It had been a year since the fight with the bandits.
I was six now.
Hard to believe, really. My body was still small, my arms thin, and I could barely swing a wooden sword without toppling over, but something inside me had definitely changed.
My mana had grown. Not just in size, but in presence. I could feel it pulse gently under my skin when I focused, like a second heartbeat. Thanks to my training, I kept exhausting my mana to the point I fainted, hell I might have felt like dying at one point, but the mana was more than noticeable.
I had no frame of reference for how much mana was considered "a lot" in this world. But compared to what I had when I first arrived... it was a different realm altogether. Back then, my mana felt like a flickering candle. Now, it was a steady lantern, bigger than a regular lantern.
Lyra was already ten. In this world, just five years away from being considered an adult.
As for Saul, he recovered well. He's missing an arm now, but he carried himself like it never happened. Lyra, bless her, tried to apologize the only way she knew how; by baking a cake. It tasted horrible. Like burnt flour mixed with gravel. Saul ate it with a straight face.
Thorskil had offered him money in return for saving our lives. Saul refused. He said he only wanted to pass down his teachings to Lyra. Maybe even to me, if I was serious about it.
Thorskil was hesitant, concerned like any friend would be. I'd overheard him say things like, "Are you sure about this?" and "You should really take it easy." But Saul only smiled and shrugged it off.
In the end, he started training both of us.
I never found out what information they got from the surviving bandits. Five of them were captured alive. Thorskil said they were interrogated. But when I asked about it, he told me not to worry. The next morning, those bandits were just... gone.
Now, I found myself sparring in the clearing once more, the field stretching out around us like a canvas painted in green and gold. The sun was high, the wind light. Birds chirped in the trees, and the grass whispered underfoot.
Clack!
My wooden sword met Lyra's, the sound echoing through the field.
"Great form, Kyro!" Saul called from where he sat cross-legged on a flat rock, watching us with his usual calm demeanor.
I grinned.
Clack!
Lyra swung low. I leapt to the side, rolled, and rose with a counter. My body moved on instinct. It felt good. Natural.
"Yes, that's it!" Saul encouraged.
I stepped forward, momentum behind me, eyes on my target. But then, Lyra's face changed and her grin faded. Her eyes narrowed and I was too slow to react.
Whack.
Pain exploded through my stomach. The breath left my body like a punched wineskin.
"Gaaah!" I wheezed, crumpling to my knees.
—F-Fuck...!
"Lyra!" Saul's tone sharpened.
"What? I had to try it at least once!" she protested, rolling her shoulder casually. "How else is he supposed to improve?"
"You don't test new moves on your six-year-old brother," Saul sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "If you want to pull something risky, try it on me."
"Ugh, fine," she said, then looked down at me. "Your face is just so puffed and squishy sometimes, I can't help it."
"I... I'll take that as a compliment.."
She knelt beside me and draped my arm over her shoulder.
"Can... can we have a time out?" I murmured. "I think I almost pooped..."
"Ewww!" she shrieked, immediately checking behind me like a startled raccoon.
A few minutes later, I sat on the bench near our garden, ribs still aching but grateful for the breeze. In the field, Saul and Lyra continued training. Their strikes echoed like a drumbeat. Lyra's form had improved, significantly! She was starting to move like a real warrior. Confident, sharp, purposeful. I tilted my head back, watching the clouds drift lazily through the sky. Part of me wondered what it would be like to be taught magic the same way Lyra was taught swordplay. To have a mentor guiding my mana, helping me grow it, control it, shape it into something powerful.
A little while later, we were in the study room as usual.
"So, Mom, what are we learning today?" I asked, leaning forward with interest.
Reyna closed her book with a gentle smile. "You two have finished simple math, so I think it's time we move on to something else."
I perked up in my seat, while Lyra groaned and let her head drop dramatically onto the table.
"We'll be learning history today."
"Ugh, history is so boring," Lyra whined into the wood.
To be fair, I kind of agreed with her. Back in my old life, I wasn't exactly a history buff either. But in this world, after six years of being here, I realized how little I actually knew. Not just about this country, but the entire planet. So yeah, for once, I was genuinely curious.
Reyna opened a large map and laid it out on the table. It was just wide enough for the both of us to see.
"We live in a village called Ytval," she explained, pointing at a small dot near the edge of a green blotch. "It's still within the borders of the Kingdom of Template."
