A sly grin curves those full lips as he gives me an affectionate pat. "But an appearance I'll gladly take advantage of, to be sure. For I aim to return home with you at my side, little Gullveig - though you'll need to blossom into a proper woman first before that can happen."

Oisin lets out another braying laugh at that, the sound jarring against the lingering tension in the air. "Aye, the fate of our whole family restsh on thish liddle brat bloomin' into a woman before we're all killed by the English, eh Norshman?" he slurs with a leer.

I can't resist shooting my drunken father a scathing look, even as I keep up my childlike facade. "Don't fret, papa," I trill in a sugary-sweet tone. "I'll be sure to become a real big girl soon, so Colm can take me far away from this drafty old hovel!"

The words seem to sober Oisin somewhat, a flicker of unease passing over his ruddy features. But before he can respond, another powerful contraction seizes Aislin where she lies laboring in the sleeping area. Her pained cry rings out, shattering the strange tension that had fallen over us all.

In an instant, Erik is all business once more, rising fluidly to his feet and depositing me gently on the bench. "Stay here with your father for now, little one," he rumbles, already striding towards the sleeping quarters. "I'll need to see to your mother's progress."

I watch the big man's broad back disappear through the low doorway, feeling a strange sense of...disappointment? Irritation? It's difficult to put a name to the emotion roiling within me.

Perhaps it's simply frustration at being relegated to the role of a helpless child once more...

A piercing scream rips through the air, Aislin's agonized wail echoing in my ears. I watch as Maeve swiftly sets the jug of honeyed mead down on the rough-hewn table with a dull thunk.

"Oisin, get your drunken arse in here now!" Erik's deep baritone booms from the sleeping quarters. "Your wife needs you, fool!"

Oisin grunts and heaves himself up from the bench, swaying unsteadily as he lumbers towards the screams. Maeve turns to face me, a wicked grin curving her full lips.

"Best you go play outside for a spell, little one," she drawls in that husky tone. "Wouldn't want those tender ears scarred by your mother's birthing cries, eh?"

I huff out an exaggerated sigh, sliding off the bench with a put-upon air. "If I must," I grumble petulantly, playing the role of the put-upon child to perfection.

Maeve merely chuckles, sashaying over to pull open the warped wooden door. "Off you go then, poppet. We'll fetch you once your new playmate arrives safe and hale."

Suppressing an eye roll, I trudge outside, circling around the back of the hovel. I lean against the crumbling mud wall, resting my head back as I strain my ears to make out the muffled conversation drifting from within.

"...bloody wench, stop your infernal caterwauling!" That's Oisin's gruff tones, slurred with drink.

A harsh cry splits the air, followed by Erik's rumbling baritone. "Peace, Oisin! The pains come hard upon her now. Aislin, you must bear down and push, good wife!"

Another scream, this one trailing off into harsh pants and whimpers. I can't help but shiver at the raw, visceral sounds of a woman's torment.

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"Seven hells, she sounds like a pig being gored!" Maeve's mocking laughter rings out, quickly drowned out by a fresh wave of Aislin's anguished cries.

"Hush your tongue, wench!" Erik snarls, the rebuke sharp enough to cut glass. "Aislin labors to bring new life into this world. Show some respect, if you're capable of such!"

A tense silence falls, broken only by my mother's ragged panting. Then, Erik's deep voice again, softer but still intense.

"That's it, good wife...I can see the babe's crown. Just a few more pushes now, put your back into it!"

The screams intensify, each one feeling like a white-hot lash across my nerves. I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to clap my hands over my ears and drown out the sounds of Aislin's torment.

At last, the cries crescendo into one final, ear-splitting wail that abruptly cuts off. A new sound splits the stillness - the reedy, mewling cries of a newborn babe.

"Well struck, Aislin!" Erik rumbles in approval. "You've given us a fine, hale son with hair like spun gold and eyes as blue as the summer sky."

I can't resist a small smile at that, picturing the tiny new life Aislin has brought forth through such agonizing struggle.

"Here, hold your son against your breast," Erik continues in a softer tone. "Let him drink deep of your first milk while it's still hot and rich."

There's a pause, then Aislin's weary voice drifts out, thick with wonderment.

"Atlas...we'll call him Atlas, just as our Lile dreamed."

A grunt answers her, unmistakably Oisin. "Well enough, wench. You did...you did good this time, I suppose."

The gruff words are punctuated by the newborn's lusty wails, as if protesting his father's backhanded praise. I hear the soft sounds of Aislin shushing and comforting the squalling infant, then the wet noises of him latching onto her breast and greedily suckling.

Smiling faintly to myself, I push off from the wall and begin wandering the small yard, giving the new family some privacy to bond over their fresh arrival.

I plop down on my backside in the dirt yard behind our dilapidated hovel, letting out a heavy sigh. Despite the joyous occasion of Aislin birthing a new babe, I cannot muster any genuine excitement or happiness. Instead, an overwhelming sense of melancholy washes over me as I gaze vacantly at the crumbling mud walls.

A new member has joined this wretched peasant family, and yet I feel utterly detached from it all. More than that, I am gripped by a bitter jealousy watching Aislin coo and fawn over her newborn son. She has been granted the simple pleasure of loving a child, of nurturing new life with a mother's tender affection.

But I? I am cursed to remain alone in this nightmarish existence, bereft of any loved ones or family. My own children from my previous life as Alexander, along with my two cherished wives and closest friends - all of them are gone, torn from my embrace by the cruel cosmic forces that trapped my consciousness in this twisted realm.

I am alone. Truly, utterly alone in a way that gnaws at my very soul.

I shudder, feeling a strange dampness on my cheeks that I automatically brush away. Tears - a shameful display of vulnerability that my former self would have never indulged. And yet here I am, a grown man sobbing like a child over the loss of my loved ones, my identity, my very soul.

Alone. I am so dreadfully, hopelessly alone in this waking nightmare. With no family or friends to tether me to my past existence, I am adrift in a churning sea of confusion and despair.

A tiny, treacherous voice whispers that perhaps the only way to find solace is to fully embrace this new identity. To let the fragile husk of Alexander wither away, clearing the path for Lile - the strange, fey child-woman I am becoming - to blossom into her full, primal glory.

I angrily shake my head, rejecting the insidious notion. No, I cannot...I will not surrender my essential self so easily! I am Alexander Popov, the scientific genius who revolutionized artificial intelligence and ushered in a new era for all mankind!

...Aren't I?

A fresh wave of doubt and existential vertigo washes over me. In this moment, I cannot be sure of anything - my identity, my purpose, even the nature of my own reality. I am adrift in a waking delirium, with no anchor to cling to save the dwindling sparks of my fractured former self.

Wrapping my small arms around my legs, I bury my face against my knees and simply allow the tears to flow unchecked. In this private moment, I am neither the brilliant scientist nor the strange child-woman chimera.

I am nothing. I am alone.

Just.

Alone.