The days stretch gently in the royal infirmary, each one slow and quiet, like the soft turning of pages in a long-forgotten book.
Zayn sleeps through most of them, his tiny frame barely shifting beneath the embroidered blanket. The blanket looks far too large for him, swallowing his small body in folds of velvet. His breaths are light… fragile… as if the slightest breeze might carry them away.
But the healers begin to smile more with each passing visit.
His color improves.
The bruises fade.
The wound on his head—still wrapped in clean white linen—begins to close.
Sometimes he stirs.
A flutter of lashes.
A twitch of fingers.
A little gasp, like a secret trying to escape.
Each moment is a small miracle for Queen Anila.
She remains beside him every single day, sitting upright on the carved wooden chair, her robes falling around her like a gentle sunrise of silver and rose-gold. She hums lullabies her mother once sang to her—songs of safety, hope, and stars guiding lost travellers home.
Sometimes she talks softly, as if he can hear her.
She tells him about Ahmad and Naima, about the gardens in bloom, about the sky that changes colors over Elarion's rooftops. She brushes his hair, smooths his small brow, and wipes away the fever-sweat that comes and goes like an unwanted visitor.
It is a quiet devotion. A bond forming without words.
---
Prince Ahmad visits every morning before lessons.
His steps are always hurried, like he fears Zayn might wake up without him there.
He brings books—thin storybooks filled with bright pictures—and sets them gently near the boy's pillow.
"I thought maybe… if he hears stories, he'll dream better ones," Ahmad says one morning, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.
Naima toddles in behind him most days, clutching a bunch of wildflowers sometimes bigger than her tiny hands.
"One for Zayn," she announces each time, placing her gift on the growing pile by the window.
The flowers wilt quickly…
but the pile grows anyway.
---
Even King Hamza visits at night, when the palace fades into silence.
He stands at the door first, usually without speaking. His broad shoulders are always tense, his jaw tight, as if he's preparing for a battlefield he cannot see.
Then he steps close, his eyes softening as they fall on the small boy lying quietly in the bed.
"Still resting?" he murmurs.
The king rarely touches Zayn, afraid of hurting him. But each night—every single night—just before he leaves, he says the same words:
"You're safe now, Zayn. Rest."
---
The Awakening
It is early morning on the sixth day when Zayn finally opens his eyes.
The sky outside glows pale gold, sunlight spilling across the room in soft ribbons. Queen Anila is humming when his lashes flicker… then lift.
Two wide, dark eyes stare up at her—confused, dazed, frightened by the light.
She gasps and leans closer. "Zayn?"
He doesn't speak. Not yet.
But he sees her.
He sees the room.
He sees the world.
His fingers twitch against the sheets.
Her heart leaps.
"Do you remember anything?" she asks gently.
His small brows crease… and slowly, very slowly, he shakes his head.
"It's all right," she murmurs. "You're safe here."
He tries to sit but winces, the pain still sharp. She steadies him carefully.
"Shh… rest. You're still healing."
She brings him warm broth. He drinks it quietly, the warmth settling into him like comfort long lost.
"You're Zayn now," she whispers. "It means beauty and grace. Your name is a gift… and so is your presence."
He stares at her, trying to understand.
But when she smiles—something inside him softens.
Trust.
Tiny and fragile… but present.
---
Learning to Live Again
The days after he wakes are filled with slow progress.
Zayn does not speak—not a word—but he responds.
He flinches at loud noises.
He tightens his grip on the blanket when guards pass by.
He looks everywhere with the focus of someone expecting danger.
Yet he watches everything.
When Ahmad visits, Zayn follows him with his eyes as if studying his movements.
When Naima dances around the bed singing her little nonsense songs, he stares at her as if she is the first bright thing he has ever seen.
One afternoon, Naima sets her stuffed bear beside him.
"You can borrow Button," she says. "He doesn't like being alone either."
Zayn hesitates.
Looks at her.
Looks at the toy.
Then—slowly—his fingers curl around its worn paw.
Across the room, Queen Anila covers her trembling smile.
---
Walking Again
By the second week, Zayn begins walking short distances.
At first, he clings to the rails in the infirmary, taking tiny steps like a fawn learning to stand. Ahmad proudly offers his shoulder.
"He's getting stronger," he tells King Hamza one night. "Doesn't fall as much."
Hamza watches Zayn from afar, sitting quietly by the garden fountains.
"Yes," the king nods. "He is."
---
A Mind Like a Mirror
Zayn begins drawing in the dirt using twigs.
Simple lines at first… then clearer shapes.
The courtyard.
The trees.
The knights training.
He remembers everything.
Ahmad catches him copying the stance of a palace guard one afternoon.
"You want to be a knight too?" Ahmad asks, amused.
Zayn looks up… and for the first time, a tiny smile touches his lips.
Just a flicker.
But it's enough to make Ahmad grin in triumph.
---
Finding His Place
Zayn begins joining the royal family during mealtimes.
He sits beside Naima, who chatters endlessly.
He watches Ahmad practice sword drills.
He listens to Queen Anila's stories at night.
He still does not speak.
But he learns.
He learns the palace corridors.
He learns the people.
He learns safety.
He learns family.
Late one night, Queen Anila brings him a storybook.
"It's about a boy who couldn't find his voice," she says, opening it gently. "But he discovered a gift no one else had."
Zayn stares at the cover… then at her.
"You just rest," she whispers. "I'll read."
And so she reads until his eyes close again.
---
Becoming Someone New
By the third week, Zayn is no longer only the mysterious boy found in the river.
He sits straighter.
Walks steadier.
Smiles sometimes—tiny, fleeting smiles.
He watches the world with a quiet intensity, absorbing everything.
No one knows who he once was.
But they know who he is becoming.
A child of the palace.
A brother.
A bright spark wrapped in shadows of forgotten memories.
And deep inside him—beneath fear, beneath silence—something stirs like a sleeping flame.
Waiting.
Growing.
Preparing for the future only fate can see.