The name "Template" still caught me off guard. What kind of kingdom is called that? It sounded like someone forgot to name it during world creation. But I kept that to myself.
"There are six major kingdoms," she continued. "Template, Varellos, Zintar, Querradia, Polis, and Ganghum."
Huh. Some of those names sounded like fantasy novel leftovers, but they were definitely unique. Our village was apparently close to the border with Zintar. We were way out in the countryside, which explained how other species could occasionally cross over through migration, assuming they had the proper paperwork. Kinda like immigration in my previous world, I guess.
"There are two continents," Reyna went on. "The Light Continent and the Demon Continent."
She pointed to the larger landmass first. "The Light Continent holds Template, Varellos, and Ganghum. The Demon Continent holds Zintar, Polis, and Querradia."
The naming was a bit on the nose, but Reyna explained the reason clearly. The Light Continent had milder weather, tamer landscapes, and generally more stable governments. The Demon Continent, on the other hand, was rough. Harsh terrain, monster-infested swamps, endless deserts filled with nothing but jagged rock and burning sand. Even the sea surrounding it was full of monstrous sea creatures that might eat you whole.
Still, Reyna mentioned that some of the best exotic foods and materials came from the Demon Continent. The people who lived there were said to be tougher, stronger, and more resilient than most.
Trolls and goblins, apparently, still existed here. In my old world, those species had either gone extinct or were wiped out during historical purges. Here, they were considered magical beasts, hunted like any other dangerous creature. Although Reyna's description of goblins made them sound more like a societal plague than monsters; disgusting, aggressive, and too dumb to understand other languages, yet smart enough to form small tribal communities. She said they were depraved. I didn't ask for more detail.
Then she moved on to a war that had happened long ago. A real ancient event.
"It's said that 1,600 years ago, the Demon Emperor Argoth tried to conquer the world," Reyna said.
I raised a brow. Sixteen hundred years ago? That's practically forgotten history. She confirmed that most people today barely cared about it. Peace had lasted for so long, the war had become more myth than memory, that's an exaggeration but you get the point.
"Some individuals in this world possess power far beyond the norm," she continued. "They're called the Calamity Forces. There are only eight of them at any time."
Apparently, the Demon Emperor was one of them. So were the Sword Gods.
Wait... Sword God?
That meant Dad.
Thorskil Samsworth. My humble, garden tending, occasionally embarrassing father was apparently considered one of the eight strongest people in the world. I blinked. That man? Really?
I glanced over at the map again. It suddenly felt a lot smaller.
Argoth, the previous Demon Emperor, was said to be a master of Wordless Casting, able to wipe out armies single-handedly. He was only defeated when four of the other Calamity Forces joined together and fought him in a 4 vs 1 battle. Even then, it wasn't an easy win. The other three Calamity Forces simply didn't get involved, since they weren't being personally affected.
It was a strange kind of balance. World-ending powers that only acted when annoyed.
I leaned forward as Reyna listed the current Calamity Forces.
"There's the Holy Arch-Knight, blessed by the God of Shield."
"Thorskil," she said plainly, not bothering to elaborate.
I blinked again. She really just dropped that in there like she was naming the village blacksmith.
"Then there's Saira, the other Sword God. The current Demon Emperor. The Beast Emperor. Jomstral, known to be the strongest in terms of brute strength. Kobalt, a Darkon mage. And lastly, Xero, the most powerful elf alive."
Eight beings that could probably reshape the world if they wanted to. And my dad was one of them.
I tried to picture him standing among them. Still couldn't. He still looked like just a regular dude to me.
"Woaaah! I take it back, history's pretty cool!" Lyra beamed, bouncing in her seat. "I wanna become a Calamity Force too!"
"Maybe someday, sweetie," Reyna said with a soft chuckle.
I glanced at her, noticing the small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. That sly look.
Huh. I think I get it now.
She led with the exciting stuff on purpose, didn't she? To hook Lyra. Smart one, Mom. If she'd started with dry facts and geography, Lyra would've been asleep by now. But now?
Now she looked like she was ready to eat the whole textbook.
Clever. But also... suspicious. If she spewed out all the interesting bits first, what would be left? Boring old timelines and treaties?
Or maybe... there was more. A lot more she hadn't said yet.
"Alright," Reyna said, flipping the map over and revealing a folded parchment beneath it. Her fingers smoothed it with care, like someone about to open a forgotten relic. "Since you're both so interested, how about we go back a little? To the beginning."
