It was loud.
Too loud, too bright, too warm. And wet. Why was everything so... squishy?
Arkin didn't scream right away. That part came a second later — more like a full-system reboot than a cry for help.
Okay. Ow. Lungs work. That's new.
Everything was a blur. The world, whatever this was, flickered in vague shapes and shifting lights. It felt like waking up from a coma you didn't remember entering — and someone had messed with the contrast settings while you were out.
Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew something was off.
He remembered... flashes.
A warm kitchen. A mother's hum. His dad's off-key singing while flipping pancakes. An older brother—always tired, always studying, always glued to that soul-crushing fantasy game where everything tried to kill you with a sword the size of a bus.
Faces felt blurry now, like memories viewed through fogged glass.
Even Theo's sarcastic drawl and Alissa's sunny laugh were slipping through his fingers.
And a cat—of course there was a cat.
Khalid Khasmiri. Professional couch-hogger. His royal highness, probably still judging humanity from atop a bookshelf somewhere.
Their faces were smudged, like half-finished sketches in fog. He reached for them—and they scattered like ash.
He didn't know how he got here. Wherever "here" was.
But he knew who he was. At least… mostly.
His instincts, his sense of self — that all remained intact. The rest? Broken puzzle pieces.
His soul felt anchored now, like it had been drifting until this moment.
And then — sound.
A gentle murmur. Voices. One close and soft, the other distant but growing louder.
A figure loomed into his hazy vision, glowing silver against a blurry background. Her face was a blur, but her smile was real — soft and proud. Her eyes… white? Not pale-blue. Not grey. White, like the inside of a pearl reflecting moonlight.
He felt calm.
Then—somewhere else in the room—doors burst open.
"Is everything okay?!"
That voice. A little panicked.
"Stop shouting—you're scaring him!" the silver-haired woman snapped playfully, still holding Arkin to her chest. "He just started breathing."
"Thank Solon," the man sighed in relief, brushing past a couple of startled nurses. "He's got your temper already."
Elya cradled the baby proudly, smirking down at her husband.
"And your hair," she said smugly.
"What—no way," he protested. "That's black!"
"Exactly."
"That's my color!" he said, jabbing a finger at the baby's little tuft of hair.
But Elya just leaned in closer, grinning. "He's got my eyes."
"Oh, come on, Elya! That's—wait." He squinted. "White eyes?"
"Told you," she grinned victoriously, holding the baby up proudly. "Finally got one who doesn't look like a carbon copy of you. My little baby."
A little girl poked her head in, eyes wide. "He's... really small."
"That's because he's a baby, Nyra," the father said, ruffling her dark hair. "They don't come out sword-fighting."
Nyra squinted at Arkin, climbing up beside her mother carefully. "He looks weird. Like a wrinkly peach."
"He's adorable," Elya corrected. "And perfect."
"Midwife," Raen said with mock seriousness, arms crossed, "are you absolutely sure this one's a boy? My reputation's hanging by a thread here."
The midwife chuckled from where she'd been quietly cleaning tools. "Yes, Lord Raen. You have a healthy baby boy. I checked. Twice."
Raen let out an exaggerated sigh. "Thank the stars. Three daughters in a row—I was beginning to think the Isles had it out for me."
"You have a son already," Elya reminded, smirking as she wiped sweat from her brow.
"Leiran barely counts," Raen grumbled. "You named him like a court bard. I wanted something that gives people goosebumps."
"Leiran is a strong name!"
"It sounds like someone who composes ballads about moonflowers," he muttered. "I wanted Stormea or Dreadassa. You vetoed both."
Elya laughed, eyes gleaming. "You tried to name our second daughter Bladea. I am never letting that go."
"It had bite."
"It sounded like a kitchen utensil."
He grinned. "This one's mine. Born in the month of Fulmen? I'm calling him Thundara."
"Oh no you don't," Elya said, a hint of panic in her voice as she lifted her chin. "We agreed—if he has my eyes, I get to name him."
Raen looked down at the baby, then back up. "You just made that rule up."
"I absolutely did not."
"Liar."
"Still your wife."
Nyra, perched at the foot of the bed, leaned forward eagerly. "Can I name him?"
Both parents turned toward her slowly, perfectly synchronized.
"Absolutely not."
A soft chuckle came from the edge of the room. Elya turned her head toward the quiet woman standing beside the window.
"Why so quiet, Selis?" she asked gently. "You've been staring at him like he's a seashell that started singing."
Selis, the second wife of Raen, tucked a strand of light-blue hair behind her ear. Her voice was soft, melodic. "He's just… different. There's a calm to him." She smiled, a little bashful. "Also, you're all arguing. I didn't want to interrupt the naming war."
"You've earned naming rights too," Raen added quickly, walking over and placing an arm around her shoulder. "After what you went through with Maerin, you deserve a full veto if Elya starts suggesting flower names."
"I heard that," Elya called from the bed.
Selis giggled softly. "Don't worry. I think he already has a name. You'll just have to listen closely."
Elya gave a theatrical sigh. "You sea-born always go for the mystical angle."
Selis offered a gentle shrug. "We live in the water. Mystical's our thing."
As the laughter faded and the room settled into the quiet hum of a new life beginning, Selis spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Arkiz."
Everyone turned to her.
"What was that?" Elya asked, blinking.
"Arkiz," Selis repeated, more confident now. "I don't know why… it just felt right. Like home."
Raen scratched his chin. "Hmm. Mysterious names from merfolk intuition… I'll allow it. Though Stormea was still better."
Elya paused, a flicker of alarm crossing her face. She had a sudden, very real premonition—if she kept this argument going, Raen might actually name their son something ridiculous. Suddenly, Arkiz felt like the most beautiful name in the world.
"You know what?" she said, nodding. "Arkiz feels perfect."
Raen smirked. "Acceptable, I guess. Better than Leiran."
"I like Leiran," Elya muttered.
"Of course you do," Raen said dryly.
"Arkiz it is then," Elya said with a warm finality, brushing a fingertip over her newborn son's tiny brow.
She smiled. " Arkiz Norzé Ryla."
The storm outside rumbled faintly, almost as if the world approved.