Upon the back of the great avian beast, the couple sat in silence, their hearts heavy with a weight no creature—no matter how mighty—could bear to lift. The avian, a colossal figure, glided effortlessly through the sky, its enormous wings spanning across the heavens like a veil, casting shadows large enough to swallow entire towns. Its feathers were a pale, dull white, blending seamlessly into the clouds above, yet atop its head rested a crown of brilliant, iridescent colors, a stark contrast to its otherwise ghostly appearance. The beast's talons gripped the air with authority, the single claw on each wing allowing it to walk with an unnatural grace when it touched the earth. Its long, powerful legs ended in razor-sharp talons, and its tail, vibrant and plumed, trailed behind it like a banner of splendor.
Yet despite the magnificence of their ride, there was no joy between the couple. Pacificus and Merina sat in stony silence, the wind pulling at their clothes and hair, but neither moved, neither smiled. The tension was palpable, like the crackle of a storm on the horizon. Below them, the world passed by in a blur, but neither seemed to notice. Their minds were trapped in a moment from a few hours ago, replaying the painful conversation that now hung between them, unspoken but ever-present.
"Please, Pacy… don’t," Merina had pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation as she reached for him, her eyes wide with unshed tears. "Please, Pacy, don’t."
Pacificus had turned to face her, his heart aching as he met her gaze. "I have to do this, Rina," he replied, his voice low and steady, though inside, he was crumbling. "I have to—"
"PLEASE!" Merina’s voice rose, sharp and raw, her tears finally spilling over as she interrupted him. "Let me spend the time I have left with you!" The words came out in a sob, her pain finally breaking through her calm facade.
Pacificus flinched as though struck, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words, but nothing he could say would ease the anguish in her voice. "R-Rina, please," he stammered, his heart breaking at the sight of her tears. "I... I-I want you to live. I want you to be here, to be a mother for longer than just—"
"SO YOU CAN LEAVE ME?" she cried, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "PACY! I DECIDED TO HAVE OUR CHILD BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! And now..." Her voice broke, her shoulders shaking as her sobs overtook her. "So why? Why would you leave me now, when I need you most?"
"I’m not leaving you," he whispered, his own voice trembling. "I’m trying to save you, Rina."
Her eyes, filled with sorrow and disbelief, bore into his. "But how long will you be gone, Pacy?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with fear. "How long will it take? Five years? Ten? PACY, I’M ONLY HUMAN! Ten years is too long for me. I don’t know how much time I have left…" Her voice faltered, a quiver in her lips. "Pacy... please..." Her hands reached for him, her touch soft, trembling. "Let me be with you... just for as long as I can. Don’t leave me alone now, not for this. Let me be with you until my life finally ends."
The air between them had grown thick, heavy with the weight of choices that felt impossible. Now, as they sat atop the great avian, the quiet between them was louder than any of the words they had spoken earlier. Merina’s words still echoed in Pacificus’s mind, a constant reminder of the impossible decision he faced. Her tears, her pleas—he could still feel the ache of them, the way they pulled at his heart, tearing him apart.
Pacificus clenched his fists, his eyes staring blankly at the endless horizon, knowing that no matter what choice he made, part of him would be lost. The thought of leaving her, of spending years searching for a way to save her, while she withered away in his absence, tore at him. And yet, the idea of staying and watching her die, powerless to stop it, was unbearable.
Merina, her face turned away from him, wiped at the dried tears on her cheeks. She, too, felt the torment of their shared silence, but there was nothing left to say. She wanted to savor what little time they had, even if it meant letting go of hope. The wind carried her thoughts away, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, no matter what happened, time was slipping through their fingers, faster than either of them could grasp.
To distract herself from the heavy weight of the conversation, Merina turned her attention to their daughter, nestled against her. Despite the sorrow and uncertainty that filled her, her heart softened instantly as she gazed at the baby in her arms. Blind though she was, her daughter was a radiant light in Merina's world, her little face filled with innocent wonder, unaware of the turmoil around her. Each time Merina looked at her, she felt a surge of immense love and joy, a quiet happiness that pierced through the sorrow like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Meanwhile, Pacificus’s thoughts drifted to the small, sacred object in his hands—the seed given to him by the goddess. He studied it closely, its surface smooth and warm, pulsing with the life force of something divine.
"This is the seed of Ember," the goddess had explained when she entrusted it to him. "It is a seed from the divine tree that we call home. Plant this seedling in fertile soil and give it a name. If it grows strong and true, you will be able to ask for my guidance without the need to journey back to the Ever Resting Forest."
The weight of that seed felt heavier than its size suggested. It was more than just a connection to the goddess, more than a link to the divine tree—it was a promise, a bond between Pacificus, his family, and the ancient power that had shown them such kindness. As the avian beast soared through the skies, its powerful wings slicing through the clouds, Pacificus's mind lingered on everything Gaia had done for them.
