The sun was gentle that afternoon, casting golden flecks through the trees and dancing across the surface of the lake. It was the perfect day for a picnic. Dr. Mark Snow, a kind-hearted physician in his early forties, laughed as he chased his daughter through the open field. Alexandra, or "Alex" as everyone called her, squealed with delight, her pigtails bouncing with every joyful skip as her father scooped her up and spun her around.
Not far behind them, Courtney, Mark's wife, knelt on the tartan blanket she had spread beneath a tall oak tree. She laid out containers of sandwiches, sliced fruits, and a chilled pitcher of lemonade with careful precision. Her soft hum blended into the breeze, and her eyes followed her family with quiet adoration.
"Daddy, look!" Alexandra suddenly shouted, her laughter vanishing. She pointed toward a grove of shrubs near the edge of the trees. Her face was pale now, eyes wide.
Mark lowered his daughter quickly and followed her gaze. There—barely visible between the thick grass—was a small figure lying still, face down on the earth.
Mark's medical instincts took over. "Stay here," he told Alexandra, then sprinted across the field.
When he reached the figure, he dropped to his knees. It was a child. A little girl. Her body was limp but intact—no blood, no visible wounds, no torn clothing. Just… fragile. Pale. Her skin had lost its glow, her lips cracked and dry, and her hair was a matted mess of seaweed and dust. She looked as though she had drifted across worlds.
Mark gently turned her over. Her chest was rising—barely. She was alive.
"Courtney!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Within moments, Alex was beside him, curiosity and concern written all over her face. "Is she okay, Daddy?"
"Go get Mom. Quickly!"
Courtney ran to them with the emergency kit Mark always carried in the trunk of their car. Mark immediately began checking vitals—heartbeat, temperature, reflexes. Everything was weak, but present. As he carefully cleaned the girl's lips and wrapped a blanket around her tiny frame, her eyelids fluttered.
Then she opened them.
It was a slow, heavy lift of her lashes, like someone who had never seen sunlight before and she hasn't. She stared up at the blue sky with wonder in her eyes. The color, the breeze, the warmth—it was all foreign to her. Her pupils adjusted slowly, and her lips parted, breath trembling. It was as if she'd woken in a dream.
The first face she saw was Alexandra's—grinning, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Hi!" Alex chirped softly, clapping her hands with joy. "You're awake!"
The girl blinked. She looked from Alex, to Mark, then to Courtney, confused. Her expression shifted between awe and fear. Mark bent down beside her.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
No response.
"I'm Mark," he said, placing his hand softly on his chest. "Mark." He smiled.
Courtney followed, crouching beside him. "I'm Courtney."
Alex leaned closer, still beaming. "And I'm Alex!"
The little girl stared at them blankly. Then, slowly, she pointed to herself.
"Sevira," she whispered, her voice raspy and delicate, like a breeze trying to form a word.
"Sevira?" Mark repeated, glancing at Courtney.
The girl nodded weakly.
They tried asking her questions—Where are your parents? Are you hurt? Do you understand us?—but she didn't respond. Instead, she replied in a language none of them recognized. Her words were soft, lyrical, flowing with a rhythm that didn't belong to Earth, or at least not their part of it.
Mark and Courtney exchanged troubled glances.
"She doesn't understand us," Courtney murmured.
"Or speak English," Mark added. "This is… this is strange, Court. Really strange."
Sevira continued speaking in her own tongue, trying to make them understand that she was alone. Her eyes were filled with fear and confusion—but also determination. She was trying to be brave. She didn't know these people, but she could sense their kindness.
Alex giggled. "I don't understand you either," she said, clapping again. "But it's okay. I like how you talk."
Mark chuckled under his breath. Courtney shook her head, smiling despite the tension. "This child…"
They sat in silence for a moment, until Alexandra pointed toward the picnic blanket. "Let's eat! She's probably hungry."
Indeed, Sevira's eyes lit up when she saw the food. Her stomach growled softly.
Courtney handed her a soft fruit—sliced melon—and the little girl devoured it slowly, savoring the taste. It was sweet, rich, and unlike anything she had ever eaten in Kerion. Her fingers trembled as she accepted another slice, her lips parting for the juice. The food revived her slightly. She sat up straighter now, her eyes scanning the landscape. The sky was bluer than any she had known, the air was lighter, and the warmth of this place kissed her skin in a way the underground world never could.
As Alexandra fed Sevira, Courtney pulled Mark aside.
"What do we do?" she whispered. "We can't just leave her here."
"She's lost," Mark said. "No ID. No understanding of the language. No one else around. She could have drowned or—God knows what else."
"She's just a little girl."
Mark looked over his shoulder at Sevira—sitting beside Alex, chewing slowly, watching the leaves move in the trees as if she'd never seen anything like them.
"We take her home," he said.
Courtney nodded. "Just for the night. Until we figure out who she is."
"Yeah. Just for the night."
And so, the girl from Kerion was taken in by a family who had no idea where she came from, or why fate had placed her in their path. As the sun began to set and the sky turned orange, Sevira sat in the back seat of a strange car, next to a girl who smiled at her without needing words.
