Where does the Autumn whisper?

Autumn—

The cold-warm season of mist and moist meadows, of mystical weather, moreish air, and the sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the cottages.

It withers along the gusts of wind, flying yellow, red, and orange maple leaves.

Something about autumn breathes nostalgia—running like fire through the red deep in the veins.

Something always magical, perfectly miraculous. Serene. Romantic. Breezy. And warm.

The twirling flesh is the spell of seasons; the heart is where Autumn whispers sweet nothings.

A hazy blue sky, the maturing sun swirling slowly westward—its rays seeping through the twisting and turning of black and grey branches, where swarms and showers of yellow-orange leaves descend.

The sweet scent of ripened fruits lingers. Mystery curls around cottage trees. Bees buzz in delight at the unceasing bloom of vibrant flowers.

Ripples of shadows stretch along the unswept path, bounded with wooden and umber brick fences, below arched bridges where a tranquil emerald lake finds its way to the cold ocean.

Inside her cottage, in the cozy parlor, a kotatsu table sits blanketed in warm beige fabric.

Neva rests there, dressed in a soft white cardigan over her misty rose feeding gown. Her legs tucked beneath, she nurtures her child at her bosom, as he lies cuddled on his light blue feeding pillow.

"He's gotten so chubby," Neva murmurs, brushing his round cheek with gentle fingers.

Rhett chuckles, seated beside her—his elbow resting on the table's edge, his cheek in his palm, eyes softened in quiet adoration for their nursing baby.

She fondles her fingers through the child's thin jet-black hair, so alike his father's.

When she glances up, her eyes meet Rhett's. They tangle.

He smiles. Leans closer. Brushes her lips with a sweet kiss.

Together, they peer at the baby—just over a month old, already too adorable for the heart.

Rhett sneaks his finger into Rhean's tiny palm.

In the beat of a heart, the baby wraps his innocent fingers around his father's. All the while, he continues feeding, his doe-like eyes blinking up at his mother.

They smile at each other, always in awe of his sweet little gestures.

"He'll be a big mama's boy—I can already see it," Rhett says, as the baby lets go of his finger and grabs Neva's gown instead.

She smiles, nodding. "Of course he is. He's my darling little boy."

A lovesome grin spreads across Rhett's features, his eyes lingering tenderly on her as she showers loving kisses on Rhean's tiny hand.

"You're coming with me to Mrs. Barlowe's, right?" Neva asks, glancing at his laid-back attire—just grey sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee.

"Do we have to?" he frowns.

"She's looking forward to it," Neva insists. "Can we just leave soon?" Her eyes plead with his, all innocent and wide.

He shakes his head. "We could just have a bonfire here. In our own yard."

"It's different," she complains with a soft pout.

His gaze burns into her—slow, deep, amused.

Her cheeks warm into a delicate apple-red.

"What?" she asks, fastening his gaze.

"You're just too beautiful," he shrugs, grinning.

Her cheeks burn deeper in color. Thousands of butterfly flutter in her tummy.

Amused, a low chuckle escapes him. He never fails to make her flustered.

"Well," Neva clears her throat.

"If you're not coming with me, I'll have to enjoy the barbecue alone with my son."

His brows rise.

"Then I'm definitely coming. I can't have my wife part from me." He says, scooping her into his arms, grinning wide, peppering dewy kisses on her features.

She giggles, tingling under his touch, gently shoving him away.

He rests his head on her shoulder, glancing down at the bundled-up baby in his woolen sweater.

Neva adjusts her garment and lifts Rhean to her chest, gently patting his back to burp him, as their calm sunshine boy begins his journey into dreamland.

---

In the Barlowe's cottage yard, beneath the wide maple tree in the swirling late evening, flames of burning wood cast golden luminescence over the circle of people seated in peaceful quiet.

Mrs. Barlowe rocks little Rhean in her arms, Anna beside her giggling and cooing in baby language, trying to draw a smile from the baby's gentle face.