The goddess had blessed them in more ways than they could have imagined. She had lent them this majestic avian beast to aid in their journey home, its presence a constant reminder of her grace. She had bathed Pacificus in divine waters, cleansing the miasma from his body after renewing her blessing making Pacificus stronger. She had blessed their child, transforming her into a gifted one, a child of great potential despite her blindness. And, most importantly, Gaia had given them the knowledge they needed—the path, however perilous, that could save Merina’s life.
Pacificus felt a deep sense of gratitude, his heart swelling with appreciation for the goddess’s kindness. He was proud of his allegiance to her—a goddess who did not merely demand worship but cared for her followers, who nurtured them with her wisdom and strength. His loyalty to her was not born from obligation, but from a deep respect and a bond that had grown through their trials.
Pacificus gazed at his beloved and their daughter, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision. His voice wavered as he spoke, the words almost choking in his throat. "Rina, I... I need to go."
Merina, cradling their daughter close to her chest, tightened her hold as if to shield their child from the looming reality. She shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. "Not now, Pacy."
He stepped closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. "Rina... please. I want to save you."
Merina lifted her eyes to meet his, her expression filled with a quiet resolve. "Pacy... I'm not someone who will live as long as you." Her voice was steady, though a sadness lingered beneath. "In less than ten years, or maybe less than a month, I might be dead." She inhaled shakily, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. "Please, Pacy... let me... just let me spend those last seconds of my life with you."
His heart ached as he heard her words, the love he held for her clashing with the fear of losing her. "Rina... I want to save you... I want you to be a mother for our daughter." His voice broke, and his gaze fell to the child in Merina's arms. "I want you to grow old. I wanted to grow old with you. If I could give my lifespan to you, I would do it in a heartbeat." His eyes shone with unshed tears. "Rina... I just want to save you because I love you... and our daughter needs you."
Merina’s lips trembled, and she reached out to touch his cheek, her fingers gentle but trembling. "Oh, Pacy."
He covered her hand with his, clinging to her touch as though it were the only thing tethering him to reality. "Rina... please."
There was a long, agonizing pause before Merina spoke again, her voice softer now, tinged with the acceptance she had already made in her heart. "... I... I’ve already accepted it, Pacy." Her words were quiet, but each one hit him like a blow. "The moment I chose to bring Cassandra into this world... was the moment I chose to die." Her voice cracked as she looked down at their daughter, her tears finally slipping free. "For her sake... and yours."
"Rina..." His voice faltered, barely more than a whisper, weighed down by the overwhelming emotion surging through him.
Merina met his eyes again, her expression filled with a mix of love and sorrow. "Pacy... I’m only human. I will die, sooner or later." She smiled softly, though it was tinged with sadness. "Even if I didn’t die because of this illness, I would still grow old. And you... you would stay young, watching me fade away."
His breath caught in his throat, and his hands shook as he reached for her. "I... I wanted you to die old... I wanted you to live. I wanted you to have a long, happy life."
A gentle, bittersweet smile crept across her lips. "I am happy, Pacy... but what about you?" Her eyes searched his, filled with a deep, aching tenderness. "How will you find happiness after I’m gone?"
He stood silent, the answer eluding him, the future he feared suddenly feeling closer than ever.
"Pacy..." Her voice softened as she looked down at their daughter, cradling the child as if she were the most precious thing in the world. "I chose to have Cassandra because I wanted you to experience being a father. I wanted you to have someone to bring you joy, even when I’m no longer here." She smiled gently, her eyes filling with love as she gazed at their daughter. "She’s my legacy, Pacy... our legacy."
"Rina..." His voice broke, tears spilling from his eyes as he stared at her, his heart aching with every beat.
Merina’s hand squeezed his gently. "Pacy... please..." Her voice was a whisper, a plea. "I will say this as many times as I need to... I want to spend my last moments with you."
The journey was swift, the great avian cutting through the sky like a blade, its wings parting the clouds with each powerful flap. The creature’s vast wingspan seemed to cover the heavens, yet despite its incredible speed, the flight was uncannily smooth. The ancient trees of the Ever Resting Forest stood as towering sentinels, their titanic trunks and sprawling branches forming a maze in the sky. But the avian beast maneuvered with grace, avoiding every obstacle as if it were part of the wind itself.
Pacificus lay back against the beast's soft, feathered back, the smoothness of the flight doing little to ease the churn in his stomach. Despite the seemingly effortless gliding, the world around him felt unstable, every shift in the wind and subtle change in altitude adding to the growing nausea in his chest. He had always been sensitive to movement, to the inertia that accompanied it, a side effect of his gift—the ability to parry, to redirect any force or attack sent his way. But this sensitivity came at a cost, a vulnerability that now plagued him as the dizziness crept into his head, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
He closed his eyes, taking shallow breaths, trying to steady the swirl of nausea. But no matter how much he tried to focus, his mind was elsewhere—fixed on Merina and their child. The image of his wife holding their daughter flashed before his eyes, the way she cradled her, the softness of her voice as she begged him not to leave.
