Morning came quietly.
The first rays of light streamed through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting the room in soft gold. Salah stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes. Beside him, his wife was still resting, her breathing light but steady.
From the corner of the room came a small sound—gentle, like bubbles rising through water.
Salah sat up.
Euryale was awake again.
The baby lay in the basket they'd made him, wrapped in soft cloth. He blinked slowly, eyes wide and calm, his tiny hands reaching toward the sunlight. A soft glow shimmered around his skin, pulsing faintly with each breath.
Salah smiled and got up.
"Good morning, little one," he whispered, lifting the baby into his arms. "Sleep well?"
Euryale didn't answer, of course—but he gave a quiet coo and nestled against Salah's chest like he understood every word.
Breakfast was quiet, as always.
Salah's wife sat by the fire, carefully cooling a bowl of thin broth. She had regained much of her strength in the last few days, surprising even the local healer.
She scooped a small spoonful and gently brought it to the baby's lips. Euryale didn't seem to need much food, but he accepted a few spoonfuls before turning his head with a satisfied sigh.
"He's not like other babies," she said softly.
"No," Salah agreed, "but he's ours now."
Later that day, Salah set out a wooden tub in the warm patch of sunlight behind their home. He filled it with water from the well, then gently placed Euryale inside.
The baby floated quietly, smiling to himself. His arms moved gently beneath the water, and the ripples seemed to respond without effort. Salah chuckled as the baby reached up, splashing a little more confidently this time.
"You'll love the ocean when you're older," Salah said. "Though… you've probably seen more of it than I ever will."
He watched in silence for a moment. There was peace in it—watching this child, so strange and so quiet, yet so full of light.
As days passed, the couple settled into a rhythm.
Salah carved small toys in the evenings: a fish, a moon, a simple spinning top. Euryale would sit in his wife's lap, gently reaching for each one. He never played in the usual way. Instead, he would simply touch them—his fingers resting against the wood as if he were memorizing its shape.
Sometimes, the toy would drift upward for a moment—just enough to make Salah blink.
But the baby never reacted. He simply looked content, as if the floating toy was as natural as the wind.
At night, they sang to him.
Old lullabies from their childhood, half-remembered songs their own mothers had sung. Euryale would listen quietly, his eyes fluttering shut as the room dimmed.
They swaddled him in soft cloth and let him rest between them on colder nights. His body gave off a comforting warmth, and his breathing always matched theirs.
Salah's wife often fell asleep with a hand resting gently over his tiny chest, feeling the faint pulse of life beneath her fingers.
One night, long after his wife had drifted off, Salah lay awake.
The stars glimmered outside the window, and the sea breeze carried a hush through the quiet village. He turned to look at the sleeping baby between them.
"Who are you really?" he whispered. "Why did you come here?"
The baby didn't move, but as Salah watched, a faint glow pulsed from within Euryale—just once, soft and steady, like a light inside his heart.
Salah smiled, barely breathing.
"I don't care," he whispered. "You're family now."