Io

Well, this is no office chair.

I must’ve seriously overestimated how well it’d work for sleeping. It doesn’t. At all. My back feels like it skipped a few decades ahead without me. I think I’ve unlocked a new level of spinal regret.

I stretch my legs and wince, then take a slow look around the room. It’s early — the kind of grey-blue hush that wraps itself around everything before the city truly wakes up. I seem to be the first one up. Not surprising.

Then my eyes land on the bed.

Oh man. Why doesn’t this world have cameras?

Io’s still asleep, one arm curled up under her head — and tucked up against her, fast asleep, is Lu. She must’ve rolled in closer during the night. The kid’s practically melted into Io’s side, her hand bunched loosely in the fabric of her sleeve.

It looks... peaceful. Too peaceful. Like the kind of scene you'd find in the faded memory of someone’s best year. If I didn’t know what happened yesterday — the chaos, the shouting, the terror — I’d think this was just a mother and daughter catching up on some quiet dreams.

And honestly, if you ignore the ears, they don’t look all that different.

I should stop thinking about this. It’s... bordering on creepy.

But still — this picture, this moment — it’s the kind of thing that makes the madness feel just a little more worth it.

Right. Back to reality. Yesterday the city descended into what can only be described as madness, and today… well, I should probably figure out where we stand. No smoke, no screaming so far. Maybe we’re lucky. Maybe we just can’t hear it.

I walk over to the window and peel back the curtain, just enough to peek through. The street outside is coated in a pale, dusty haze. Morning fog? Or just smoke settled low? Hard to say. Splinters of broken wood still litter the stones, and there's a blackened shape — scorched wood from the square, maybe — lying just near the gutter.

No movement. No guards. No shouting.

Quiet... but not calm.

I glance back at the bed one more time. They're still fast asleep.

Should I go downstairs? Just to see how things are? Maybe talk to the innkeeper if he’s still around?

Probably a good idea.

I creep over to the corner to change into my regular clothes — nothing fancy, just something I can move in. I try to be quiet about it, but there’s no elegant way to silently put on pants in a creaky room while trying not to wake two sleeping people.

And yes, it’s still awkward. All of it. The sudden parenting, the shared beds, the unspoken stuff between me and Io. We’ve only had Lu for… what? Less than 24 hours?

Alright, time to move the chest from the door. I wedged it in there last night thinking I was being clever. Now it’s me versus this block of solid wood.

I brace my back, press my feet to the floor, and push slowly. Gotta keep it quiet. Gotta keep it steady.

It shifts — scraping against the wood with a low groan — and finally gives.

Freedom.

I let out a slow breath. Okay. Now what’s waiting for me downstairs?

###

Hmmm.

What was that? Some sound?

Still lying on my side, eyes closed, drifting in that space between dream and waking.

Something shifted. A noise? A breath?

If Nate got handsy during the night, maybe I should—

No… not today. Probably not ever. He wouldn't.

I blink open one eye, still groggy. No face. No Nate?

Then I glance downward, and it all comes back.

Lu.

Curled up beside me. Small, soft, warm.

How could I forget? Right — the city, the fire, the running. The moment in the street. We really brought her here.

It still feels surreal.

She looks so peaceful. Why does she trust us? Why does she sleep like she belongs here?

This whole parenting thing is new. For me. Definitely for Nate too… though you wouldn’t know it. He took to her like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hair-braiding? Stories? Jokes?

When did he get like this?

I stay there for a moment, just breathing, trying to pull myself fully into the day. The quiet stretches in that strange way it does in unfamiliar places. But that feeling again — her presence, so gentle and unformed. Not like the dull churn of adult minds. Just… light. Soft. Open.

Is this what all those women in the village meant? The ones who’d sigh and say “you’ll understand one day” while bouncing babies on their hips? Is this what they were trying to tell me?

I never believed them. I still don’t know if I do.

And yet…

How is it fair that someone like this — someone so small — has to live in an orphanage?

How long has she been on her own?

We have to bring her back. Right?

That’s what decent people do. We’re not ready for more. We’re barely surviving here.

But the thought of handing her off already…

Before I can finish that thought, she stirs.

A soft grunt. She shifts her legs and opens her eyes — wide blue and unguarded. They blink up at me, curious. Watching.

I try to think of something to say.

“Hello,” I offer.

She blinks again, then gives me a small, sleepy smile. Still no words.

That’s fine.

Okay, okay, now what. Nate’s usually the one to… talk, distract, improvise.

Do I just start copying what he did?

“Do you want to get up and put on some different clothes?”

It comes out a little awkward. Too formal, maybe. But she nods.

Alright. That’s progress. I can work with that.

Now… how do we actually do this? I’m still in bed. Do we even have something for her?

One step at a time.

At least she smiled. That has to count for something.

###

How exactly did these clothes get here?