His heart clenched painfully in his chest, each beat heavier than the last. Guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving. He felt weak—powerless. A sickness far worse than the dizziness in his head twisted his insides. He was supposed to protect her, to save her. Yet here he was, fleeing from her side, chasing a chance that seemed more impossible with every breath.
His thoughts spiraled, dark and unforgiving. Why couldn’t I save her? The question echoed in his mind, tormenting him. His failure loomed over him like a shadow, and with each passing moment, he felt the disgust grow—disgust at his own helplessness, at his inability to stop the inevitable.
His eyes opened, staring up at the endless sky, and for a moment, the vastness of it made him feel small. He hated that feeling—the feeling of being insignificant, powerless. He hated the weakness that gripped his heart, the fear that paralyzed his mind. And yet, despite all his strength, all his power, he couldn’t stop the one thing that mattered most to him: losing her.
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“Pacy?” Merina’s voice cut through the roar of the wind, her eyes fixed on the landscape below.
“Yes, my love.”
“Is that our home?”
Pacificus followed her gaze, his eyes scanning the familiar terrain. But as his vision settled on the scene, his eyes widened in shock. His hut and barns were still there, just as he had left them, but what now surrounded his home was unexpected—a stone temple of Vesta, grand and imposing, stood proudly beside the familiar buildings. Wooden walls encircled his farm like a fortress, and beyond those walls, the land had expanded, stretching far beyond what he remembered, now twice the size it had been. Yet amidst this surprising growth, chaos reigned.
There, below them, was a war in full swing. The once peaceful farm was now a battlefield, a fierce struggle unfolding between the inhabitants and an unrelenting red tide of wingless grasshoppers, each one as long as a human arm. Women and children, armed with makeshift weapons, fought desperately against the swarm. Pacificus watched as pots were hurled into the seething mass of insects, shattering on impact and releasing clouds of spores from man-eating flowers. He recognized those spores—lethal to insects, they choked the air, making it hard for humans to see and breathe, but for the grasshoppers, it was pure poison. The ground was littered with the fallen insects, their bodies piled high, twitching and dying in the throes of the toxin.
Yet, despite the carnage, the horde pressed on, undeterred. The grasshoppers devoured their fallen kin, the once-green fields now stained with the colors of battle. It was as if the very land was alive with a nightmarish hunger, the relentless tide refusing to be stopped.
“Oh… I forgot… it’s summer,” Pacificus muttered, watching the siege unfold.
Merina stared down at the chaotic scene, the fortress of wood and stone standing resilient against the endless assault. “Pacy, didn’t you have man-eating flowers for occasions like this?”
“I do,” Pacificus sighed, his voice heavy with regret. “I forgot to tell them what to do to prevent this from happening.”
Merina’s eyes widened, glancing between the ongoing battle and her husband. “… Pacy, do you always face this every summer?”
“Normally, I would plant some man-eating flowers and clear out the barometz to keep the grasshoppers away. I’d plant a few barometz near the forest so the insects would stay there. But… I failed them. I didn’t expect us to be gone for almost two years inside the Ever Resting Forest.”
Merina continued to watch the struggle below, her gaze following the swarm that seemed endless in number. The defenders, though weary, held their ground, pushing back the tide with determination. “I think they’re doing fine though… besides, those grasshoppers were tasty.”
Indeed, the orphans and followers of Vesta fought valiantly, wielding their tools as weapons in a desperate battle against the relentless tide of grasshoppers. Sickles, once used for harvesting crops, now swung with lethal precision, slicing through the thick, armored bodies of the insects. Hammers that had built their homes now crashed down upon the writhing masses, smashing carapaces with bone-jarring force. Axes, meant for chopping wood, cleaved through chitin and flesh alike, turning the climbing grasshoppers into a blue, sticky pulp that coated the walls.
Everywhere, the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle—of blood and pollen. Clouds of man-eating flower spores drifted through the air like a deadly mist, turning the swarm into a graveyard of twitching, dying creatures. The once-green fields and wooden barricades were stained in a surreal, blue hue, painted with the spilled blood of the insects. The ground squelched underfoot, slick with the viscous remains of the fallen grasshoppers. Yet the defenders did not falter, their resolve unbroken as they fought with the ferocity of those protecting their home and their lives.
