Marek shook his head and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "All I'm saying is we need to be careful. We're not the only ones who saw the phenomenon."
Lira hugged Adam closer, her eyes softening with pain. "They can come or not. I won't let anyone take you from me."
Adam froze.
For the love of god, I am not your child. I'm just Adam. Regular, dentist-archaeologist Adam.
But his protests came out as a soft baby grunt.
Very intimidating.
Meanwhile, Marek looked genuinely troubled. "You know the Temple will come for him. They always do. A child born under an omen like that? They won't ignore it."
Lira frowned. "They'd only take him if he showed talent or awakened his Inner Sun at birth." She glanced down at Adam again, and her shoulders relaxed. "I don't sense anything like that."
Inner Sun?
Wait… this… this can't be…
Ancient Egyptian myths surged through his mind.
They spoke of a force called Ka—the living essence that bound mortals, spirits, and gods as one.
Ancient scrolls claimed that the priests who mastered Ka could stretch their lifespans far beyond nature's limits, living for centuries… even millennia.
In those old beliefs, the Inner Sun was the key.
A spiritual flame said to guide one's senses toward this mystical power.
It was considered a divine gift, granted by an ancient creator—the radiant being they called Ra.
And in their faith, every living person was born with it—yet only a chosen few ever awakened it, fewer still able to use it.
But he'd filed all that under "cool but impossible mythology."
So what is this?
Did I time-travel? Reincarnate? Get thrown back to ancient Egypt?
Before he spiraled further, Marek let out a tired laugh.
"Our current abilities are nothing compared to them." His gaze slid toward the baby—toward Adam—with a complicated mixture of fear and hope. "If he turns out to have great fate… he'll live a far better life than we ever could."
Too sentimental, Adam caught himself thinking. Maybe it was natural. His father had died when he was ten, long before he understood anything about life or loss. He wasn't even allowed to go to the funeral. His mother… she worked herself to exhaustion raising him and his brother alone. She had been a wonderful woman.
I should've listened to her. I shouldn't have gone on that damn discovery trip…
They must think I'm dead.
But despite himself, something like respect flickered inside him for the man.
Lira's face turned dark. "If they take him… we won't see him again."
Adam stared up at her, taken aback.
She looked miserable, terrified, and fiercely protective.
Dammit… don't do that. Don't make me feel things. You're not my mom. I'm not your kid.
Stop being… nice.
Marek sighed, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's too early to fear the worst. We don't know anything yet."
They leaned into each other, a naturally affectionate pair. It was obvious they loved each other in a simple, matter-of-fact way that hurt to watch.
These two are real soulmate material, Adam thought with a helpless sigh.
Meanwhile, I died a virgin at twenty-eight, Some of my friends already have toddlers.
He stared at his tiny hands.
And now I'm an actual infant.
He couldn't laugh, cry, or complain.
All he could do was lie there, absorbing the warmth of two strangers who believed he was their son.
And, unfortunately…
A very small, very traitorous part of him didn't hate that.
Lira gently shifted Adam in her arms and whispered, "Sleep if you can. You had a difficult birth."
A difficult birth? Lady, I came through an interdimensional blender.
She cradled him closer, humming softly. The warmth of her arms seeped through his tiny body, and—annoyingly—his infant instincts relaxed at the comfort.
Marek rose to his feet with a sigh. "I'll check outside. The village is restless. People have been talking since dawn."
Lira's eyes tightened. "Let them talk. They won't come near him."
"Some might," Marek replied quietly. "Not everyone sees omens as blessings."
He gave the child—Adam—a long, worried look he didn't bother to hide. Then he let out a soft chuckle.
"Some say those streaks of light were heavenly flames. Others claim a blessing descended from above."
Lira scoffed. "As if a heavenly blessing would appear in our valley."
"Stranger things have happened," Marek muttered, then stepped outside.
Lira returned her attention to Adam. "Do not listen to father. People talk too much."
Father? Ma'am, I met the man five minutes ago. Also, please don't call him father. That's weird... For both of us.
Before he could sink any deeper into the existential crisis of suddenly having parents, the door slid open again, and another figure stepped inside.
A young girl, maybe eight or nine, she was peeking around the frame with wide eyes.
"Mom," she whispered in low voice, "is he awake?"
Lira smiled. "Yes, Asha. Do you want to see your little brother?"
Brother? Excuse me? No. No, we're not doing this.
Asha stepped fully into the room, bare feet، Her hair was tied in two uneven braids, the kind that made it very clear she'd done them herself.
"He's really small."
Lira chuckled softly. "All babies are small."
"Not this small," Asha insisted, leaning closer until her shadow fell over him. She squinted. "His eyes look funny."
Excuse me?
Lira raised a brow. "Asha."
"I mean—they're… bright." The girl's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Like he's thinking something. Babies aren't supposed to think."
I'll have you know I have thought more today than most adults do in a month, kid.
Lira stroked the girl's hair affectionately. "He's just alert. That's a good thing."
Asha leaned in until her nose was almost touching Adam's forehead. "Can he hear me?"
"He can hear everything," Lira said proudly. "Babies listen more than we think."
Asha's eyes widened even more. "Everything?"
Lira nodded.
Oh god. Don't let her start trauma-dumping. I cannot emotionally babysit at this size.
Asha's shoulders straightened with sudden purpose, and she whispered with intense seriousness,
"Hi. I am your big sister. I will protect you from spiders and mean goats."
…Goats?