upgrade from the single syllable baby noises - The slight upgrade includes a complex speech structure, one which isn’t really expected from a child of his age.

But the strangest addition to his body are the small gill-like marks which are forming behind his oddly long ears, just above his nape. The marks and his ears are similar to his mother's, which makes him wonder if they're a genetic trait.

Speaking of which, even Olivia has stood witness to the passing time, yet her face and skin show no apparent signs of ageing. It’s not something that can be brushed off as a compliment, rather, it’s a bit peculiar to witness.

A cycle has been observed.

His mother leaves early in the morning to earn their daily bread, and more often than not, he will wait for her until evening - At least that's what he is supposed to do. He has been strictly instructed to not step outside without her super vision.

Today is no different, as Gavin sits on the floor, watching Olivia as she keeps going out of his field of view and returning with new articles of clothing like a shabby cloak, a different but no less dirty chemise and a set of torn turnshoes. She ties a hood over her abnormally long ears, whilst tucking her messy hair into the hooded bundle. When her preparations are done, she walks over and cradles his soft cherubic face with her hands.

"Baby, mama's gotta go out for work now, okay?"

The familiar feeling of slight roughness brushes past his skin. He recognizes those harsh patterns which have become part of his life for the past seven years or so. It's those blisters and calluses. 

Those dark bags under her eyes and the slight strain in her gaze now make more sense, given her routine. As her thumbs brush past his eyebrows, Gavin can only feel a sense of shame and helplessness.
Why am I so useless?
The thought always wedged into his mind - The inability to help this woman, despite having the full existential awareness of a grown man, leaves a drag on his conscious. 

Olivia notices the tension on the edge of his eyelids, and interprets them as a form of longing. Her eyes grow soft as she seems to reciprocate the feeling. She presses a soft kiss to his forehead and whispers.

"Momma doesn't wanna leave you either," she pulls back and wipes a stray tear which escaped her eyes. She rubs the spot she just kissed and places a hand on his shoulder. "but we both gotta be strong, okay?"

She gazes at him for a moment longer and when she confirms that he is gonna be fine, she slowly walks over to the door. Just before leaving, she looks back at her baby and wipes her face for the last time. Before closing the door, she meekly says:

"Remember, momma loves you. I'll be back before you can even miss me."

And with that she leaves.

Now is the time.

The plan ‘wait till the mother goes out’ is in full effect.

What's that?

Just a plan which involves him investigating the surrounding area - A habit he has developed over the past few years.  A habit born out of the need to do something. Anything, to make himself feel in control.

In his early years, the expeditions were limited to the confines of the house - You can only travel so far as a crawling baby. But ever since he has mastered the art of walking, his investigation field has spread out to the surrounding area of the house.

Yet, Gavin has a lot of things to figure out. Like, for starters, what is the geography and structure of this world? At first, Gavin thought he had reincarnated into a native northern countryside, later he came to the conclusion that maybe he was back in medieval times, but all those theories went out of the window when, on a calm autumn afternoon, he saw a wyvern.

Yes. The winged reptilian creature of the fantasy skies.

As mentioned, it was a calm autumn evening during his infanthood, and Olivia had decided to take him out for some fresh air. In her arms she cradled him and that was the first time he faced the outside world since his birth, or more so, rebirth. She strolled him around the front of their little wooden cabin, and he was taking in the sheer amount of greenery and wild trees.

The sky seemed so naked to him.
Apart from the few cloudy clumps, there were just pure azure heavens, and maybe it seemed odd to a man who had lived in the smog filled cities of the industrialized world.

This peaceful virgin view was hurled into a stream of confusion, when he spotted something gliding across in the distance.
Planes? Jets?
Those were his logical estimates but then his mother trashed his logic with the revelation.

“Oh baby, look! Those are wyverns.” she points him towards the sky and elaborates further. “Looks like they are migrating in search of active volcanoes. It must be their time to lay eggs.”

Honestly, nothing registered in his mind after the word ‘wyverns’.

After that day, he had confirmed one thing - This is another world, and not just any world - A world where beasts and creatures of fiction are not trapped to the confines of tales and fantasies. From then on, he had to think extra hard to determine whether the bed time stories, that Oilvia narrated every night, were actual myths or records of real history.

At present, he has explored a fair bit of the wild forest surrounding the cabin, but he always made sure to stay within six to seven kilometres of the house - After all, this isn’t the body of a battle prone criminal; he is still a kid. A self aware kid, but still a kid.

He marks the trees with a X using the knife that he steals out of the kitchen, always making sure to return it before Olivia returns. The past few years of these explorations have only confirmed that their cabin is literally in the middle of a massive forest.

Today, he will scout further around the back area of their cabin. For this journey, he has a loaf of bread which Olivia left for him, and he has also draped a scarf sewn by her. Lastly, he carries a small satchel and the knife is gripped firmly in his hand - Even in this new life, his skill with the knife remains intact.

He is ready, but before he can take a single step in his new journey, he hears something - Something which causes him to pause. It was a very low and disembodied voice, seemingly carried by the grace of the wind.

“...help…”

Gavin turns around and his vision focuses in the darkness of the forest canopy, the place where the strained whispers seem to travel from. Now, the sensible thing would be to go back to the cabin, lock the door, and call it a day. Yet, he keeps hearing the strain in the murmured voice, the pain becoming more apparent.

“...h-help…ma…”

The test to prove your virtue comes only on rare occasions, and perhaps this one was specifically sent for him - Ignorance provides safety, yet it will also add anew to his tally of guilt.

He can’t afford that.

Gavin lets out a sigh and changes the course of his journey.
He marches into the forestry and soon begins marking the closest trees with a scratchy X, a pattern which he repeats whilst venturing deeper into the unknown area. The further he travels, the more he considers the nature of this whole operation - Still questioning whether this would actually be considered an act of goodness, if he's doing it just to avoid his own possible guilt. Do good deeds only count when they are done selflessly? 

The hushed grunts and sobs grow stronger as he approaches a small clearing in the forest.

Gavin knows he is close when he see signs of struggle and messy foot tracks in the muddy forest. There is also an inconsistent trail of blood, and just as he reaches the clearing, that’s where he finds the source of sounds.

Huddled against the base of a grand tree is a boy. There seems to be no clothing on him and he appears a bit bigger than Gavin, but the most prominent feature is the skin - It’s dark green. 

The trail of blood leads to him and upon closer glance, Gavin notices metallic nails biting into the boy’s foot, followed by a broken chain - It seemed like a spiked rod was lodged into the achillies's tendon. Gavin could tell this was no ordinary trap, the metal spikes seem to have been inhumanely hammered in.

Gavin is settled into some bushes, as he assesses the situation from afar. His intellect is making him contemplate whether he should truly approach this mess - The chains and blood, paint a very grim picture. 

His contemplation is cut short when the whimpers grow more desperate.