Amidst this chaotic scene, the air was filled with a different, more inviting aroma—the rich, savory scent of roasted grasshoppers. Nearby, a young girl with bright yellow hair and vivid green eyes worked diligently, her face smeared with soot and determination. She stood by a makeshift cooking station, skewering grasshoppers over open flames, their bodies sizzling and crackling as they turned a vibrant shade of orange, the color of a perfect roast. Next to her, a large pot bubbled, filled with grasshoppers being boiled with spices and herbs, releasing a heady, mouthwatering steam that drifted into the air. The girl's hands moved swiftly, stirring and turning, her movements quick and practiced, as if she had done this a hundred times before.
The defenders, weary from the battle, took turns retreating to the cooking station, their eyes lighting up as they grabbed skewers of the roasted insects. Some sat down, backs against the walls, devouring the crispy, orange-fleshed grasshoppers with hungry abandon. Others ate while still clutching their weapons, keeping a watchful eye on the advancing swarm as they filled their bellies. The scene was a strange blend of survival and sustenance, a testament to their adaptability in the face of adversity.
Pacificus and Merina could smell the rich, savory aroma from their vantage point, even before the great avian beast gently landed near the stone temple of Vesta. The scent of roasted grasshoppers—nutty, smoky, and slightly sweet—wafted through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of pollen and the faint metallic tang of insect blood. As the bird touched down, its mighty wings folding against its sides, the couple took in the sight of the defenders feasting even in the midst of battle. Children and women, weary but resilient, savored the crispy, cooked insects as though they were a long-awaited reward, some laughing between bites, while others continued to defend their home with unwavering resolve.
The great avian descends from the sky with a majestic grace, its massive wings beating against the air in powerful strokes that send ripples through the grass and rattle the loose stones of the farmyard. The women and devoted caretakers of the Vesta orphanage snap into motion, their hearts thundering in their chests as they form a protective line around the entrance, shielding the children from what appears to be an impending threat. Their eyes widen as the enormous creature lands, its talons digging deep into the earth, yet it shows no signs of hostility. Instead, it lowers its colossal form with a slow, deliberate movement, stretching out its enormous wings like a grand staircase descending from a mythical palace.
Demeter's excited voice shatters the tension, her arm outstretched as she points toward the creature. "It's Mother Merina and Big Brother Pacificus!" she exclaims, her voice a blend of shock and elation.
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The children’s faces light up, eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of Merina, their beloved caretaker. They rush forward with eager footsteps, their smiles wide and bright, only to pause in their tracks as they notice the small, delicate bundle cradled in Merina's arms. The air buzzes with curiosity, and their innocent gazes lock onto the tiny figure wrapped snugly in soft fabric.
"Mother Merina, who is that?" a child asks, her voice tinged with both wonder and confusion.
Merina’s expression softens, a warm, maternal glow illuminating her features. She holds the bundle closer, a tender smile touching her lips. "It's our baby. Her name is Cassandra. She is our daughter and your new sister," she says gently, her gaze seeking out Minos, who stands slightly apart from the group, his eyes wide with awe. "Want to see, Minos?"
The children swarm closer, forming a tight circle around Merina. Their voices rise in a cacophony of questions, overlapping and blending in their eagerness to know more.
"Where did you find her?" one child asks, their eyes fixed on the newborn.
"She was born in the Ever Resting Forest, blessed by the forgotten gods," Merina replies, her voice laced with reverence and a hint of mystery.
"How was she born?" another child inquires, the question innocent yet probing.
Merina hesitates for a moment, her cheeks flushing slightly at the inquisitive nature of their questions. "Well, she was born under the divine tree in the middle of the Ever Resting Forest," she says, her tone a mix of pride and nostalgia.
"Did she come out of the tree like a fruit?" a young voice pipes up, eyes gleaming with unbridled imagination.
Merina chuckles softly, her amusement tempered with a hint of discomfort. "No... she was born," she answers, careful yet kind.
"How?" The children's curiosity seems boundless, their eyes wide with anticipation.
Merina’s cheeks grow warmer, her smile tinged with a nervous edge as she deflects, "Umm... You are too young to know about those things, young Minos."
A blonde child, her expression serious and determined, jumps in with a different question. "Wait... Mother Merina, are you married now?"
Merina’s smile brightens, a joyful sparkle in her eyes. "Of course, I am married now," she says, her voice full of happiness.
"Is it Brother Pacy?" another child chimes in, leaning closer.
"Of course... he is the father of this baby, you know," Merina confirms, her gaze flickering affectionately toward Pacificus, who watches quietly from the background.
The children’s innocent interrogation continues unabated, their voices filled with curiosity and playful wonder. Demeter, emboldened by Merina’s answers, steps forward, her tone curious and forthright. "Oh... how did you do it, Mother Merina?"
Merina tilts her head, momentarily caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
"How do you make babies?" Demeter presses, her face earnest and eager for knowledge.
