The baby was now sitting upright on a table clearly designed for cooking, glancing around at the group of people gathered nearby, their expressions intense and serious as they appeared to be deliberating over his fate.
There were three of them altogether: the tall older gentleman who had picked him up and brought him inside, and two children around the age of ten.
The male child had a slender build and stood at an average height for his age, with tousled chestnut hair that fell just above his cold emerald eyes. His face was lightly freckled, and he bore a small scar above his left eyebrow. He wore a simple tunic and trousers, both showing obvious signs of excessive wear, with a worn leather belt holding them up at the waist. His feet were bare, revealing slightly dirty soles, and a small dagger hung from his belt.
The female child was thin and had long black hair that fell loosely around her shoulders and covered her ears. Her dress was plain and faded, the hem slightly frayed from wear. The dress was as simple as it was practical, allowing her an ease of movement not common with most dresses.
However, as their discussion continued, all that the baby heard them saying was what sounded like gibberish, but in reality, they were trying to come to an understanding about what they had just seen.
"So, this baby just fell from the sky?"
"Yes, that is what I told you I saw, Feyra. Well, to say I saw it wouldn't be the truth, but it's the only logical conclusion to what happened outside." Father Fionnlagh responded.
"Man, you really must be desperate if you're asking a bunch of eight-year-olds for advice."
"It's not desperation, Kerian. I just wanted your input on the situation. I think that it's fairly obvious that this little bundle of joy is a gift from god Himself, but I want to get all the input I can before I decide what to do with him."
"Well, someone should send god a prayer and tell Him to wash His gifts before He sends them. That baby is rank!"
"Well, before we do anything, I think we should name him!"
"Good idea, Feyra. Well, it's tradition within the church for an orphan to have a similar name to the father of the church, so let's go with Finnian… Finnian Thorne."
Kerian turned to look at Father Fionnlagh with a face of confusion.
"Why Thorne?"
"Well, the crater marks that were left behind from his landing seemed to resemble thorns, so Thorne seemed like the appropriate last name."
Turning his gaze to the child, the old man reiterated the name to him to try and gauge his response; however, Finnian paid him no mind. He was too busy taking in the sights that were currently surrounding him.
"Looks like an earthquake hit this place." Finnian thought to himself as he looked around with his infant nose upturned.
Various utensils lay scattered across the floor as a result of his dramatic entrance. He likely wouldn't have even noticed the chaos around him if he hadn't repeatedly seen the young girl slip and stumble on the metallic debris left by his arrival.
But just as Finnian became conscious of his own thoughts, he realized that his focus was waning. This was something he could not allow.
"No, I can't think about that now. I can't get distracted; I have to remember my past... the reason why I'm here."
It felt like an itch he could never scratch. He sensed the presence of memories and a past life that distinguished him from an ordinary baby, yet they remained frustratingly out of reach. It was as if they were locked behind a sealed door or floating high in the sky, just beyond his grasp.
It was at that moment that Finnian had a genius idea.
"Maybe instead of trying to just remember all of my memories, I should try to find out the reasons behind who I am. It seems like my personality is still pretty much the same, so that must mean my personality transferred over. Logically, I should be able to reverse engineer it."
The child's eyes strained as they rapidly darted toward the ceiling. Every word, every thought, every response he had ever made in this new body was now being analysed as fast as his little brain could manage, when, all of a sudden, the ceiling that he was staring so intently into shattered.
"Dear mother of god!"
A loud, sudden crack exploded from the kitchen ceiling, sending pieces of plaster flying like confetti. Dust rose into the air and swirled in the light, while pieces of wood and insulation fell to the ground, making a chaotic snowfall of debris. A fine mist of dust hung in the air, settling like a shroud over the already unfamiliar kitchen.
Bracing for impact, the child attempted to move his hands up to cover his face, but the small hands of a baby weren't able to cover much of anything.
"So, this is how it all ends. I wonder what I'm gonna turn into this time? If its a baby again, I might just lose it!"
Accepting his fate, Finn closed his eyes, waiting for the impact to rip him apart. However, it did no such thing.
Instead, from that gaping maw in the ceiling, there exited a city, an upside-down city, a miniature upside-down city, suspended in the air as if defying the laws of nature.
Streets and buildings hung overhead, their rooftops facing down toward the floor, while delicate wisps of smoke curled downwards from chimneys that seemed to point into the floor below him. The structures varied in size and style, from towering skyscrapers with shimmering glass facades to quaint houses adorned with tiny balconies and colourful awnings.
The city's descent seemed to slow down as Finnian was now eye level with what looked like an office building. Within that office building, he could see a short, overweight, middle-aged man leaning over in his chair, reaching for something evidently out of his grasp. At this sight the child felt an odd feeling of camaraderie with the man, almost as if they were one and the same.
"Dear Lord above, it's me."
A look of disbelief and realization painted itself across the boy's face. As he gazed deeper into the city, fragments of his past began to resurface, but only related to what he saw. It seemed like his memories were still locked away, similar to a puzzle, but instead, he knew where all the pieces went, just not where they currently were.
"So, uh, testing, testing, one, two, can you hear me… me?"
It was no luck; it seemed that this version of Finn, or whatever he was named at this point, could not hear his calls or acknowledge his existence at all.
However, that did not mean there was not a connection; only that said connection was merely one way.
"I'm able to hear myself thinking. Well, not me, me, but the other me, the fat one."
It seemed that what was occurring here was not necessarily Finn being able to hear the thoughts of his past self but rather just him remembering his previous thoughts.
"Alright then, past me, spill all your secrets. What exactly happened to us?"