(Euryale's POV)
I didn't understand why everyone kept looking at me differently.
Xena smiled more these days, and Salah kept giving me those long glances when he thought I wasn't paying attention. Even Silas tilted his head sometimes and squinted at me like I was a puzzle that suddenly made sense.
But I wasn't a puzzle. I was just... me.
I liked chasing Silas around the garden until we collapsed in the grass. I liked dipping my toes in the cold river water and yelling just to hear the echo bounce off the hills. I liked drawing weird animals with sticks in the dirt and making up names for them.
This life was all I knew.
Once, Salah asked me what my earliest memory was. I paused, trying to think.
"My first memory?" I frowned. "Waking up in bed and Silas jumping on me yelling, 'Race you to the porch!'"
Salah laughed and ruffled my hair.
"That sounds about right," he said.
And that was the end of it.
I loved mornings. The smell of freshly baked bread from the kitchen, the soft voice of Xena humming while preparing breakfast, the warmth of sunlight spilling through the windows. Xena would often sit in a chair now, her hand resting on her growing belly. Sometimes I'd curl up beside her, pressing my ear against it.
"Can the baby hear me?" I asked once.
"Maybe," she smiled. "Why don't you say something?"
I leaned in. "Hi, I'm your big brother. I'm gonna teach you how to throw rocks into the river and chase butterflies."
Xena laughed softly and stroked my hair.
"You'll be the best big brother," she whispered.
Silas and I built forts and ran through the fields. He made up silly songs, and I added even sillier dance moves. We got into trouble sometimes—like when we accidentally let the chickens out—but we always made up for it.
Salah called us "my little hurricanes."
But he never scolded us harshly. Even when we knocked over the firewood pile, he just sighed and said, "You two keep me young and exhausted at the same time."
One evening, Xena sat in the garden while Salah prepared stew. I brought her a small flower I'd picked on the way home.
"For you," I said, holding it out with both hands.
She looked surprised, then took it gently.
"Thank you, sweetheart."
I smiled. "I thought it looked like the color of your dress."
"Do you know," she said, "you've been even more cheerful lately?"
"Really?"
"Like... brighter. More playful. Like something heavy just disappeared."
I tilted my head. "I don't feel heavy. I feel happy."
She nodded. "That's what matters."
I sat down beside her, resting my head against her arm. The breeze was soft, and her hand gently rubbed my back. I didn't know why she sounded so relieved—but I was glad she smiled more now.
At night, I'd crawl into bed, Silas already half-asleep across the room. The house felt quiet and warm, like a soft blanket wrapped around us all.
Everything I remembered was here. In this house. This village. With Xena and Salah. My mother and father.
I loved the way Xena called out for me when she needed help with something. I loved the way Salah's arms felt strong and safe when he lifted me onto his shoulders. I loved how Silas snuggled up next to me when the thunder rolled outside.
This was my life. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
The next morning, Xena was sitting by the window, humming while sewing something tiny and soft—clothes for the baby, I guessed.
"Ma," I said, walking up to her, "can I help?"
She looked up, eyes wide. Then she smiled, her eyes a little watery.
"Of course, darling. Sit here."
She showed me how to fold the little clothes and stack them carefully. Her hands moved gently, the way only a mother's could.
I didn't think twice when I called her "Ma." It felt right. Just like calling Salah "Pa." These weren't just names—they were mine to give them.
They were my parents. The only ones I'd ever known. The only ones I needed.