Merina’s eyes widen slightly, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she searches for the right words. "Ahh... You are still too young for that, Demeter."
"No, I’m not, I’m ten," Demeter insists, crossing her arms defiantly.
Merina blinks in surprise, her gaze softening as she regards the bold young girl. "You’re already ten? Demeter, which god did you choose to serve then?"
Demeter’s confidence falters, her eyes dropping to the ground as she replies, “I haven’t yet. I wanted to serve Gaia too... but Big Brother Pacificus wasn’t here.”
Merina’s expression softens further, a blend of empathy and gentle encouragement. "Well, he’s here now... By the way, which gods did your siblings pick?"
The children exchange glances, their faces turning solemn. Demeter speaks up, her voice small but resolute. "All of us... wanted to serve Gaia, actually."
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Many of the children at the Vesta orphanage had missed their chance to choose a god to serve during the last festival, an important rite of passage that marked their coming of age. As Pacificus and Merina watched the children go about their daily routines, a sense of regret lingered in the air—regret for having been absent during such a pivotal moment in their lives. Yet, there was still hope for the younger ones, whose time had not yet passed.
After the horde of red grasshoppers was finally dealt with, Pacificus gathered the children to help with the grim task of disposing of the insect corpses. The lifeless bodies of the grasshoppers were carried to a site near the river, far from the farm’s fertile grounds but close enough to water the land. They dug a large pit, wide and deep, where the remnants of the grasshoppers were unceremoniously buried. The air was thick with the acrid scent of crushed carapaces, mingling with the earthy smell of damp soil. When the last of the corpses had been covered, Pacificus planted the seed that Gaia had given him, pressing it gently into the mound of disturbed earth. The grasshopper corpses, though a grotesque reminder of the battle, would serve as rich fertilizer for the seedling if it chose to grow.
With that task complete, Pacificus moved to replant several man-eating flowers and Barometz near the Ever Resting Forest. He worked methodically, his hands moving with the practiced ease of a farmer, mindful of the dangerous flora he was handling. As he planted, he noticed Lasion, a young boy from the orphanage, standing nearby. Lasion watched the man-eating flowers with an intensity that gave Pacificus pause. The boy’s eyes were wide, almost mesmerized, as he observed the carnivorous plants snap and coil with a predatory grace. Pacificus saw something in the boy's gaze—an affinity that was either passion or the beginnings of a dangerous obsession, though he couldn’t yet tell which.
Upon their return, Pacificus gathered the children near a grand, ancient tree that stood by the river, its gnarled roots twisting into the earth like the veins of the land itself. The monks of Vesta and the orphans formed a solemn circle around him, watching with reverence as Pacificus performed the quick but profound ritual. One by one, he blessed the children, his voice resonating with the quiet authority bestowed upon him by Gaia and Thanatos. The air around them shimmered subtly, as if acknowledging the new bonds being forged. By the end of the ceremony, Gaia and Thanatos had gained twelve new followers, each marked by their own unique gifts and flaws, adding to the legacy of the forgotten gods.
However, Pacificus’s duties were not yet complete. He turned his attention to three familiar figures—Hyakinthos, Apollo, and Artemis. Nearly two years had passed since he had last blessed them, and in that time, they had grown not just in stature but in spirit. Their eyes met Pacificus’s with a mix of anticipation and humility, knowing that the blessings they would receive were both a gift and a responsibility. As Pacificus invoked the gods, a palpable energy filled the air, and the three children stood straighter, their faces illuminated by the divine recognition bestowed upon them.
"Artemis 'Luna,' Apollo 'Solar,' Hyakinthos 'Adonis,' stand proud," Pacificus announced, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and reverence. "Champions of Gaia, the goddess and her consort have borne witness to your deeds and deemed you all worthy to be her champions."
The three flinched slightly, taken aback by the gravity of their new titles, but soon they bowed gracefully before Pacificus, accepting the honor with quiet dignity. Without hesitation, they dashed towards the river, eager to cleanse themselves of the lingering miasma and the foul stench that will clung to their skin after the blessing.
The other children quickly followed, their voices rising in a chorus of eager questions and playful chatter, while Pacificus made his way back to his hut. He paused at the porch, watching from a distance as Merina sat surrounded by the women and monks, her sisters in all but blood. Their attention was fixed on Cassandra, the tiny bundle in Merina’s arms. Cassandra’s eyes, one a piercing red and the other a deep violet, mirrored the heterochromia of her father. Her hair, a striking white, fell in soft wisps around her small face, eerily similar to Pacificus’s own.
"Cassandra looks like Pacificus, doesn’t she?" one of the women remarked, her voice filled with a mix of admiration and curiosity.
"Will she be tall like her father?" another asked, studying the baby’s delicate features with interest.
"She’s awfully calm for a baby," someone observed, noting the quiet and composed manner in which Cassandra seemed to take in her surroundings.
