The morning sun was soft against the walls of the little wooden home, casting long golden streaks across the floor. The gentle scent of boiling herbs filled the air, mixing with the faint salt carried in by the breeze from the open window. Salah moved slowly, stirring a pot of soup on the hearth. He turned when he heard a quiet sound behind him—the rustle of blankets.
His wife was awake. More than that, she was sitting up.
He blinked. "Are you—?"
She nodded, her expression tired but calm. "Just wanted to sit a while. My back's sore from lying too long."
He set down the ladle and rushed to her side, but she lifted a hand.
"I'm okay. Really."
It was the first time in weeks she'd sat up on her own. For a moment, Salah forgot to breathe.
From the nearby cot, a small cooing noise brought both their attention to the child—the boy from the sea. Euryale. His little hands were in the air, reaching slowly, as if drawn to the sound of her voice.
Salah's wife smiled gently and reached out. Euryale's fingers grasped hers with unexpected strength. His eyes—deep, dark, ancient—watched her as though he understood something unspoken.
"You're awake too," she whispered to him. "We're all waking up again."
The days that followed felt… lighter.
Salah's wife began to laugh again—quiet, careful, but real. She started humming songs again as she moved about the small home, sometimes cleaning, sometimes folding clothes, even if she had to pause every few steps. Euryale was never far from her side. He crawled steadily behind her as if shadowing her every move, observing her with a thoughtful intensity that no ordinary infant should have had.
"He watches like an old man," Salah joked one evening as he cleaned a fishing net.
His wife chuckled. "Maybe he's just clever."
Maybe, Salah thought. But deep down, he wondered if there was more to it.
Euryale was changing too. He began to walk earlier than any child they'd ever seen. Not stumbling steps—real ones. Balanced, steady. He wandered from corner to corner of the house, touching everything. He never cried. Never screamed. But sometimes, when he touched certain things—wood, fabric, metal—they seemed to respond. Nothing dramatic. A tingling in the air. A hum deep in the floorboards. A shift in wind.
Salah noticed. His wife noticed.But neither said anything. Not yet.
One evening, Euryale placed a hand on the small wind chime hanging by the door. It didn't move, but the air around it stilled completely, as if the world held its breath. Then it rang once—clear, soft, melodic—without a breeze.
Salah's wife turned from the cooking fire.
"Did you hear that?"
Salah nodded. "Yeah."
They both looked at the child. He stood quietly beneath the chime, gazing up at it with the wide-eyed wonder of someone recognizing something old. A memory, maybe.
Still, he said nothing. He never had. But he didn't need to.
By the second week, Salah's wife had her strength back. She could walk to the edge of their garden now, even gather vegetables and herbs. She seemed brighter than before—lighter on her feet, her voice clearer. Sometimes, when she picked Euryale up and carried him, she would whisper to him as though they were sharing secrets only the two of them understood.
"Thank you," she once murmured into his soft hair. "I don't know what you are… but thank you."
Euryale didn't speak. He only laid his hand gently on her chest, where her illness once lived, and smiled faintly.
One afternoon, they ventured to the cliffs overlooking the sea. It was the first time she had left the house since her sickness, and Salah packed a simple meal for them in a woven basket. The wind tugged at their sleeves as they reached the edge of the land, where the grass met the rocks and the ocean roared below.
They sat together on a flat stone warmed by the sun. Euryale toddled toward the edge—Salah jumped up—but the boy stopped calmly and sat down on his own, just watching the waves.
"He's not afraid of anything," Salah said, trying to keep his voice even.
His wife looked down at the boy. "Maybe he's already seen everything."
They sat in silence for a long time, just listening to the waves and the cries of distant gulls. The moment was still—timeless.
"I thought I was going to die," she said at last, voice barely above the wind. "I could feel it every night. Like my body had already given up."
Salah reached over and held her hand. "You didn't."
She looked down at Euryale, who was now lying peacefully on his back, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. "Because of him."
Salah nodded.
"We'll raise him," she whispered. "Whoever he is… whatever he was… he's our son now."
Salah looked out over the sea, where the water shimmered like glass. The world felt like it had shifted, just a little—like it was turning in a different direction, slower and more intentional.
"He's not here to destroy," Salah said quietly. "He came back for something else."
Above them, the clouds drifted slowly. The breeze touched their skin gently, like a promise.
And behind his soft, sleepy eyes, Euryale listened.And remembered.