Three years had passed.
The small house by the sea had grown busier with time—worn but warm, its walls filled with laughter, footsteps, and the scent of Xena's herbal teas. Her belly had grown round with new life, and she often sat near the window with her hands resting on it, humming softly to the child she had yet to meet.
Outside, the sea glittered as always, but the child who once came from it had changed.
Euryale was no longer a baby. At four years old, he was tall for his age, sharp-eyed, and graceful. He moved with quiet confidence, never stumbling, never clumsy. Salah often joked that Euryale never had a "clumsy" phase. The boy had simply skipped it—like he remembered how to move from another life.
He helped Xena around the house with surprising maturity—sweeping the floor, collecting herbs, carrying water from the well. He never complained. He never whined. His silence was gentle, never cold. He laughed sometimes, small and soft, but there was always something behind his eyes—something ancient, watching.
One morning, Xena was kneading dough when she felt a strange flutter in her belly. She paused, smiling, and called out, "Salah!"
He entered quickly, wiping his hands on his shirt. "What's wrong?"
She laughed. "Nothing. The baby kicked."
Salah's eyes lit up as he placed his hand on her belly. The small thump came again, firm and certain.
"He's strong," he said.
"Or stubborn," Xena teased.
At the doorway, Euryale watched silently. Then he walked forward and gently touched Xena's stomach. The air shifted slightly—just a brush of warmth, almost like the house took a deep breath and settled.
The baby kicked again. Xena gasped, startled, but it wasn't painful. It was as though the unborn child had reached out in recognition.
Salah looked at Euryale, his expression unreadable.
"Did you feel that?" Xena whispered.
Euryale nodded slowly.
That evening, they sat together under the stars, Salah and Xena on a wooden bench, Euryale lying on the grass nearby with his hands behind his head.
"Do you ever wonder where he came from?" Xena asked softly.
Salah was quiet for a long moment. "Sometimes."
"I feel like… he's more than just a blessing. Like he's waiting for something. Or someone."
Salah didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked up at the stars. "I think he remembers something we'll never understand. But he chose to be here. That's enough for me."
From the grass, Euryale blinked up at the sky.
He didn't remember everything. Not yet.
But sometimes, in his dreams, he still saw flames in the sky. A great storm of light. A shattered city. A roar of power that cracked the skies. And his own voice—screaming, commanding, mourning.
And always, the sound of the sea, pulling him home.