Brother? Excuse me? No. No, we're not doing this.
Asha stepped fully into the room, bare feet whispering softly against the wooden floor. Her hair was tied in two uneven braids, the kind that made it very clear she'd done them herself. Her eyes—bright, curious, and a little anxious—fixed on Adam immediately.
She approached with exaggerated caution, like someone tiptoeing toward a sleeping lion cub she dearly wanted to poke but also very much wanted to keep all her fingers.
"He's really small," she whispered.
Lira chuckled softly. "All babies are small."
"Not this small," Asha insisted, leaning closer until her shadow fell over him. She squinted. "His eyes look funny."
Excuse me?
Lira raised a brow. "Asha."
"I mean—they're… bright." The girl's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like he's thinking something. Babies aren't supposed to think."
I'll have you know I have thought more today than most adults do in a month, kid.
Lira stroked the girl's hair affectionately. "He's just alert. That's a good thing."
Asha leaned in until her nose was almost touching Adam's forehead. "Can he hear me?"
"He can hear everything," Lira said proudly. "Babies listen more than we think."
Asha's eyes widened even more. "Everything?"
Lira nodded.
Oh god. Don't let her start trauma-dumping. I cannot emotionally babysit at this size.
Asha's shoulders straightened with sudden purpose, and she whispered with intense seriousness,
"Hi. I am your big sister. I will protect you from spiders and mean goats."
…Goats?
She nodded to herself, clearly satisfied with her declaration of duty, then added, "But not from the Elders. They scare me."
Lira gently pressed a finger against her lips. "Hush, now. Don't speak of them like that."
Asha's expression tightened. "Everyone's talking about the light."
Lira stiffened.
"That's nonsense," she snapped softly but firmly. "Do not repeat every rumor you hear."
Asha swallowed, then nodded.
But her eyes drifted back to Adam with a different kind of scrutiny—one mixed with worry and fascination. As if he were something fragile, strange, and important all at once.
Adam tried to blink up at her reassuringly, but the best he managed was a slow, wobbly flutter.
Asha gasped. "He looked at me!"
"Of course he looked at you," Lira said. "You're his sister."
The girl practically glowed at that, puffing her chest in pride. "Yes. Obviously."
Then her face shifted into a comically serious frown, the kind a child adopts when they're about to ask something dangerous.
"Mom… he really did came back from death?"
Lira froze. It was only for a heartbeat, but Adam caught it.
Her hand tightened slightly around him.
"No," she said, too quickly. "He was born just like any child."
"But—"
"Asha." The name came out firm, sharper than before. "Enough."
The girl pressed her lips together and lowered her head. "…Sorry."
Lira sighed and softened again, brushing her daughter's cheek gently. "What matters is he is here and safe."
Asha nodded quietly.
Silence fell for a moment.
A warm one, but a tense one—like a blanket that didn't fully hide the cold underneath.
Finally, Asha whispered, "Can I hold him?"
Lira hesitated. "You need to sit down first."
Asha scrambled to the nearest cushion and plopped down with a soft thud, legs crossed, back straight, arms lifted in a serious, ceremonial pose.
She looked like a tiny monk receiving a very sacred potato.
Lira carefully moved toward her, adjusting the cloth and Adam's position.
Oh no. No, no, no. I am far too young—again—for this. She's going to drop me. I can see it. My life is going to end because a nine-year-old slipped on a rug.
"Support his head," Lira instructed gently.
"I will," Asha said.
Lira eased Adam into her daughter's arms. Asha grunted softly at the unexpected weight—even though he was small, he wasn't weightless—and carefully adjusted her hold.
Adam stared up at her.
She stared back.
A slow smile bloomed across her face.
"Hi," she whispered. "I'm Asha. You can call me… actually, you can't talk yet." She frowned thoughtfully. "So I'll pick your nickname. Until you get a real name."
Lira raised an eyebrow. "A nickname?"
Asha nodded. "Yes. Every hero starts with a small name first."
Hero?!
Hold on. Wait. Wait. Are we setting expectations already? Can I at least finish being born first?
"What nickname?" Lira asked warily.
Asha considered him with great seriousness.
"Hmm… something strong. Something grand."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Potato."
Adam's soul nearly left his body again.
Lira sputtered. "Asha!"
"What? He looks like one!"
"I am not calling my son a potato!"
Asha hugged him protectively. "My potato."
Oh god. This is my life now.
Before Lira could argue further, a heavy knock landed on the wooden door—three slow, deliberate taps that seemed to drain the air from the room.
Lira froze. Asha froze. Even Adam's tiny body reacted, instinct curling his fingers.
Marek's voice came from outside the door—strained, low, uneasy.
"Lira… they're here."