The seasons passed in a steady rhythm, and before they knew it, Marcus and Adrian had completed one full year in their new lives. Time felt both fleeting and eternal in their tiny bodies. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, marked by slow but steady progress. Their understanding of the language around them had grown, albeit painstakingly slowly.
Their vocabulary was that of a very enthusiastic toddler—barely a few hundred words, pieced together through endless trial and error. Their learning method was rudimentary: pointing at objects and waiting for their caretakers to provide the names. It was frustratingly inefficient without access to writing tools to aid their memory. Still, as Marcus often reminded Adrian, they had the one resource that was most important in life: Time.
‘Time, and a lot of patience,’
Despite the challenges, Marcus and Adrian had begun to make impressive progress with vocalizing words. Their small victories in producing sounds close to their caregivers' language filled them with pride.
Through countless observations and their caretakers’ casual chatter, several truths became undeniable. First, the man who visited them regularly, the one they had begrudgingly started to accept, was their biological father. His name, they learned, was Syra. Second, they are his only children.
Syra was an okay man, the boys thought, he’s busy most of the time with his work. Looking at the state of the house and its surroundings, Adrian guesses that the man is probably fairly well-off. Syra often brought small gifts, though most of it was of no use to them since the boys were not exactly interested in playing with toys.
Today, Syra was absent again, and the twins found themselves sitting in front of the low wooden table they’d come to know well as they ate together. Their meal was simple yet satisfying: puls made from barley and milk, seasoned with a touch of salt and herbs. Eating with their hands was far from dignified, but they had little complaint and relished the independence feeling that comes with it.
Marcus, as usual, ate with such gusto, smearing bits of barley mush on his face in the process without a hint of shame. Adrian, more meticulous, carefully picked at his portion, though he couldn’t avoid the mess entirely either.
｢Think we’ll ever get utensils?｣ Marcus asked through their mental link, his tone a mix of amusement and resignation.
｢Unlikely anytime soon,｣ Adrian replied, eyeing his brother’s sticky hands.
Marcus chuckled, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ｢This reminds me of when I was living at the Buddhist temple.｣
｢Right, I clearly remember how that happened. When you said you wanted to learn about the monk’s life, I thought you were just joking, but the next month you were already flying to Tibet much to your parents' dismay.｣
Marcus snorted as he laughed, ｢Yeah, they were livid about it.｣
｢Do you… miss them? Given everything that happened?｣
Marcus paused. His messy hands stilled as he stared at the faintly glistening surface of the barley mush in his bowl. For a moment, he said nothing, as if turning the question over in his mind.
Finally, he sighed and closed his eyes. ｢Well… As you know, I wasn’t close with my parents. Not like you were with yours. My siblings, sure—they followed every rule, every command. Me? I always did my own thing. That caused a lot of friction between us.｣ He opened his eyes, his gaze distant. ｢It’s not that I hated them or anything. I didn’t. But we weren’t on the same wavelength. Never were.｣
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Adrian listened silently.
｢You never want to talk much about it, I know… But again, do you miss them?｣ Adrian pressed gently.
Marcus shrugged, a hint of a bitter smile tugging at his lips. ｢I wouldn’t say I feel happy about the idea of never seeing them again. But I don’t feel particularly sad, either. It’s weird. I guess I’ve made peace with it. There wasn’t much left unresolved between us—not really.｣
Adrian absorbed the response, his thoughts turning inward.
Marcus tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity lighting his eyes. ｢What about you? You and your parents were close… I am always jealous, I think Samantha in particular was cool. Do you… miss your parents?｣
Adrian’s mental presence quieted, his response slow in forming. ｢Yeah, I miss them. They were all I had, you know? Just the three of us, making it through. They always did their best to keep us afloat, no matter how hard it got. And I… I just hope they’re okay. I hope they both can find peace and move on from what happened.｣
Marcus nodded, his expression softening. ｢They’re a tough couple, Adrian. It would take time for them to do it, but I know they will pull through.｣
Adrian smiled faintly, the warmth of Marcus’s words seeping through their connection. ｢Thanks, Marcus. And for what it’s worth, I think your parents probably cared about you more than you think. They just… didn’t know how to show it in a way that worked for you.｣
Marcus smirked, his usual playful demeanor returning as he nudged Adrian. ｢Meh… I just don’t see it, you know?｣
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The rhythmic scratching of a reed pen against parchment filled the quiet of Syra’s office. Ledgers are meticulously organized by date and transaction. His calloused fingers, traced over the inked numbers, checking and rechecking the sums. Business finally started to pick up again this past season—trade had started to catch up with the previous rate, and his investments were finally yielding promising returns.
Syra set his quill down, stretching his fingers before leaning back in his chair. A satisfied smile crossed his face, though his mind had already begun to drift elsewhere. Numbers and wealth meant little compared to what truly mattered.
His sons.
The thought of them softened his expression. The gods had blessed him beyond measure—two healthy, thriving boys. The memory of their birth, so small and fragile, flickered in his mind. And now, a year had already passed, and they had grown strong, their bright eyes full of intelligence that both warmed and unsettled him.
“Too quiet,” the nannies often said with a mixture of affection and uncertainty. “They are as sweet as honey, my lord, but they do not cry as normal children do.”
Syra understood their concern. It was natural for infants to wail, to fuss, to demand attention at every hour of the day. But Marcus and Adrian… they were different. They rarely threw tantrums and never screamed without cause. Their patience and perceptiveness sometimes seem to be beyond their years. At first, Syra had brushed it off as a mere peculiarity, an odd but harmless trait. Yet, the more he observed them, the harder it became for him to ignore their peculiarity.
It wasn’t just their silence—their eyes.
Every time Syra looked into them, he felt something stir deep within him, something unexplainable. The way they watched the world around them, their gaze sharp and aware—it was as if they understood more than they should.
He had sought counsel, hoping for reassurance. The priest had examined them, offering prayers and blessings before shaking his head with an indulgent smile. “No curses lie upon them, my lord. They are merely gifted children, touched by the gods in their own way.”
Given everything, Syra couldn’t decipher if the priest's words were sarcastic or genuine.
However, the local healer had echoed the same sentiment. “They are strong, my lord, and bright. Not all children are the same. Do not let worry steal your joy.”
Even at this age or even because of it, both of the boys are capable of easily charming the people they meet, that’s a fact number one Syra learned from the whole ordeal before he tries to push his unease aside.
A sudden knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he called.
A servant stepped in, lowering his head respectfully before speaking. “Master, your horse is ready.”
Syra exhaled, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Good,” he murmured. He stood, glancing at the papers before him one last time before making his decision.
“Prepare my hat,” he instructed. “I’ll need to see my sons first before I go.”