Kyrie's gaze flitted around the room, the ticking of the old cuckoo clock on the wall the only sound piercing the heavy silence. Tshaya's request lingered in the space between them, a weighty tension settling on Kyrie's shoulders as he considered the gravity of the favor she was about to ask. It was rare for Tshaya to seek help, especially a "big one."

Time stretched like taffy as Kyrie's mind whirred with questions.

As the minutes slipped by, a knock at the door shattered the stillness, jolting Tshaya into motion. Kyrie stared as she hurried to answer. Her husband’s arrival, accompanied by another man in his mid-thirties, sparked a flurry of activity and emotion in the room.

"Marko? Honey! What are you doing here? What a surprise!" Tshaya said as she embraced her husband.

"The girl didn’t want to part without me, so I was forced to come. I don’t have much time, though. Some last-minute business."

Kyrie's attention shifted to a little girl, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her small shape trembling. A pang of empathy radiated through his chest as he witnessed her silent struggle.

“Bye,” the two men waved at the girl and left in a hurry.

Tshaya's soothing presence was not enough to quell the girl's distress, her tears flowing unchecked as she clung to the fleeting memories of Marko’s departure. Kyrie felt a tug at his heart, a primal instinct to protect and comfort, as he knelt before the girl, smiling from ear to ear.

Gently, Kyrie reached out to the girl, his touch feather-light as he brushed away her tears. The girl's eyes flickered between Kyrie and Tshaya, seeking validation and safety in their shared gaze.

"What's your name, little one?" Kyrie's voice was soft, a gentle caress that wrapped around the girl like a warm embrace. He waited, his eyes kind and patient, as she hesitated, her fingers fidgeting in a dance of nervous energy.

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"Selene," she whispered.

"What a beautiful name!”

Kyrie's heart swelled with a mix of emotions as Selene's innocent laughter filled the room. The simplicity of her joy, the genuineness of her presence, stirred something within him that lay dormant for far too long.

“How old are you?"

"Five!" Selene's exuberant reply, accompanied by a flurry of hand gestures as she struggled to count until five using both hands, resonated with a purity that Kyrie found both endearing and achingly familiar.

A paternal instinct surged through Kyrie, a bittersweet reminder of the family he had lost, of the void that remained in his heart. As he caressed Selene's head, a gentle tenderness in his touch, he yearned, a longing for the connection he had once known, now a distant memory in the recesses of his mind.

As Selene yawned, Tshaya's gentle question broke the spell that had enveloped them. "Are you sleepy?" Selene nodded.

Tshaya's tender care guided Selene to her room. As the door closed behind them, the living room was once again bathed in silence, the echoes of their interactions lingering like a faint whisper in the air. Kyrie stared at his own hands —longing, regret, and a spark of hope—as Selene drifted into dreams.

"Who is she?" Kyrie asked, his eyes drawn to Tshaya's face as she stepped back into the living room.

"Five years ago, we encountered a girl on a desolate road, her belly swollen with child, on the brink of giving birth. She was but a young woman, scarcely twenty winters old, the rugged terrain of Spain stretching before us, the border with France looming in the distance. Despite her mortal wounds, we endeavored to offer aid, to hasten her to the care of a healer. And in the dead of night, her newborn came into this world. But with the dawn, we found her agonizing, a gaping wound in her chest, the glint of a knife clasped in her hand, in a final act of despair. Her last words were the girl’s name, the baby she left behind, was Selene."

Kyrie's gaze lingered on Tshaya's face, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within him—compassion, and grief.

"I know it's not the most opportune moment, but I sense in you the capacity to offer shelter in the storm," Tshaya's words hung in the air like a plea. "Will you care for Selene? I understand the shadows that haunt your past, the ghosts of bygone guilt that linger in your wake."

Kyrie's throat constricted, memories of his own loss clawing their way to the surface, a torrent of emotions threatening to engulf him. "My daughter’s passing was a bitter pill, a fate I was helpless to avert," his voice trembled, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I will take this task upon me, I vow to guard her as if she were my own flesh and blood. I will bear this responsibility to the best of my ability."

A timid smile graced Tshaya's lips as she listened to him.