Lira—he did not know her name yet, but he would soon—tightened her hold slightly and brushed a thumb across his cheek.
"You'll be alright," she said softly. "You're safe now."
He tried to speak, but all he could do was issue a small sound again.
The woman didn't notice anything strange. She simply rocked him gently, humming a soft tune.
Adam—no, whatever he was now—felt the vibration through her chest. His body responded before his mind could, the instinctive calm of an infant settling into warmth.
But his mind was anything but calm.
He strained to take in details. Every breath carried the scent of herbs—sharp, earthy, unfamiliar.
He heard something outside the small room: a distant roar of wind pushing through narrow mountain passes.
Somewhere deeper in the house, tools clinked against wood. Footsteps moved carefully, as though the people here did not wish to disturb something fragile.
"Lira!" a voice called from outside. "Is he awake yet?"
The woman looked toward the door. "Yes. Come in, but quietly."
A man stepped inside. Middle-aged, weathered skin, hair tied back in a rough knot. His hands were thick and calloused, but the moment he saw the baby in Lira's arms, his expression softened.
"So he finally opened his eyes," the man said. "Good. That means the omen was not a curse."
Omen?
Adam's heartbeat quickened—not that an infant's heartbeat could do much more than flutter.
The man approached, kneeling beside Lira. He studied the baby for a long, His gaze lingered on Adam's forehead, on his chest, as though he sought something that should have been visible but wasn't.
"Still nothing," he murmured. "No visible sings of early Ka awakening."
Ka.
The word sent a shock through Adam.
He knew it. He had read it.
Ka—life-force, spiritual essence, the very foundation of Duat's ancient hierarchy on ancient egypt.
But that was mythology.
Lira shook her head. "He's barely a day old. Not every child marked by the omen displays Ka immediately."
The man grunted. "A child born at the same time the sky fractured always displays something."
Sky fractured?
Adam tried to move again— A frustrated whimper escaped his mouth involuntarily.
Lira rocked him gently. "Hush. Hush, little one."
The man ran a hand across his chin. "Three streaks of golden light passed through the night sky before dawn. The entire village saw them. They converged above our home. And moments later"—he gestured at Adam—" He was in your arms, cold and breathless… yet now he...."
Golden light?
Adam blinked rapidly. His tiny eyelids were heavy, but his mind spun fast.
In the void… the last thing protecting him had been—
The pendant.
Before he could process it, Lira's expression darkened.
"So what?" she snapped quietly. "Our child is blessed. What else is there to be concerned about?"
Marek shook his head and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "All I'm saying is we need to be careful. We're not the only ones who saw the phenomenon."
Lira hugged Adam closer, her eyes softening with pain. "They can come or not. I won't let anyone take you from me."
Adam froze.
Great. Fantastic. Amazing. For the love of god, I am not your child. I'm just Adam. Regular, dentist-archaeologist Adam.
But his protests came out as a soft baby grunt. Very intimidating.
Meanwhile, Marek looked genuinely troubled. "You know the Temple Elders will come for him. They always do. A child born under an omen like that? They won't ignore it."
Lira frowned. "They'd only take him if he showed talent or awakened his Inner Sun at birth." She glanced down at Adam again, and her shoulders relaxed. "I don't sense anything like that."
Inner Sun?
Adam's mind derailed completely.
Ka.
Temple Elders.
Inner Sun.
Was this really happening?
Wait… this… this can't be…
Ancient Egypt myths flooded his brain. The Egyptians believed Ka was the essence of life. A force that connected humans with gods. Some scrolls even mentioned priests who used Ka to extend their lifespans by thousands of years.
But he'd filed all that under "cool but impossible mythology."
So what is this?
Did I time-travel? Reincarnate? Get thrown back to ancient Egypt?
Before he spiraled further, Marek let out a tired laugh.
"Our abilities are nothing compared to the Holy Priests or the Temple Elders." His gaze slid toward the baby—toward Adam—with a complicated mixture of fear and hope. "If he turns out to have great fate… he'll live a far better life than we ever could."
Too sentimental, Adam thought automatically.
No, no. Don't get attached. Don't be weird.
But despite himself, something like respect flickered inside him.
Lira's voice cracked. "If they take him… we won't see him again."
Her hands clenched tight around the cloth.
Adam stared up at her, taken aback.
She looked miserable, terrified, and fiercely protective.
Dammit… don't do that. Don't make me feel things. You're not my mom. I'm not your kid. Stop being… nice.
Marek sighed, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's too early to fear the worst. We don't know anything yet."
They leaned into each other, a naturally affectionate pair. It was obvious they loved each other in a simple, matter-of-fact way that hurt to watch.
These two are real soulmate material, Adam thought with a helpless sigh.
Meanwhile, I died a virgin at twenty-eight. Fantastic. Some of my friends already have toddlers. Kids call them uncle.
He stared at his tiny hands.
And now I'm an actual infant. Regression of the century. Amazing career path, Adam.
He couldn't laugh, cry, or complain.
All he could do was lie there, absorbing the warmth of two strangers who believed he was their son.
And, unfortunately…
A very small, very traitorous part of him didn't hate that.
Lira gently shifted Adam in her arms and whispered, "Sleep if you can. You had a difficult birth."
A difficult birth? Lady, I came through an interdimensional blender.
She cradled him closer, humming softly. The warmth of her arms seeped through his tiny body, and—annoyingly—his infant instincts relaxed at the comfort.
Marek rose to his feet with a sigh. "I'll check outside. The village is restless. People have been talking since dawn."
Lira's eyes tightened. "Let them talk. They won't come near him."
"Some might," Marek replied quietly. "Not everyone sees omens as blessings."
He gave the child—Adam—a long look, filled with worry he didn't try hiding.
"There's talk," he added. "Some say the streaks of light were Heavenly flames. Others say a heavenly blessing descended."
Lira scoffed. "As if a heavenly blessing would appear in our valley."
"Stranger things have happened," Marek muttered, then stepped outside.
Lira returned her attention to Adam. "Do not listen to your father. People talk too much."
Father? Ma'am, I met the man five minutes ago. Also, please don't call him father. That's weird. For both of us.
Before he could sink any deeper into the existential crisis of suddenly having parents, the door slid open again, and another figure stepped inside.
A young girl—maybe eight or nine—peeked around the frame with wide eyes.
"Mom," she whispered in low voice, "is he awake?"
Lira smiled. "Yes, Asha. Do you want to see your little brother?"