Euryale's POV
Something shifted in the air that evening.
It wasn't wind—Tex would have complained about the salt getting into his tools if it were. It wasn't danger, either. Not the sharp kind that makes your spine tighten or your instincts reach for power.
This was quieter.
Deeper.
Like the whole house was holding its breath.
I felt it before anyone spoke. A pressure behind my eyes. A tremor under my skin. Not magic—at least, not the kind I used to wield—but something older. Something inevitable.
Then Salah's voice cut through the stillness.
"Xena."
Not loud. Not panicked.
Urgent.
I turned just in time to see him move past the kitchen, his steps too fast, hands already shaking. The scent of boiled herbs thickened the air, sharp and bitter. A midwife entered behind him, her satchel clinking softly as if the sound itself were trying not to disturb the moment.
I didn't need to be told.
The baby was coming.
I followed more slowly, stopping just inside the doorway of the room. Xena lay on the bed, hair damp with sweat, jaw clenched in determination. Her breathing came in hard, measured waves. Her fingers twisted into the cloth beneath her as if anchoring herself to this world.
Salah dropped to his knees beside her.
"I'm here," he said, voice too tight. "I've got you. Just breathe. Just—just like she said."
Xena laughed weakly. "You're terrible at this."
"I know," he said immediately. "I'm sorry. I'll fix it. I'll—"
"Just stay," she whispered.
He did.
I stayed too, though no one asked me to. I stood still, hands at my sides, watching time stretch and fold in on itself.
I had seen births before.
Worlds blooming from nothing. Stars igniting in violent brilliance. Entire civilizations tearing themselves into existence through fire and force.
But this—
This was different.
This wasn't creation through power.
This was creation through pain. Through love. Through stubborn hope.
Hours passed. The room filled with murmurs, instructions, quiet encouragements. The midwife's voice was calm, steady, practiced.
"Good, Xena. Just like that."
"Breathe with her," she told Salah.
"I am," he said desperately. "I swear I am."
Xena squeezed his hand. "You're breathing too fast."
"I can't help it."
She smiled anyway.
I felt something building—not outward, but inward. Like the air itself was folding around the moment. The walls creaked softly, as if listening.
Then—
A sound.
Sharp.
Small.
Fragile.
A cry.
Not Xena's.
Something new.
The world seemed to soften around it. As if the universe itself had paused, recognized the sound, and stepped aside to let it exist.
The midwife laughed softly. "Well," she said, lifting a tiny, wriggling form, "someone strong just born."
Salah let out a broken sound that might have been a laugh or a sob.
Xena reached out immediately. "Let me see him."
The baby was placed in her arms, wrapped in soft cloth. Pink. Squirming. Loud.
"He's strong," the midwife said again. "And very healthy"
Salah was crying openly now, brushing his thumb over the baby's tiny head. "Hey," he whispered. "Hey there."
They named him Silas.
I stood there, silent, as the word settled into the room.
Then Xena looked up at me.
"Euryale," she said softly. "Come here."
I hesitated.
"Meet your brother."
Brother.
The word struck something deep inside me—something old and untouched. It felt strange. And right. Like a door opening where there had never been one before.
I stepped forward.
Silas was impossibly small. His fingers curled into fists no bigger than my thumb. His breathing was quick and uneven, like he hadn't yet decided how this world worked.
Xena shifted him carefully into my arms.
For a moment, I was afraid.
Not of hurting him—but of what I might feel.
But my hands didn't shake.
"He's… soft," I said quietly, unsure what else to offer.
Salah smiled through his tears. "Yeah. They start like that."
Silas made a small sound and shifted, his tiny fingers brushing my wrist. Something warm spread through my chest.
Not magic.
Not memory.
Just… warmth.
In the days that followed, the house changed.
It slowed.
Even Silas's cries felt gentle, like the house understood they were necessary. The walls seemed warmer. The air heavier with life.
Xena slept often, Silas tucked against her or resting in the small basket Salah had built with uneven corners and too much pride. Color slowly returned to her cheeks. Her smiles lingered longer each day.
Salah cooked meals that were far too simple and told jokes that were far too bad.
When he thought no one was watching, he sang to Silas—low, off-key, and earnest.
I watched it all.
I took it in like air.
I was there when Silas opened his eyes for the first time.
Dark. Wide. Curious.
They blinked up at me, unfocused but searching. He didn't smile—he was too young—but something in his gaze lingered, as if he sensed I was… different.
And didn't care.
I told him stories while Xena slept.
Quiet ones.
About the stars. About how light bends when it moves through water. About how the sea remembers everything that sinks into it.
He couldn't understand the words.
But he always calmed when I spoke.
Maybe he sensed what I was.
Or maybe—to him—I was simply his older brother. The strange one who didn't speak much, who moved too carefully, who always showed up when the room felt heavy.
Some nights, I sat by the window and watched the stars while Silas breathed softly from the next room.
I didn't expect this.
I didn't expect to feel… home.
This house was safe.
This family was healing.
And for the first time since the old world burned—
I wasn't waiting for the end.
I was watching something begin.