Merina’s sisters continued to fawn over the baby, their voices a blend of affection and playful teasing. "Merina, how did you keep your figure, dear? The last time I gave birth, I became fat," one of the women joked, poking Merina gently in the side.
Merina laughed lightly, shaking her head. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, sister."
An elderly woman, Mother Leto, stepped forward, her movements slow but purposeful. Her wise eyes, lined with the marks of time, focused on Merina with a maternal warmth. "Merina dear, are you okay?" she asked softly, her tone filled with concern.
"Of course, Mother," Merina replied with a reassuring smile.
Mother Leto leaned in closer, peering at the tiny infant cradled in Merina’s arms. "Let me see the young one," she said gently, reaching out with careful hands. As she gazed at Cassandra, her expression softened with affection and something akin to nostalgia. "Oh my... she looks just like her father. What did you name her, dear?"
"Her name is Cassandra, Mother," Merina said proudly, her voice filled with a tender joy.
Mother Leto’s brows furrowed slightly as she looked deeper into Cassandra’s mismatched eyes, noticing something that had escaped the others. "Ahh... hmm... dear... is your baby... blind?" she asked, her voice softening, touched by a trace of sorrow.
Merina’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she nodded gently, her gaze never leaving Cassandra’s face.
Leto’s eyes lingered on the child, her aged hands trembling ever so slightly as she took in the infant’s features. Cassandra, so small and fragile in Merina’s arms, appeared serene, her cherubic face framed by soft, snowy locks that shimmered faintly in the afternoon light. But it wasn’t Cassandra’s unusual appearance that unsettled Leto; it was the way the baby was staring back at her.
Cassandra’s mismatched eyes—one a deep, unsettling crimson, the other a violet so dark it seemed to swallow the light—were unnervingly focused. There was no innocence, no aimless wandering of a baby’s gaze; instead, Cassandra’s eyes followed Leto’s every movement with a piercing precision. The baby’s expression was disturbingly calm, her delicate features set with an almost eerie composure. It was as though she was not simply observing but evaluating, dissecting every detail of the world around her.
Leto felt an inexplicable chill run down her spine, her heart fluttering uneasily in her chest. She tried to dismiss the sensation, chalking it up to her age or perhaps an overactive imagination. But as Cassandra’s eyes locked onto hers, Leto couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being seen in a way no infant should be capable of. There was an intelligence behind those eyes—sharp, calculating, almost ancient—that belied Cassandra’s tender age.
It was a gaze that held knowledge far beyond her few months of life, a gaze that did not belong to a child but to someone far older, wiser, and perhaps, more dangerous. Leto shivered, a subtle but palpable dread creeping into her bones. It was as if she were standing before a formidable presence cloaked in the guise of an infant.
Leto tore her eyes away, forcing a smile as she tried to dismiss the unease clawing at her thoughts. Yet, the impression lingered—an unsettling awareness that she had glimpsed something in Cassandra’s eyes, a depth of understanding far too profound, far too knowing for a baby who had yet to take her first steps.
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That night, Cassandra lay nestled in a crib that the orphanage had given to her family, a simple yet sturdy structure lined with soft blankets that swaddled her tiny form. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the hearth, and the gentle crackling of the fire filled the quiet space. Though Cassandra's mismatched eyes remained shut, her mind was wide awake, her awareness reaching far beyond the confines of her crib. She was a baby in form, but her senses were anything but ordinary.
Despite her blindness, Cassandra could see. Not in the way others saw, but in a manner far more profound and haunting. Visions danced before her closed eyes, vivid and inescapable. She saw her mother, Merina, lying frail and pale on a bed, her strength ebbing away with each passing moment. Cassandra’s father, Pacificus, was at her side, his face a portrait of despair as he wept, powerless to stop the inevitable. Apollo, her older brother, worked frantically, his hands trembling as he tried to save their mother, his determination bordering on desperation. But the strain was too much for him; he collapsed in a faint, and Hyakinthos, his lover, rushed to his side, panic etched across his beautiful features. Artemis stood nearby, overwhelmed by the weight of the scene unfolding before her, unable to do anything but watch in silent horror.
Cassandra felt the ache of this future as if it were happening now, the pain of loss piercing her tiny heart. Twenty years from now, she thought with a heaviness that belied her infant form. Twenty years from now, this is what awaits.
The vision shifted, and she saw her parents in moments of tender intimacy. Merina and Pacificus clung to each other, bound by a love that was both fierce and fragile. She watched as her father’s strength faltered, as he held Merina close, powerless against her decline. The days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, each one marked by Merina’s gradual weakening, until that final breath slipped from her lips. Cassandra felt the weight of her father's sorrow, the way he would hold onto every fleeting moment as if trying to memorize the feel of Merina’s warmth, knowing it would soon be gone.