Mr. Barlowe and his eldest son tend to the barbecue, while Mr. Lonan sits nearby with a healthier-looking Ella loafed up on his lap, making casual conversation with the others.

Neva sits near the fire, palms open to soak in the warmth. Close beside her, Rhett sits quiet, his gaze mindful and firm, watching the man across the fire.

Jayden.

He keeps stealing glances—those lingering, affectionate eyes that burn too long.

Rhett's stare hardens. His eyes lock with Jayden's.

Jayden quickly looks away, swallowing nervously. No sane man would sit calmly if he saw someone eyeing his wife like that.

From the corner of her eye, Mrs. Barlowe notices it too—her son's gaze, lingering too long. Her heart sinks, weighed by a quiet ponder.

Neva peeks up at Rhett, sensing his hush.

Skittering her chair closer, she leans into him.

His eyes shift from the fire to her. Their eyes meet. Threaded.

She gives him a soft, perfect smile.

He mirrors it.

She is his sweet, his warm daylight—fading all his bitter and cold nights.

"Are you bored?" she asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

"If I say yes, will you leave with me?" he replies, a sly curve to his lips.

She silently intertwines their fingers. "Let's stay a little longer."

Suddenly, baby Rhean starts fussing in Mrs. Barlowe's arms. His tiny face scrunches, and then comes a loud cry. Anna panics.

"Oh my dear!" Mrs. Barlowe exclaims, drawing everyone's attention.

"What's wrong?" asks Mr. Barlowe.

"I think he's hungry," she replies, gently rocking him.

Neva rises and walks over.

"Shh… baby," she coos, taking him into her arms, softly caressing his beanie-covered head as he quiets in her warmth.

"Mrs. Barlowe, may I borrow a room?" she asks, needing comfort while feeding him.

"Of course, dear. Come with me," she replies, rising to lead her inside.

Neva glances back at Rhett. Their eyes speak.

He nods gently—he'll be fine.

---

Back home—

The midnight oak moon hangs high behind white gleaming clouds.

The married lovers lie tangled beneath warm covers, lost in their saccharine sleep.

By Neva's side, in the mellow bassinet, sleeps their baby.

The white crib stands empty—for Rhean always ends up by their bed, too fond of his mother's closeness.

Rhett remains ever anxious, fearful he might crush the baby by accident if he sleeps between his parents, yet—he's more unable to sleep without Neva beside him.

Then suddenly—

The sharp blaring of the phone rips through the silence, shattering their peace.

Grumbling, Rhett picks it up from the nightstand.

He squints at the caller ID.

Sky.

He swipes the screen. "Hello—"

"Czar," her voice rushes. "Raka's on his way."

His body freezes.

"What happened?" he asks, sitting upright, sleep vanishing from his eyes.

"How did he know?"

"We don't know. We kept a close watch on him…"

"You need to leave. Now."

His jaw tightens.

He ends the call without replying.

Neva sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in him. "Did something happen?"

"We need to leave," he says. "Dress Rhean warmly—I'll pack our things."

But Neva doesn't move.

"Why are we always abandoned by happiness?" she whispers, a lone crystal tear slipping down her cheek.

He halts and turns to her. His eyes soften as he meets her sunken eyes.

He leans in, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he breathes her in.

"We'll be fine," he whispers. "Just stay with me."

Pulling away, he kisses her forehead. "You have to remain strong—for me, and for our son."

She gazes up at him with trembling strength.

He takes her hands and squeezes them gently.

She nods. Lips pressed tight.

Without warning. Without softening. This world clashes into them.

The wound may heal, but the scars remain.

Of all the memories, close companions they must leave behind...

They are like the birds, migrating; for if they don't fly away, the cold, harsh winter frost will freeze and mow them down.

As the bright maple leaves fall off the twigs, so do their shadows from the once serene countryside of Ziriri. And just like that, their story in Ziriri has come to an end.

But she has her husband.

Her forever other–half.

And now, a beautiful little son.

And as long as they're together—they won't fall.

And if they must cross an ocean, they will build an ark of life—together.