Warmth.
That is the first thing Kaino registers after the chaos of birth fades.
Not light. Not sound.
Warmth.
His body is pressed against something soft, rhythmic—alive. A steady thump pulses beneath his cheek. A heartbeat. Not his own. Another's. It anchors him, grounding the storm of sensation that still threatens to overwhelm his fragile form.
The world narrows.
Arms cradle him carefully. Strong, practiced hands. A familiar scent—clean linen, faint spices, something unmistakably human. Protective.
This… this is being held,
he realizes.
His crying softens, dwindling into quiet, broken sounds. The hunger remains—sharp, insistent—but now it has direction.
A voice murmurs nearby. Gentle. Exhausted. Loving.
"There… there you go," Mirabel whispers. "He's calming down."
Another voice responds—low, calm, unmistakably steady.
"He knows he's safe."
That voice—
Something clicks.
A memory flashes, unbidden.
A screen glowing in the dark of a small, lonely apartment. Late-night competitions. Precision plating. Calm authority. A man standing at the peak of the culinary world, feared and revered in equal measure.
Keano St. Hunter.
The man he watched every day.
The man whose hands turned ingredients into meaning.
The man he admired… from afar.
No…
That's not possible.
Kaino's unfocused vision shifts. Blurry shapes sharpen just enough for recognition—not with eyes, but with something deeper. Presence. Weight. Familiarity.
The arms holding him are the same arms he once saw commanding kitchens, guiding knives, plating perfection.
That's… him.
That's my father.
The realization hits harder than any sensation so far.
Not excitement.
Not disbelief.
Something heavier.
I have a father.
I'm not alone this time.
His tiny fingers twitch reflexively, curling against fabric. The hand holding him tightens slightly in response, instinctive and protective.
Keano St. Hunter looks down at his son.
And for the first time in two lives, Kaino feels something crack inside his chest.
The Twin
A small sound draws his attention—a soft, delicate noise nearby. Not his. Higher. Quieter.
Another presence.
Wrapped in warmth, held against Mirabel's chest, a second bundle shifts. Tiny fingers uncurl. A faint sigh escapes her lips as she sleeps, peaceful in a way Kaino cannot be.
Her…?
Understanding dawns slowly, like light through fog.
I'm not alone.
I wasn't born alone.
A twin.
A sister.
Kaia.
Even without words, without sight, he feels the connection—thin but undeniable. A shared beginning. A shared breath. Two lives entering the world together, diverging from the very first moment.
Where his hunger burns hot and restless, hers is gentle, quiet.
Balance.
We started together, he thinks.
But we won't walk the same path.
First Taste
The hunger spikes suddenly, sharper than before. His body squirms, tiny muscles tensing as instinct takes over. A soft laugh escapes Mirabel.
"He's hungry," she murmurs. "Just like you said."
Keano nods. "He's strong."
Careful movements. A shift. Kaino is repositioned, drawn closer. Something warm brushes his lips.
Instinct overwhelms thought.
He latches.
And then—
Everything changes.
Warmth floods his mouth. Thick. Rich. Sweet.
Milk.
The taste explodes across his senses—not violently, but profoundly. It coats his tongue, fills his mouth, slides down his throat, easing the ache that has consumed him since his first breath.
This…
This is—
There are no words for it.
Not pleasure.
Not relief.
Meaning.
His body relaxes instinctively, drinking deeply. Each swallow sends waves through him—comfort, sustenance, connection. The hunger recedes, replaced by something gentler, something deeper.
Tears prick at the edges of his awareness.
I can taste.
I can feel nourishment.
This is real.
In his past life, taste was a dream. A concept. A longing he chased endlessly, never able to grasp it fully. Food had been beautiful, but distant—observed, imagined, never truly known.
But now—
This is mine.
This sweetness exists because I exist.
Something inside him breaks.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It fractures quietly, like ice melting under spring sun.
Taste… is proof.
Taste means I'm alive.
His grip tightens reflexively, tiny fingers clutching at fabric as if afraid the sensation might disappear. His feeding grows steadier, stronger, as though his body understands the importance of this moment even if his mind cannot fully articulate it.
This is not just food.
This is confirmation.
Internal Collapse
Inside his newborn mind, emotions collide—gratitude, grief, relief, longing. Two lives overlap for a fleeting moment.
I died once,
without ever tasting the world.
A quiet sorrow wells up—not regret this time, but acknowledgment.
I won't waste this.
Not a single bite. Not a single moment.
A pulse echoes faintly in his chest, synchronizing with his heartbeat. The system stirs—but remains silent. Observing. Recording.
Desire fulfilled.
Existence confirmed.
Quiet Promise
Keano watches closely, eyes softening as Kaino feeds. "He eats like he knows what he wants," he says quietly.
Mirabel smiles weakly. "Just like you."
Keano doesn't respond right away. His gaze lingers on his son—on the intensity even now visible in the way he clings to life, to sensation.
"Maybe," he says at last. "Or maybe… he'll go further."
Kaino continues feeding, unaware of the words, yet somehow answering them.
I will taste the world.
I will understand it.
I will live.
Nearby, Kaia stirs softly in her sleep, unaware of the promise being forged beside her.
Milk tastes sweet.
And for the first time, Kaino St. Hunter truly knows what it means to exist.