Yet not all she saw was sorrow. There were glimpses of happiness too, bright and vivid. She saw herself growing, nurtured by her father’s unwavering love. Pacificus, ever the doting parent, teaching her the ways of the world with patient hands, his lessons woven with the wisdom of a man who had lived many lives. She saw her mother, smiling, tenderly brushing back her hair as they shared quiet moments together. There were memories of laughter, of gentle embraces, and of the simple joys of being loved.
“I was blessed by good parents,” Cassandra thought, tears slipping down her cheeks, though no one could hear the silent lament of her infant soul. The future unfolded like an endless tapestry, and all she could do was watch.
The smell of cooking wafted through the room, rich and savory. Cassandra recognized it immediately: the distinct aroma of Barometz stew and roasted grasshoppers, her father’s specialties. She had seen herself savoring these meals in the visions—rich, hearty bites that warmed her from the inside out. But here, now, she was merely a helpless infant, unable to taste the food she knew she would one day adore. Regret swelled within her, a strange feeling for a newborn to harbor, but her memories were not those of a child.
She felt a gentle motion, the sensation of being lifted from her crib. Merina’s arms wrapped around her, warm and secure, and she felt her mother’s heartbeat thrum steadily against her own small body. Cassandra wasn’t surprised; she had seen this moment before, the way Merina would cradle her and draw her close. As if on instinct, Cassandra’s toothless mouth sought her mother’s breast, and she began to nurse, the natural act of a baby fulfilling its most basic needs. But inside, Cassandra felt something different—a sense of awkwardness that prickled at the edges of her consciousness.
“It’s okay,” she reassured herself, fighting the embarrassment that came with knowing too much. “It’s okay. I’m still a baby girl… it’s perfectly normal. I’m a baby girl… it’s perfectly normal.” Yet the thoughts lingered, a silent plea echoing within her. “Gods, please let me grow quickly.”
Merina hummed softly, a lullaby that filled the quiet night, and Cassandra found some comfort in the familiarity of her mother’s voice. But the awareness of her own strange condition lingered, mingling with the visions of what was to come. As she fed, she could feel the love radiating from her mother, warm and unyielding, and it brought a fragile sense of peace to the storm of thoughts swirling within her mind. For now, at least, she was safe. For now, she was simply a child in her mother’s arms, held by a love that felt as vast and unending as the night sky above.
The next day, Cassandra found herself secured snugly on her father’s back, nestled into a soft, woolen carrier that felt like a gentle embrace. The warmth of the sun filtered through the thin fabric, casting dappled light across her tiny face. She felt its soft touch, warm and comforting, as if the day itself were welcoming her into its embrace. The rhythmic motion of Pacificus’s steps lulled her into a sense of tranquility, and though her senses were sharp, Cassandra struggled to keep her eyes open. The woolen carrier was so comfortable, so perfectly made, that sleep tugged at her with every sway of her father’s movements, threatening to pull her under again and again.
Cassandra’s awareness, however, remained keen. She understood the pattern of their days, knew that while her mother, Merina, busied herself with her craft, Pacificus would take over her care. Her mother was a tailor, and Cassandra had seen in countless glimpses how her father’s eyes would soften whenever he watched Merina immersed in her work, the careful way she measured and stitched with delicate precision. It was a joy he indulged by shouldering the responsibility of their daughter, securing her safely against him as he tended to his crops. Cassandra’s world became the steady rhythm of her father’s heart and the gentle rocking of his movements, a soothing dance that filled her days with a sense of quiet contentment.
Yet, as comfortable as she was in the present, her mind wandered relentlessly toward the visions that plagued her. Cassandra had already seen the events of today unfold—her mother focused on her sewing, her father diligently working the fields—but some futures remained elusive. Her father’s destiny was shrouded in a strange fog, blurred and indistinct, like a book with pages missing. It was not just him. Apollo, Hyakinthos, Artemis, even the young boy named Zus were similarly obscured, their paths twisting away from her sight whenever she tried to grasp at them.
Zus, in particular, unnerved her. For a child so young, he cast a shadow that loomed over the orphanage’s future like a storm on the horizon. Cassandra’s visions of him were sparse yet deeply unsettling—glimpses of him entwined with many of the girls she knew, their faces marked by fear, sorrow, or resignation. Ten years from now, many of these girls would bear his children, and the thought chilled her to the bone. It was a future she couldn’t escape, one that hung over her like a curse. And then there was Hera, a noblewoman who would one day marry Zus. Cassandra’s visions of Hera were the most troubling of all; she was a woman of formidable wrath, with eyes that burned with unrelenting fury. Hera terrified her far more than Zus ever could, her presence a stark reminder of a fate that Cassandra desperately wished to avoid.