She didn't know where she was going.
But something told her she was meant to be there.
Even in this strange, beautiful world above.
The ride home was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the car and the occasional rustle of trees passing by the windows. Sevira leaned against the back seat, wrapped in Courtney's blanket, her eyes half-lidded from exhaustion but slowly adjusting to the new world around her. She looked out the window at the glowing streetlamps, the open sky, the rows of houses—everything so different from the shadows and stone of Kerion.
Once they arrived, Mark carried her gently inside their home. The warmth of the house greeted her like a blanket. Alexandra, skipping ahead, turned on lights and fluffed pillows, preparing a spot for her new friend on the couch like she was royalty.
Mark set Sevira down gently. "I need to check her vitals again," he said to Courtney. "Make sure she's not dehydrated or worse. She's looking better, but still fragile."
Courtney nodded and disappeared into the kitchen to start dinner. Alexandra stayed close, sitting beside Sevira, holding her hand like she'd known her all her life. She whispered stories, pointed at objects around the room and said their names—"lamp," "window," "couch," "Alex!"—giggling after each word. Sevira didn't understand, but she smiled and repeated some of them with soft, curious echoes.
Mark brought his stethoscope, flashlight, and a thermometer from his medical bag. He gently examined her: heart steady now, pulse stronger, skin no longer ice-cold. She was recovering. The warmth of real food and safety was doing its magic.
By the time Courtney called, "Dinner's ready!" the living room smelled of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and warm rolls.
Alex took Sevira's hand. "Come on, princess," she said, leading her into the dining room like a knight escorting royalty.
Sevira sat at the table, wide-eyed, staring at the plates of food. It was nothing like she'd ever seen before. In Kerion, food was simple—rooted in magic and survival. This… this was colorful, rich, strange.
Courtney placed a small plate in front of her with fruits, seeing her hesitation. Sevira tasted one slice of pineapple…then another… then reached for more. She nodded, smiling with a mouthful. Her eyes sparkled.
Alex passed her a spoonful from her own plate. "Try this," she said, pushing over some mashed potatoes.
Sevira took it, hesitated, then tasted it. Her entire face lit up.
The family watched with quiet amusement as the two girls giggled and shared their meals. Their connection was instant, a bond no language could explain.
But just minutes after dinner ended, Sevira clutched her stomach. Her eyes widened, her breathing quickened.
She jumped up needing to go to the bathroom.
Mark followed, concern etched across his face. From behind the door came the sounds of heaving. The food, though delicious, was foreign to her system. She wasn't used to it.
Courtney stood in the hallway, heart aching. "We need to help her adjust. Slowly."
Later, when Sevira had calmed, they laid her down on the couch again. Her eyelids fluttered. She was resting.
Mark and Courtney sat across from each other in the living room, their voices hushed.
"She's not just a lost girl," Courtney whispered. "There's something about her, like she's has not been here before and the way Alex looks at her, she likes her."
Mark nodded. "I know. It's like… they've known each other before this life."
"What if… we adopted her?" Courtney said softly. "Give her a home? She's alone. Lost. And Alex already treats her like a sister."
Mark looked at Sevira's small frame curled under the blanket. "You really think we should?"
"Yes. Honey"
And so, they did.
⸻
The next morning, they began the process—calls, documents, emergency registration. It wasn't easy, but by afternoon, it was official:
Sevira Snow.
A daughter. A sister. A part of their world now.
To help her adapt, Mark invited a language tutor to the house—an older woman named Ms. Rivera who had experience teaching children from different backgrounds. She brought flashcards, books, and patience.
Sevira took to the lessons slowly but surely. Her accent was soft and strange, but she repeated the words, mimicked the sounds, and started pointing at things with a whisper of their English names. "Chair," "water," "sun," "Alex."
Within a week, Sevira was registered in Alexandra's school. They were placed in the same grade, much to Alex's delight.
⸻
On their first day of school, the two walked out of class together, laughing. Sevira's backpack was nearly falling off her shoulder, her tiny steps still unsure in this strange new land.
Alex saw her across the road and ran toward her, arms wide.
What none of them saw was the trailer speeding down the street from the left.
The blaring horn came too late.
Alex froze in the middle of the road, her eyes wide with terror.
Sevira's hands flew up instinctively.
The air around her pulsed.
The trailer screeched to a halt, thrown back as if pushed by an invisible wall. The tires smoked. The driver blinked, stunned. Alex stood untouched.
Sevira stared at her own hands, trembling.
Alex blinked, then ran into Sevira's arms.
She didn't understand what happened but she was happy not to be crushed by that car.
In that moment, Courtney's car pulled up.
"What happened?" she asked, stepping out.
Alex just hugged Sevira tighter.
"Best first day ever," she whispered.
⸻
That night, they sat around the dinner table. Laughter filled the room. Courtney passed the salad. Mark refilled glasses. The girls chattered about their teachers, new friends, and the funny lunchroom.
Sevira didn't speak much, but she laughed. And when she looked at Alex, her smile said more than any word ever could.
This house, this family, this moment—it wasn't just a chapter in her journey.
It was the beginning of something new.