I couldn't remember when I stopped remembering.
There was no single moment when my old life slipped away—no echoing farewell, no fading voice. Just one morning, I awoke to birdsong outside the window, the smell of porridge in the kitchen, and the sound of Silas laughing. It was all I knew.
The dreams had ended. Those strange names, those distant places—they stopped appearing in my sleep. The ache of knowing I had come from somewhere else had melted into the steady warmth of the home I lived in now. And when I looked in the mirror, I didn't see anyone else. Just me.
Euryale.
A name I didn't know the origin of. A name Salah and Xena gave me.
And I loved it.
Life returned to a simple rhythm.
In the mornings, I fed the goats while Salah chopped wood. He would show me how to measure firewood by feel, his hands rough but gentle as he guided mine. He never looked at me like I was broken. Never asked again about the dreams. He just smiled like a father teaching his son.
In the afternoons, I helped Xena grind herbs and learned the names of each plant she used. She always told me stories while she worked—about silly things Silas did when he was younger, or the way Salah once chased a wild duck into the river and fell in.
I'd laugh until my stomach hurt.
And in the evenings, I'd run with Silas through the fields, letting the wind brush our faces until the sun dipped low and painted the sky in golden fire.
No past haunted me. No future weighed me down.
I was just a boy growing up with his family.
But there were small moments when I noticed the difference.
A flash of light might make me flinch, though I didn't know why.
Sometimes I moved faster than I should, or jumped higher than I thought possible. And when I was alone, I could feel something humming inside me, like a pulse that didn't match my heartbeat.
I didn't tell anyone.
I didn't want to worry them.
And anyway, what did it matter? I was strong. I was happy. I was home.
One rainy afternoon, I sat near the hearth, watching the flames dance.
Xena sat sewing by the window, and Salah was dozing in his chair, a blanket draped over his knees. Silas had fallen asleep beside me, his head resting on my arm.
I looked around and felt something swelling in my chest.
It was quiet. Soft.
And yet so full.
I didn't understand it at first.
Then, without thinking, I whispered, "Mother."
Xena looked up from her thread, her hands freezing mid-stitch.
She blinked at me.
I blinked back, surprised at myself. But it felt… right. Natural.
She set the sewing aside and walked over, kneeling beside me.
"Say that again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitated, then placed my hand on her cheek.
"Mother."
Tears welled in her eyes.
Salah stirred and looked over, confused.
"Everything okay?"
I turned toward him.
"Father."
The word fell from my lips like a gift.
Salah sat upright, his eyes wide, then soft.
He didn't say anything, just nodded and opened his arms.
I stood, walked into his embrace, and buried my face in his shoulder. It felt warm. Safe.
Right.
"I love you both," I said softly.
Xena joined us, wrapping her arms around us both. Silas, half-awake, giggled and clumsily joined the group hug, mumbling something about "too much mush."
And for the first time since I was born into this life, I felt truly complete.
Later that night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
I tried, just once, to recall something—anything—from before. A name. A place. A face. But there was nothing. Just a soft, gentle void. Not painful. Not frightening.
Just quiet.
And in that quiet, I made peace.
I was Euryale.
I was their son.