Good Morning... Father
Birds chirped softly outside as the first golden rays of morning filtered through the old glass window of Aria's room.
Inside, all was still. Peaceful. Calm.
A soft snore escaped from the bed as Aria lay curled beneath a tangle of blankets, completely unaware of the dawn breaking outside. His brow twitched slightly, but he didn't stir.
He was still asleep. Deeply asleep.
And he never slept this late.
Tap.
Tap.
Tiny footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway beyond. A quiet shuffle. Then the sound of something soft being placed on the floor. The footsteps padded away—then returned again, this time with a faint clink of glass.
Back and forth, the little feet went—small, careful, trying not to make any noise.
Each time, they stopped just short of Aria's door.
The boy had already learned not to wake his father.
Another faint snore, then a sudden cough from Aria. Sharp and rough.
The footsteps halted immediately.
A shadow appeared just beyond the doorway. Peeking in cautiously, we catch a glimpse—brown tousled hair, striking blue eyes filled with worry. The tiny figure blinked, frowning at the still-sleeping man.
But when Aria's coughing eased, the boy exhaled with relief and tiptoed away.
Down the stairs he went—one careful step after another—until we saw him properly.
A five-year-old boy, wearing one of Aria's red shirts that hung like a robe on his small frame. The hem brushed against his knees, the sleeves dangling over his hands. The collar slumped off one shoulder, but he didn't seem to mind. It was better than being naked, after all—he had no clothes of his own.
Not yet.
The boy took a deep breath and continued downward, trying his best not to fall.
He could have floated, of course. He remembered how. Floating would have been easier.
But no. He wanted to walk.
He wanted to get used to this human body—the little aches, the softness, the clumsy legs.
He wanted to learn to live as a human would.
As his son would.
I hope Father doesn't wake up early, he thought with a grin, leaping from the last stair with a loud thump and a squeal of excitement. His hands flew into the air as he darted into the kitchen, barefoot and giddy.
We leave him there for now and return to the upper floor, where sunlight had grown bolder.
It now streamed in through Aria's window with stubborn determination, drenching the room in warmth. The desk in the corner was now cleared—the groceries gone, the parchment neatly stacked, and ink already mixed.
The sun pushed harder, glaring at the bundle of blankets.
Finally, Aria stirred.
A twitch of the brow.
Sweat along the hairline.
He grunted and pulled the covers over his head.
The sun flared with renewed determination, its light blazing across his face.
Aria stretched a hand out lazily, reaching for the egg.
But his hand met only fragments.
Cold.
Broken.
Shells.
His eyes snapped open.
He bolted upright, heart thudding wildly.
The bed was littered with brown shards. Familiar. Familiar in the worst way.
The egg.
No... no one knew about it but him. If someone had taken it, they wouldn't have left pieces behind.
Panic surged through him as he scanned the room.
Gone.
Gone.
He scrambled out of bed, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tight.
His eyes flicked to the desk.
Where were the groceries? Why was the ink already mixed?
He distinctly remembered telling himself he'd do that later.
Something had happened while he slept.
A bang downstairs snapped his head toward the door.
Instinct kicked in.
He snatched the dagger from under his bed and rushed down the stairs, barefoot and wild-eyed.
The inn was supposed to be empty.
Ellen and the others hadn't returned.
Who was here?
What did they want?
Aria jumped the last few steps, dagger raised—ready to strike.
But he froze mid-step.
There, standing amidst scattered utensils and a tipped-over pot, was a child.
The same boy from the corridor.
Aria blinked.
The boy blinked back.
A large pot lay at his feet, clearly too heavy for him to carry. His small face was flushed, his arms crossed in frustration.
"Unfair!" the boy yelled, stomping a foot.
"You weren't supposed to be up yet!"
Aria stared, completely disarmed by the tiny burst of indignation. Slowly, he lowered the dagger and slid it behind his back.
"What?" he asked, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Were you trying to steal something, little thief?"
He reached forward and ruffled the boy's hair.
The boy slapped his hand away with a pout, then clung to it.
"Father… you're mean."
The smirk vanished.
Father?
That voice...
That title...
There was only one being who had called him that since yesterday.
Aria stared.
The child—this small boy in an oversized shirt—looked completely human.
But he wasn't.
He couldn't be.
He was hatched.
Aria stepped closer, bending down. His eyes roamed the child's face.
Soft cheeks.
Big eyes.
And something painfully familiar.
The shape of the face.
The slope of the nose.
No...
It wasn't random.
The boy had taken this form on purpose.
Aria cupped the boy's face gently. A tightness formed in his chest.
His little brother's face.
His dead little brother.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, brushing tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
The boy's brows furrowed.
"Why are you crying, Father?"
"You're supposed to be happy I hatched!" he declared, hands on his hips, chest puffed out.
Aria chuckled, wet-eyed.
Definitely still a child, no matter how long he'd waited in that cave.
"You've got your temper, alright," he murmured, pulling the boy into his arms.
The boy blinked in surprise, then snuggled into his chest.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Still haven't gotten used to walking. Human legs are weird."
Aria hugged him tighter.
He had so many questions. So many emotions.
But for now, he just held him.
Until—
Sniff.
Something...
Burning?
Aria's nose twitched. His eyes widened.
The boy looked up with an awkward smile.
"Oh right!" he said, cheerful again.
"I forgot to say—I was making supper!"
He raised his arms in triumph.
Aria's soul left his body for a second.
He placed the boy firmly on the counter stool and bolted toward the kitchen.
Smoke was billowing out.
"What did you make—?!"
Inside, a blackened pot sat on the stove, smoking like a chimney.
The child's masterpiece.
Aria stared in horror.
The boy giggled behind him.
"Don't worry! It only looks deadly."
Aria sighed, already praying for patience.