I’m a prisoner of circumstance—and in the most literal sense, a prison. Apparently, this thing I’m in is called a cot. I’m forced to wait, trapped in a confined little box as my wardens patrol the space, making sure I’ve got what I need to endure my sentence.

  “Hey, maid Upsilon. Watch greatness unfold before your eyes.”

  That pale dy—Lilith, she called herself—picked me up, cradled me briefly, and pced me back down again.

  What are you pnning?

  I could see the open door.

  Is she stupid?

  In my mind, a smirk crawled across my baby face. I looked at my captor with contempt, ready to make my move.

  I moved. I crawled. The cot had no walls. Nothing stopped me from going.

  "He’s getting away!" one of them screamed.

  Too slow.

  They tried to catch me. I turned left, then right, then left again. I was calcuting. Adapting. Evolution in real time.

  But they caught me. Gently. Pity.

  “He’s so pyful.”

  “Yes he is. That’s the point of it all. Someone like you may not understand... but Thales is no fool. He is the star to light the path to the future.”

  Ugh. Theatrics.

  “Welcome to your new home, House Miray, my special one.”

  Where am I now? And why do I feel awe, wonder, and shock all at once? It feels like my memories are fading—wait, no. I have no memories.

  I’m born.

  The baby, Thales Miray.