Lyra blinked. "The beginning of what?"
"The Age of Chaos," she replied, her voice dropping ever so slightly, like a storyteller preparing to spin a tale around a campfire.
Lyra tilted her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It was a time before kingdoms, before order. Back when the world was divided into wild clans and broken city-states. Before kings wore crowns or armies had uniforms. The land had no names. The borders were drawn with blood. It was, in every sense of the word... chaos."
She paused there, just long enough for the silence to sink in.
Honestly, I was a little impressed. She knew exactly how to pace it, like how to make us listen. I wasn't just sitting in on a lesson anymore. It felt like I was in it.
Reyna's fingers traced a circular symbol on the parchment. "The gods came first. Where they came from, no one knows. A realm above our own, perhaps. A higher dimension. But they were born as siblings, a divine family of clashing wills and temperaments."
She pointed to the symbol at the center. "The first to act was the God of Nature. She laid the foundation. The earth, trees, mountains, and rivers. From her hands, the Elves were born. They didn't need to breathe or eat. They simply were; beings of eternal stillness."
"What are you talking about?" Lyra asked with genuine curiousity.
"I'm saying that Elves used to be immortals, now they could only live around 400-500 years. And of course, they need to eat, sleep and breath like us unlike before."
So elves used to be immortal, self-sustaining. Cool.
"Then came the Wind God," she continued. "She gave the world air, movement, weather. She made the Skyfolk, winged beings who lived above the clouds, and imbued all creatures with free will."
"So the first breath and the first choice..?" I said outloud.
"Yes." Reyna cleared her throat, she turned the parchment, now showing a sketch of a dragon coiled around a mountaintop.
"The Flame God admired his sister's work, and so he made his own creations. The Darkons. The first beastkin, humanoids who bore the traits of dragons, and the dragons themselves, majestic and terrible. Creatures of strength and power, untamed and wild."
Dragons and Darkons shared a creator. That made them cousins, in a way.
"Then the Shield God looked at what the God of Nature had made and shaped his own race: humans. We were fragile compared to others, but capable of growth. Our gift was adaptability, and aura."
And then her tone shifted slightly.
"But the most creative of them all was the Demon God," she said, tapping a curved line filled with branching marks. "He didn't copy anyone. Instead, he experimented. He gave life to countless unique forms. Beastfolk, demons, dwarves, minotaurs, and monsters beyond count. Where others sought balance, he sought variety."
I glanced at Lyra. Her eyes were glued to the parchment now, hands clenched in her lap. That trick Reyna pulled earlier? It was working.
"The eldest of them all," Reyna went on, "was the Lightning God. And unlike the others, he simply... watched. For eons, he stayed silent. Unmoved. Until something about the world finally stirred his curiosity."
Her voice dropped even lower. "He didn't want to create. He wanted attention."
And there it is, the first god with an ego.
Lyra's eyebrows shot up.
"The God of Blades noticed this. Cold and precise, he descended as well, not to destroy, but to instruct. He gave the world swordsmanship. He taught mortals how to fight."
So that's where sword techniques came from in this world.
"The other gods were horrified. They had created life to live in peace, but their older brothers had tainted it with blood and violence. What followed was a divine confrontation. The younger gods challenged their elder brothers, and the result was a war that lasted a thousand years."
Reyna's voice slowed. "The scale of that battle is hard to describe. Every strike between gods shattered mountains and boiled oceans. They tore holes in the sky. The energy they released, what we now call mana, filled the air for generations."
Wait... so mana isn't just nature's energy. It's leftover power. Traces of a war between gods.
"That mana has never left the world," Reyna said. "It soaked into the land and changed it forever. The people who lived through that time absorbed it. And so, mages were born. Not as chosen ones, but as survivors of divine fallout."
My eyes widened as the pieces fell into place.
"In the end," Reyna went on, "only two gods remained standing: Lightning and Blade. The others followed their lead, and some of them vanished, not wanting to follow either of them. Religions rose to worship them. Their influence shaped the world."
"Wooooah," Lyra whispered.
That wasn't what I expected from a history lesson. I came in expecting names and dates. Instead, we got divine a civil war.
"So..." Lyra said, trying to make sense of it, "The gods made all the races, then they started fighting, and now we have magic because of that?"
"Exactly," Reyna said with a gentle smile. "History isn't just facts. It's stories. And when you understand the beginning, everything else starts to make sense."
