Astaria looked like something out of a storybook.
A tall mountain stood in the center, and roads spiraled around it like ribbons. The city was built in rings along the mountain's slopes. From the top, you could see the sea in every direction.
Alicia and Rohart lived in the middle ring, where the wind was gentle and flowers always bloomed early. Their house was small but cozy, with blue-white walls, ivy on the corners, and a garden that had grown wild over time. Butterflies flew through the lavender, and the air always smelled fresh.
On a quiet afternoon, Alicia sat on a bench with a photo album. Rohart sat beside her, his tea long gone cold.
"You look like you're about to cry," she said without looking up.
"I'm just surprised you kept this album," he said. "That trip was five years ago. You hated it."
"I hated the weather," she replied. "Not the trip."
She showed him a blurry photo of him laughing under a broken umbrella.
"You were trying to act cool," she teased.
"I was protecting you," he said. "And this is the thanks I get?"
"You forgot the umbrella during rainy season," she shot back.
He laughed, and she leaned against his arm. For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then Alicia's hand went to her stomach. Her body tensed.
"Rohart…" she whispered.
The pain started. He jumped up instantly. "Nurse!" he shouted. "It's happening!"
They had prepared for this. A doctor and nurse were already waiting inside the house. Alicia was taken to the medical room quickly, her hand brushing his as she passed.
Rohart stood frozen in the hallway. He knew this moment was coming. Kiwan's words echoed in his head:
She will die after giving birth.
He had prayed, hoped, done everything, but the fear never left.
Minutes later, a baby's cry rang through the house. New. Alive.
Then came silence.
The doctor stepped into the hallway, eyes lowered. He didn't have to speak. Rohart's knees gave out as he pressed his back against the wall, tears flowing. He had known, but knowing never made it easier.
Inside, something strange was happening.
The newborn lay wrapped in a cloth cradle. A soft blue light surrounded him. The glow gathered and formed wings. A butterfly appeared, deep sapphire, glowing softly. It circled the baby twice, then scattered into light.
The doctor stared. The nurse dropped her tools.
The baby was beautiful, unnaturally calm. His dark eyes opened and turned toward Alicia's covered body. His tiny face looked… sad.
"Rohart! You need to see this!" the nurse called.
He walked in, still trembling. The baby turned toward him. Rohart knelt, offering a finger. The baby gripped it tightly.
He let out a broken laugh. "I don't know if I should cry more… or laugh."
He looked at Alicia's covered form. Her last words came back to him:
"Promise me you'll be happy when he's born. Even if I'm not there. He'll be our will. You won't be alone. He'll be Alan."
Rohart looked at the boy.
"Alan," he whispered. "Your name is Alan."
The baby blinked.
Six Months Later
Time passed quietly. Rohart kept both the bookstore and Alicia's flower shop open. He worked hard, wanting to keep her memory alive.
Alan grew fast. He was always calm, watching everything like he understood more than a baby should.
One afternoon, Rohart held him while arranging book deliveries.
"You're heavy now," he said. "You'll break my arm before your first birthday."
Alan laughed. Rohart tickled him. "Hey, don't laugh at your old man."
Then Alan looked at him with a serious expression.
And spoke clearly.
"Dada."
Rohart froze. A six-month-old talking? He stared, then slowly smiled. Alan just smiled back, his blue eyes sparkling like deep water.
To be continued…