The day continued.
After the shop closed, we walked home. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and purple.
I walked beside Roxas, holding his hand. I was feeling good. I hadn't cried over any fruit. I had impressed a nobleman.
We reached our cottage. The yard was lush and green, the oak trees fully canopied.
"Why don't you play in the yard for a bit while I help your mother with dinner?" Roxas asked, unlatching the gate.
"Okay!"
I ran into the yard. The grass felt cool and soft against my legs.
I sat down in the middle of the lawn, leaning back on my palms. I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the wind rustling the leaves of the oak trees near the fence. It was peaceful.
Then, the birds went silent.
It wasn't a gradual quiet. It was instant. The chirping of the sparrows, the cawing of the crows it all just cut out.
A shadow fell over me.
It was a massive shadow, moving fast, blotting out the sun.
I opened my eyes and looked up.
My heart stopped.
It wasn't a cloud. It wasn't a bird.
It was a monster.
Soaring incredibly high near the cloud layer, a silhouette cut across the azure canvas of the sky. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of it was undeniable. It was huge.
I squinted, trying to bring it into focus. It has a long, sinuous body and a massive wingspan that seemed to stretch for forty feet.
No way.
I sat up straighter in the grass, my breath hitching.
That can't be.
I rubbed my eyes aggressively with my fists, blinking away the sunspots, and shook my head. Maybe I've been staring at the light too long. Maybe my toddler brain is hallucinating.
I looked up again.
The shape was still there.
It is a wyvern. There is no doubt about it. I know my fantasy beasts. I played enough RPGs with my dad to know the difference between a dragon (four legs) and a wyvern (two legs and wings).
As it glided lower for a brief moment, dipping below a wisp of cloud, the sunlight hit it.
I gasped.
I could see the scales. They were a deep, emerald green that shimmered like polished armor plates. Its body was muscular and serpentine, built for aerodynamics, ending in a long, whip-like tail that trailed behind it like a rudder. It didn't have front legs, just those colossal, leathery wings that caught the thermals.
It looked terrifying. It was clearly a predator, an apex beast that could snatch a cow or a person without slowing down.
But it was also breathtaking.
It flew with a lazy, powerful grace. It didn't flap frantically like a bird; it glided, banking smoothly against the air currents. It looked peaceful up there, a king surveying its domain.
It continued its trajectory, flying North, heading straight toward the jagged, snow-capped mountain range on the distant horizon. I watched it until it became a speck, and then nothing at all.
I let out a long breath I didn't know I was holding.
Yeah.
I looked down at my tiny hands. I looked at the wooden cottage. I looked at the mountains where a giant green reptile had just flown.
I am definitely not on Earth anymore.
***
About a week passes.
I never mention the wyvern to my parents. I figure it's best to keep it to myself. If a toddler starts ranting about "giant reptiles in the sky," they'll just think I have an overactive imagination, or that I need more sleep.
I continue my routine, helping Sylvia with the small chores I am capable of doing.
Then comes the night.
I am fast asleep in my bed, buried under my quilt, dreaming of a game where the baseball is made of crystal.
Thump. Creak.
A noise pulls me out of the dream. My eyes snap open. The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. I lie still, listening.
Creak... Creak…
It's a rhythmic sound. It happens every couple of nights, usually around this time. I sigh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I assume someone is up, maybe getting water or checking the locks on the front door.
Then I hear a noise that definitely isn't a lock turning.
It's a moan. A breathless, strangled sound.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I slide out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cool wooden floorboards. I tiptoe to my door and slowly turn the handle. It clicks softly, and I pull it open just a crack.
I slip into the hallway. It's pitch black. I make my way down the hall, moving past the two empty guest bedrooms. I am careful not to make a sound, placing my feet deliberately to avoid the squeaky floorboard I discovered last week.
As I get closer to the end of the hall, to Roxas and Sylvia's room, the sounds become clearer.
Creak. Creak. CREAK.
The bed frame is groaning under a significant amount of movement. It's fast. Intense.
Then, a voice.
"Roxas... mmm..."
My blood runs cold.
Then comes a low, guttural groan from my father, deep and primal, followed by a sharp, high-pitched cry from Sylvia that she quickly stifles. The sounds are... heavy. Wet.
I freeze in the hallway.
Oh. Oh no.
I'm sixteen mentally. I know exactly what is happening there. And judging by the sounds of Sylvia's breathless pleading and the sheer ferocity of the bed frame slamming against the wall, they are going at it hard.
A flush of heat rushes to my face. Part of my brain, the hormonal teenager part that hasn't vanished just because I'm in a toddler's body, is suddenly very awake. My imagination starts to run wild. Sylvia is... well, she's beautiful. And Roxas is a beast of a man.
I shake my head violently in the dark.
No. Stop. It. Gross.
I squeeze my eyes shut. That's my mom. Well, this world's mom. But still. That is a line I do not need to cross.
I turn on my heel, my face burning in the darkness. I quietly head back to my room, stepping as lightly as a ghost.
As I close my door and lean against it, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
A sibling, huh?
If they keep going like that, I'm definitely going to have a little brother or sister soon.
I shuffle back to my bed and climb in, pulling the covers up to my chin. I try to scrub my brain with thoughts of baseball stats, visualizing ERA calculations and batting averages, but the rhythmic thumping is still faintly audible through the wall.
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow to drown out the noise.
"Go to sleep, Percy," I whisper to myself. "Just go to sleep."