Just then, a familiar voice called out from downstairs, warm and inviting.
"Everyone! I baked carrot cake! Who wants some?"
Lyra and I immediately locked eyes then we both said in unison.
"Papa's carrot cake?!"
"Dad's carrot cake?!"
We bolted for the door like it was a matter of life and death.
"Hey! Class isn't over yet!" Reyna called after us.
"Yes it is!" Lyra shouted gleefully as we hit the stairs.
"Sorry, Mom!" I added, barely turning my head as we dashed down.
Reyna stood by the hallway, arms crossed but smiling faintly. Her sigh was soft, almost amused.
"History can wait," she murmured to herself. "But carrot cake? Apparently not."
***
It had been several weeks since Mom last taught us history. Now she was moving on to the duller stuff — kingdom founding dates, long-dead rulers, and political mergers that sounded more like bad marriages than grand events.
We'd just wrapped up another one of those painfully boring lessons. Lyra nearly passed out halfway through, and I wasn't far behind.
Now, back in my room, I was trying to focus on something more interesting: magic.
On the windowsill sat a small flowerpot. The flower inside was a gift from Mom, given to me last birthmonth. She said it would teach me patience, care, and responsibility.
I sat on my knees and opened my palm toward the plant. A gentle warmth gathered in my hand as mana pulsed beneath my skin. Slowly, water began to form. They were shimmering, delicate, and round.
Right then, my nose twitched.
"Aaah… CHOO!"
The sneeze burst out before I could stop it. The waterball shot forward and splashed down like a miniature tidal wave.
The flower's head bent backward with a soft snap, the stem giving out under the sudden weight.
"...Whoops."
I leaned in, wincing at the poor little plant. The petals were intact, but the stem had snapped in two. Muttering an apology under my breath, I gathered more mana and focused. A faint glow traced along the break as the flower slowly straightened, the fibers knitting back together.
"There," I said, a little proud. "Watering done. Enjoy the sunlight, buddy."
I gave the flower a light pat like it was a pet.
Then I heard my mother's voice from downstairs.
"Kyro!"
I stood, brushing off my knees. "Coming!"
By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, she was already holding a small sack in her hands.
"Can you take these seeds to Mr. Hans?"
I nodded and took the sack. "Sure."
Lyra was off doing laundry today, which meant chores were divided. Delivering seeds wasn't the most exciting task, but I didn't mind.
I walked down the dirt path with the warm sun on my back. After delivering the seeds to Mr. Hans, I found myself lingering near the wheat fields, where the golden stalks shimmered beneath the afternoon light. They swayed gently in the breeze, like waves in a silent sea. There was something peaceful about it, so different from the chaos I remembered in my past life.
A soft gust of wind brushed through my hair.
"I wish the person who healed me when I was four was here…" I murmured. "Maybe they could've taught me magic too."
Feeling restless, I turned off the path and made my way toward a grassy hill just beyond the wheat. It wasn't very tall, but from the top, you could see the fields stretch into the horizon. A lone tree stood at the center, its shadow reaching out like an open arm.
I climbed up and sat beneath the shade. The tree filtered the sunlight perfectly; warm enough to feel cozy, but cool enough not to sweat.
Back in my old life, I never had places like this. I was a suburban kid, surrounded by houses and sidewalks, where even grass had rules. But here? This countryside was quiet. Untouched. It felt freeing, in a way.
Moments like this… I kind of cherished them.
Just as I was about to lay down and relax, I suddenly heard soft footsteps behind me.
I turned.
A girl was walking up the hill. Black hair. White dress. Eyes shut tight. Her arms were wrapped protectively around a book pressed against her chest. She looked about my age, maybe a little smaller.
She stopped just behind me and spoke, calm but firm.
"Move."
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You're in my spot."
I stared at her. "…What spot?"
She pointed straight down at where I was sitting. "That spot."
"But I just got here."
She didn't even flinch. "I've been coming here since spring. You're sitting in my thinking spot."
She said it like it was common knowledge.
I opened my mouth to protest, but her expression didn't change. Eyes still closed, face calm, tone unwavering.
"Move." She said again.
I stared for a moment. Then sighed.
I scooted a few inches to the side.
She sat down right where I'd been, her dress settling like a ripple over the grass.
Not a single word of thanks. Not even a glance in my direction.
What just happened?
