Euryale's POV
There was a strange sort of buzz in the air.
Not the kind that comes from power or danger—no, it was softer than that. Joyful, even. The village was preparing for a celebration, and everywhere I looked, someone had a task to do and a smile while doing it.
Banners were being stitched in the community hall. Tables were being scrubbed and set in the square. Children chased one another with bits of fabric like pretend capes, calling out names they barely understood.
"It's for the protector," Salah had explained one morning while whittling a piece of wood into a toy boat for Silas. "To remember the one who saved us all back then. Some say it was a warrior. Others say a god. But either way, people feel safer thinking he's still out there somewhere."
I said nothing.
What was I supposed to say? That I was that protector? That I had no divine origin, no title but the one given to me after I acted because it was right, not because it was fate?
I had never needed to be remembered. I had only wanted the people to live.
Still… seeing the excitement in their faces made my heart do something strange. A quiet stir. Like a memory that didn't ache anymore.
Silas was thrilled by the festival talk. He was three now, running faster than ever, speaking full sentences, and endlessly curious.
"Are there going to be sweets?" he asked one day while bouncing beside me on the porch.
"Yes," Xena said, leaning against the doorframe. "And music, and lights, and maybe even fireworks."
Silas turned to me. "Will you come too?"
I blinked, surprised by the question. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
He shrugged. "Just… you don't like big noises."
That was true. Ever since I returned, loud sounds often sent something sharp through my chest. Not fear—just… memory. Echoes of things long buried.
But for him, I'd go.
For them, I'd do anything.
The night before the celebration, the village square transformed. Lanterns floated in the trees. Tables overflowed with warm bread, fruits, and sweet pastries. Wooden masks were painted in bright colors—some with horns, some with wings, and some with no face at all, to "honor the unknown."
Salah dressed in his cleanest shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and helped Xena into a soft blue dress that brought out the shine in her eyes. She held her round belly carefully, and I stayed close in case she needed support.
And Silas? He wore a little cape made from leftover cloth. He called himself "Little Wind," and ran around declaring that he would protect his mama with wind powers just like Uncle Tex.
When we arrived, people were already dancing to the music of flutes and drums. The fire in the center flickered high, casting shadows that moved like dancers themselves.
Someone handed Xena a garland of flowers. Another pressed a sweet bun into Silas's hands. A few nodded to me respectfully—but most didn't recognize me. Why would they? I looked nothing like the statues built in the capital. I was a boy now, growing again, not the ageless figure they imagined.
Still, I could feel it—an echo of their reverence, carried in the warmth of the evening.
"They say the protector never showed his beast form," one woman whispered near the tables.
"My grandfather said he had extra arms," her companion replied. "Or eyes on his back."
"No one knows what he really looked like," added a third, "but they say he gave everything. His life, his body, even his soul."
I turned my gaze away.
Not because I felt exposed—but because I suddenly realized something.
And in that moment, I wasn't distant from them anymore. I was one of them.
Later in the evening, the elder of the village stood by the fire and raised his hand.
"Tonight," he said, "we remember the protector. The one who gave us the world we have now. And though we do not know his name, we know his heart. We live in peace because of his sacrifice."
People bowed their heads. A few lit candles. Others held hands.
And then they let the silence speak.
It wasn't heavy. It was peaceful. Grateful.
I closed my eyes.
I felt it again—that deep ocean stillness that used to mean loneliness.
Now, it meant something else.
It meant rest.
When I opened my eyes, Silas was looking at me.
"Are you sad?" he asked softly.
I shook my head. "No. Just remembering."
He nodded and leaned his head on my shoulder. "I like remembering. It makes the quiet feel full."
I smiled.
Yes. Full.
That night, as we walked home beneath the stars, Xena hummed a lullaby. Salah carried Silas, who had fallen asleep halfway through a bite of candy. I walked behind them, taking in every sound—the crickets, the trees, the faint echoes of laughter still drifting from the square.
I didn't need anyone to know who I really was.