Vincent felt complicated at this realization. It's not like they didn't think of this possibility — when he first heard about the child's reaction after birth, a shadow of doubt had crept into his heart. The child had full consciousness. His unusual power. The fact that he didn't cry. The way he looked at Aurora with those sorrowful, haunting eyes. But now that his doubts had solidified into certainty, a storm swirled within him. He didn't know how to feel — joy, fear, confusion. It all twisted into a tight knot in his chest.
Of course, he would raise the child — that decision was firm. But deep inside, there was a lingering ache, a quiet pain that whispered with every breath.
He turned to Aurora, hoping her face would reveal something — an answer, perhaps peace — but she was already cradling the child in her arms, holding him close like something precious and irreplaceable. Her expression remained calm, but there was a strange weight in her gaze, a stillness that said more than words ever could.
"How do you feel now that you know he has his memories?" he asked, his face composed, but his voice low — almost hesitant.
"What else would I feel, if not love?" she replied, her eyes never leaving the child's face. "He is our child. It doesn't matter if he has memories or not." Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it. "Don't you understand the reason behind his actions? If he has memories, he must have known the perfect way to stay safe was to act like a child… but he…" she paused, her eyes glistening ever so slightly, "he didn't do that. Instead, he chose to come forward with it, leaving his fate in our hands." A faint, bittersweet smile slowly bloomed on her lips, flickering like the light of a dying star.
"Then let's ask him directly who he is. If he doesn't want to hide anything, he can just tell us it all," he said, his voice firmer now, his gaze turning to the child with a mixture of tension and hope.
"Hello… can you tell us your name?" he asked with a gentle smile, his tone kind but searching.
But the child only looked at him — blankly, silently — his golden eyes still, unreadable. There was no flicker of recognition, no shift in expression. Vincent's brows furrowed slightly in confusion. He turned to Aurora.
"It seems like he doesn't understand our language. Try other languages," she said, her face unreadable, her voice steady, but her eyes scanning the child with quiet curiosity.
Vincent nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. He began asking the same question in language after language — fluent, ancient, rare. He spoke them all with ease, his voice echoing through the quiet room like a man unraveling the threads of the world. But the child didn't respond. Not once. Not a sound.
"Either he doesn't understand any language," Vincent said, scratching his head, a puzzled expression forming on his face, "or he's simply not answering."
As if in response, the child finally opened his mouth — and spoke. The sound that came from him was like nothing either of them had ever heard. The words were musical, but harsh; flowing, but unfamiliar. A language that didn't belong to this world.
"He doesn't understand anything we say. Even his language doesn't seem to be of this world," Aurora said, gently running her fingers through the child's long, black, lustrous hair. But the child immediately raised both hands, pushing hers away with a frown, his tiny brows furrowed.
Vincent chuckled, his heart warming despite the situation.
"Well, he must be hungry," he said, raising his hand. Light shimmered, and a bottle of warm milk materialized in his grasp. He handed it to Aurora.
She nodded, accepting the bottle, and slowly brought it to the boy's lips.
"Austin… here," she whispered. "Drink this."
'So they've accepted me,' the child thought.' I thought they'd kill me… but they didn't. They seem like good people.
Well… whatever.'
Without hesitation, he took the bottle and drank. The warmth hit his tongue and flooded his stomach like light through darkness.
Hmm… it's really good, he thought, surprised.
He finished it in one long gulp. Vincent smiled. Aurora's eyes softened, a genuine happiness blooming in her face.
With a flick of his fingers, Vincent summoned a bowl of fruit, bright and fresh. He picked a cluster of grapes and held them toward the boy.
Austin wasted no time. He grabbed the bowl with both hands and began stuffing grapes into his mouth with a hunger that seemed primal.
'Damn… how long has it been since I could eat like this? Without struggling to swallow?'
Vincent watched in quiet awe as the boy devoured the fruit. Then, grinning, he summoned another bowl.
This time, he offered it more slowly — and just as Austin reached for it, Vincent pulled it away.
Austin blinked. He reached again. Vincent pulled it back again. Faster.
Again.
And again.
The boy froze. His cheeks puffed up in growing frustration. His golden eyes narrowed with the wrath of a betrayed . His lips curled into the angriest pout a small child could manage.
'This man… he's playing with a child's heart!' he thought, his pride wounded beyond repair.
Vincent erupted with laughter.
"HAHAHAHA!" he howled, almost doubling over. "Did you see his face?!"
Aurora bit her lip, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Austin turned crimson. They were laughing. At him. Rage and embarrassment burned in his tiny body. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away.
Now you can't tempt me, demon with a handsome face, he thought bitterly.
But then… something soft brushed his cheek.
The scent of grapes.
The vine reached his lips.
Before it could be pulled away, he bit down — hard — trapping the fruit in his mouth without chewing.
He opened his eyes with a smug, victorious look, ready to see defeat in the man's eyes.
Instead, he saw Vincent barely holding in his laughter, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes gleaming.
Austin's smile faded.
Vincent couldn't hold it anymore.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" he roared, clutching his stomach. "I can't— I can't stop—!"
Aurora joined in, laughing softly behind her hand, eyes bright.
Austin, cheeks burning with humiliation, turned away again and focused on the grapes. He plucked them off the vine one by one, chewing slowly — ignoring them completely. But the blush on his face betrayed him.
Vincent watched him, still smiling.
How adorable, he thought.
And in that moment, something unspoken passed between the three of them — something fragile and true. Not just memory. Not just power.
Family.