I slowly turned my head, staring at her with wide eyes.
Who was this kid?
She just sat there, her book resting neatly on her lap, gaze fixed straight ahead. The wind gently tugged at her dress and hair, but she didn't move. She looked like one of those statues people carve for a forgotten hero — serene, still, and completely ignoring me.
I cleared my throat. "So, uh… are you new around here? I've never seen you before."
A simple question, friendly enough. A tiny effort to start a conversation.
If this were my old life, no way I'd have said anything at all. I barely knew how to talk to people back then. Years spent holed up in my room, rotting in front of screens, really did a number on me. But now, I was trying. At least, I thought I was.
She said nothing.
No glance. No nod. Not even a twitch.
It was like talking to a rock.
Panic crept in. What do you do when someone doesn't even acknowledge your existence?
I knew how to talk to kids... sort of. Lyra's friends came around now and then, and I'd picked up the basics of small talk. We weren't close, but I could hold a conversation without stammering.
But this?
This was next-level.
And so, I stood up and left.
Halfway down the hill, I paused. Looked back. She was already reading, flipping a page in her book like I'd never existed.
I shook my head and trudged home.
***
The next day came quickly.
After finishing my chores, I headed back to the same hill. I sat a bit to the side, giving her space — just in case.
And right on cue, she appeared again. Same black hair. Same white dress. Same closed eyes.
She didn't greet me. She didn't ask me to move this time either.
She just sat beside me like it was completely normal.
We sat like that for hours. No words. No gestures. Just two kids under a tree in silence, as if time forgot us.
Then, just as the sun began to shift across the sky, she turned her head toward me.
Her face was blank. Calm.
Then she spoke.
"Can you leave me alone? Your ugly face is bothering me."
I flinched.
What?! Your eyes aren't even open! I screamed internally.
That was… brutal.
"Ouch. Okay then," I said with a wince, standing up.
I didn't argue. I just left.
***
Day three.
This time, I got clever.
I walked toward the hill like normal, but right before I reached the top, I veered off and ducked behind it. The tree's angle was far enough to cover me. From that angle, I had a perfect view without being seen.
She arrived, exactly on schedule. She scanned the area, saw no one, and sat down at her usual spot. Then she opened her book and began reading quietly.
That was my cue.
I crept up the hill from behind, each step slow and careful, barely making a sound.
When I got close enough, I leaned in just above her shoulder.
"What are you reading?"
"WAH!"
She leapt to her feet like a cat, her book slipping from her hands. Her face contorted in pure panic.
I caught a glimpse of the pages; there were drawings. Not words. Beautiful sketches, actually. Inked by hand.
"H-Hey! I'm not gonna hurt you! Why are you—"
She stepped back, raising her hand with sharp precision.
"Oh God of Nature, awaken the bones of the land and bend them to my will!"
Wait… Is she—?
"Geo Push!"
Boom.
The earth beneath me buckled as a stone pillar shot out and slammed straight into my ribs.
"OOF—!"
I flew backward, rolling down the hill like a sack of potatoes.
By the time I stopped, I was face-first in the dirt, clutching my chest. My ribs hurt. A lot.
I groaned. "Ugh… that might've cracked something…"
Then I heard her footsteps. Fast, frantic, rushing down the hill.
I turned back to the hill and she was running the opposite side, leaving me in pain.
Oh man… what was her deal?
I clutched my chest tighter, like I'd just been rejected before even getting the chance to ask someone out.
"Aughhhh..." I groaned louder, burying my face in my arm. The pain in my ribs pulsed with every breath. I didn't even notice the tears until I felt one roll down my cheek.
I wasn't crying from the hit. Not just from that, anyway.
I was just… trying to talk — trying to be normal. And I got punished for it.
"That wasn't fair..." I whispered, voice shaking as tears hit the grassy ground, "I didn't do anything wrong..."
I stayed there, curled up on the grass, trying to blink away the sting in my eyes.
Then, I heard it. Footsteps. Light but deliberate. Coming closer.
A shadow fell over me, blocking the sun.
I looked up, and there she was again.
Same girl. Same blank expression. But something was different this time, her shoulders were tense, and her brows slightly pinched.
"W-What do you want?" I snapped, voice brittle. "Here to finish the job, you little—"
But before I could finish, she knelt beside me.
Her hand reached out, hovering above my side. Soft green light shimmered from her palm.
My breath caught.