As Pacificus worked, his hands tending to the rows of crops that lined their small farm, Cassandra’s gaze drifted to the seed he had planted—the one Gaia had given him. In her mind’s eye, she saw the seed’s future, a grand vision of a towering tree that stretched skyward, its massive trunk dwarfing the landscape around it. She saw her father’s hut relocated, the tree’s roots having grown too vast and powerful for the tiny dwelling to remain where it was. But that was a sight twenty years in the making. For now, the seed lay nestled in the earth, hidden beneath layers of soil, and Cassandra knew it would be weeks before even the smallest sprout broke the surface. The knowledge filled her with a sense of impatience, a gnawing frustration that she could not yet act.
Cassandra’s thoughts returned to the problem that haunted her most: her mother’s fate. She needed to speak, to communicate her knowledge somehow. If she could just find her voice, perhaps she could convince her father to take action, to pursue some path that would lead to saving Merina. But there was another thread of possibility that nagged at her—the birth of her brother. In the tangled web of futures she had seen, the arrival of a sibling was a rare occurrence, yet one that held immense significance. Her brother’s presence could be the catalyst that moved Pacificus to act, to see the urgency of the situation with new eyes.
But as much as Cassandra hoped, she knew that this thread of time was unlikely to manifest. Her parents, in their quiet devotion to her, had placed their own desires aside. Their days were filled with gentle affection and shared responsibilities, but the passion that would lead to another child seemed distant, replaced by the duties of parenthood. Cassandra felt a spark of irritation, a childlike exasperation boiling up within her.
“Why are you such good parents?” she silently lamented, her tiny fists clenching at the unfairness of it all. “Make my brother already! So Papa can finally move! Gods help me!”
It was an absurd complaint, one borne of desperation rather than reason, but it was all she had. Cassandra’s small form shifted slightly as she squirmed against her father’s back, her thoughts churning in a mix of impatience and helplessness. She wanted to act, to change what she saw, but for now, all she could do was wait—wait and hope that the threads of fate would twist in her favor.
But who could blame her? Though Cassandra was still a baby in body, her mind was anything but. The relentless flood of visions that assaulted her every waking moment had shaped her in ways no infant should ever endure. She had seen glimpses of the past, haunting and tender memories of her parents’ struggles and triumphs, moments that painted a picture of love and loss far beyond her years. And then there were the futures—an endless cascade of possibilities, each more complex and layered than the last, threading together a tapestry of joy, sorrow, and everything in between.
Every night, as she lay in the darkness of her crib, Cassandra’s mind raced through the images, scenes unfolding like pages of a story she was powerless to rewrite. She had seen herself grow, watched as her infant form morphed into that of a girl, a teenager, and eventually a young woman. She witnessed her own successes and failures, her joys and heartbreaks, and it was as if she had already lived those years, time compressing and folding in on itself within the confines of her small body. She had seen herself learning to speak, to walk, to wield knowledge with the sharpness of a blade, and though none of these things had yet come to pass, they lingered in her mind, vivid and real.
Cassandra’s visions had gifted her with a depth of understanding that defied her physical age. It was as if the experiences of a lifetime had been poured into her, not gradually, but all at once, drowning her in the weight of countless memories and futures. Her thoughts were not those of a baby but of someone far older, burdened by the wisdom and heartache of years she had yet to live. There was a keen intelligence in her, a sharpness that cut through the haze of infancy. She knew too much, felt too deeply, her emotions layered with the kind of nuance that only came with age.
The irony of it all was not lost on her. Cassandra was trapped in the fragile form of a newborn, unable to speak, to act, or to change anything she had seen. Yet within her, the mind of a teenager—perhaps even a young adult—seethed with the frustration of knowing too much and being able to do so little. She understood the gravity of her parents’ sacrifices, the fleeting nature of their time together, and the terrible fate that awaited her mother. She saw the tenderness in her father’s every gesture, the quiet sorrow that lingered behind his eyes, and it pained her to know that she could do nothing to ease his burden.
Cassandra’s consciousness was a fractured thing, caught between what she was and what she knew. Every touch, every sound, every moment was a reminder of her own helplessness. The visions had made her wise beyond her years, yet they had also robbed her of the innocence she was meant to have. She was a child of two worlds—the physical reality of infancy and the sprawling expanse of time that played out endlessly in her mind. The weight of that duality bore down on her, heavy and unyielding, leaving her caught in a perpetual state of longing for a future that always seemed just out of reach.
And so, she waited, confined to the present yet burdened by all that was yet to come. She clung to the warmth of her father’s back, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her, and tried to find comfort in the simplicity of the moment. But no matter how hard she tried, the visions would not be silenced. They were her constant companions, a reminder of the impossible knowledge she carried within her—a mind aged far beyond her years, forever yearning for the power to change the fate she had seen.