"By Lunareth's light and breath, restore what lies in pain and death. With care I speak, with hope I guide, let wounds be healed from deep inside."
My eyes widened. The words and the flow of mana. I knew this feeling. It was the same warmth that healed me when I was four.
"Heal."
The glow from her hand pulsed, then gently faded as the warmth sank into my ribs. The pain dulled, then vanished entirely. I blinked.
I could breathe again. Fully. Freely.
I slowly sat up.
"...You know healing magic?"
She didn't answer. Her hand lowered. Her eyes, still closed, stayed focused on something far away.
I stared at her for a moment, rubbing my side. Not even a bruise left. Her casting was clean. Efficient.
"…Thanks," I muttered, brushing dust from my shirt.
Still, she said nothing. Just stood up quietly, turned around, and started to walk away.
"Wait."
She paused mid-step but didn't turn.
"…Why'd you heal me?"
A few seconds of silence passed.
Then she said, almost too quiet to hear, "I didn't mean to hit you that hard."
I blinked.
That was... as close to an apology as I was going to get, wasn't it?
She resumed walking, heading to the dirt path.
I sat there for a moment longer, watching her small figure move, her book still clutched tightly under one arm.
"Kyro!"
A familiar voice echoed across the open field.
I turned to see Lyra standing at the edge of the path, hands cupped around her mouth like a trumpet.
"GET YOUR UGLY BUTT BACK HOME! MOM HAS NEWS SHE WANTED TO SHARE!"
I blinked, startled. "Okay!" I called back.
I turned one last time toward the dirt path, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl again, but she was gone.
Huh? Where did she—
But before my thoughts could even finish forming, I heard the thunderous stomp of boots pounding across the dirt. I turned.
"RAGHHHH!" Lyra roared, barreling toward me like a wild animal.
"Ack—!"
She grabbed my wrist with a death grip and immediately started sprinting back toward the house, dragging me like a ragdoll.
"AH— LYRA, YOU'RE HURTING ME!"
"Then move faster! Every second you're not moving pisses me off!"
There it was. A classic older sibling line.
I stumbled and flailed behind her, my feet barely catching the ground as she hauled me down the path like a sack of grain.
And just like that, whatever peaceful moment I had… vanished.
***
"Kyro is going to be an older sibling. Isn't this exciting?" Reyna said cheerfully, her hands clasped together as she gave a tiny bounce, her eyes shining with joy.
We were all sitting on the wooden bench just outside the house. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the porch, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of wheat from the fields. Lyra sat beside me, completely stunned, while I couldn't help but smile. I felt genuinely happy for Mom.
Dad, though — he lit up like the sky on festival night.
"Really?!" Thorskil exclaimed, springing to his feet. Without hesitation, he swept Mom into his arms and lifted her high into the air.
"Y-you're pregnant!" he laughed, spinning in place, his strong arms holding her like she weighed nothing.
Reyna burst into laughter, holding on to his shoulders as they spun together in a clumsy little circle. Their joy was infectious. It filled the space between us, overflowing like water from a bucket.
"Congratulations, Mom," I said, my smile widening. I meant it. Something about this news, it felt warm.
Then, Lyra made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
"Seriously? Another Kyro? One is already barely tolerable!" she cried, slouching dramatically with her arms crossed. "I'm going to need a raise in sweets if I'm gonna survive this."
Dad barked a laugh. "Come on, Lyra. You'll be the big sister now too."
"I already am a big sister," she said with a pout. "Now I gotta share that title again? Ugh…"
Mom chuckled and reached out to ruffle Lyra's hair. "You'll do great, sweetheart. Besides, the baby will need both of you."
"Then I want to name it!" Lyra declared suddenly, sitting up. "If it's a girl, I get to pick. If it's a boy, Kyro can have it."
Dad laughed again. "Is that fair, Kyro?"
I gave a shrug and a grin. "I'm fine either way. I just hope it doesn't cry too much."
"Oh, it will," Mom said playfully, lowering herself back onto the bench with Dad's help. "And it'll scream and drool and crawl all over your books."
I paused. "…Wait, on my books?"
"Especially your books," Dad said with a wink.
Lyra smirked. "Well, if it eats your books, it means it'll be smart like you, right?"
"More like you, the hungry one," I muttered.
Everyone laughed again.
And for that one afternoon, everything felt light. Peaceful. Like nothing else mattered but us.
[End]