I swear we had nothing child-sized yesterday. Then what were they doing, folded so neatly, right on the chest? Was it Nate? He can’t have pulled them out of thin air.

I glance at Lu — her new outfit looks mismatched but surprisingly well-fitted. Someone chose carefully. Someone thoughtful.

“Let’s go down,” I say to Lu, and she nods, gripping my hand.

We make our way down the stairs. The quiet is no longer ominous, just… calm. There’s a warmth to the emptiness now, like the world has hit pause. Maybe today really will be different.

“Oh, hello. I see you found the clothes,” says Nate as we round the corner.

Lu lights up when she sees him. Without hesitation, she hurries forward, giving a small spin like she’s showing off a royal gown.

“Yes, you look very pretty,” Nate says with a grin, ruffling her hair gently. She beams at the praise.

I cross my arms. “Was it you?”

He tilts his head. “I mean, I brought them to the room, yeah. But they came from Beran.”

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Our innkeeper,” he says. “Met him this morning. He said he keeps a few things in case anyone comes through with children.”

Beran… So that’s his name. I suppose I never asked. It’s strange how many people we pass without ever knowing the smallest thing about them.

As if summoned by the thought, the man himself appears from the back, balancing a tray.

“Hello! Oh, I see the clothes fit — that’s good,” he says with a surprisingly warm smile. His presence feels… lighter than before. More engaged. Maybe he’s just glad we’re not gone like the rest.

“Well, thank you very much,” I start to say, “How much should—?”

He waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that. Come and eat.”

Before I can protest, he’s already setting down bowls and cups with the efficiency of someone who’s done it a hundred times. Four portions. He’s counting Lu in. Somehow, that matters more than the food.

We sit together. Lu hesitates at first, pressed close to me like I might vanish if she lets go. But the moment the scent of warm breakfast hits her, she’s all focused. Shy or not, hunger wins.

Nate waits for us to settle in before speaking. His voice is quieter than usual, measured.

“I wanted to wait until breakfast to talk,” he says, looking at me across the table.

Right. A strategy meeting, over soup.

###

“I suggest you don’t leave. These types of things usually last,” the innkeeper says.

“Does that… happen a lot here?” Nate asks from beside me.

“I don’t know if I’d say a lot… but it’s my seventh time.” Beran’s voice is calm, matter-of-fact.

Seventh? I turn to look at him again. He doesn’t seem ancient — older than us, sure, but not by much. Seven city-wide riots? What kind of place have we come to?

“So you say these things have some regularity to them?” I ask, not quite hiding the edge in my tone.

“More or less. I’d say we’re in for patrols, maybe a bit of ruckus during the day. Should blow over in a few.” He shrugs.

How can he be so calm? Is it comforting — or terrifying — that he doesn’t flinch? Maybe both.

Nate leans forward slightly. “Do you think we should stay upstairs?”

“As long as no one tries to break down the front door, you’ll be fine. Usually the first day’s the worst.” Another shrug, like this is just weather we have to wait out.

So we’re stuck for at least another day. Could be worse — we’re fed, we’re safe, and no one’s bleeding. That’s not nothing.

“You can go to the back if you want,” Beran adds. “Check on your horse. Whole place is surrounded by buildings — should be safe enough. Might help with your little one.”

Right. Lu. We have to keep her entertained… somehow. I glance at her. She’s still eating, focused and quiet. Nate and I might be content to wait out the day, but she’s a child. She needs something more than four walls and silence.

Fresh air might help. Maybe we can make a game out of it. Nate’s better at that — I hope he has ideas. Because I sure don’t.

The last of the food disappears. Lu’s bowl looks almost polished clean. I watch her for a moment. She didn’t even hesitate. Is that what she’s used to — eating fast, never sure when the next bowl comes? The orphanage can’t be an easy place.

Beran collects the bowls, balancing them neatly on his tray.

“There’s only the four of us left,” he says before heading back to the kitchen. “So if you want to go down, up or to the back, it’s all yours. No one to bother you.”

I glance at Nate. He catches my eye and raises his brow slightly, like he’s asking you good? I give the smallest nod back. This day might go well. At least… I hope it will.

###

What now…

We’re still sitting at the table. Beran is somewhere in the back. So it’s just me, Nate, and Lu.

He’s telling her a story—something about a princess and a lost shoe. She’s watching him like he’s casting a spell. Maybe we should write it down later.

And yet, all I can feel is this… heaviness.

Why do I feel bad about this?

He looks so natural with her. Comfortable. Engaged.

Shouldn’t it come more naturally to me?

Would it feel easier if Lu were misbehaving? If she were loud or messy? But she’s just so… normal.

Maybe the old women in the village were right when they said I was getting too old. That I waited too long.

“Io…”

His voice cuts through the fog, but I barely register it.

Did I pick the wrong path?

“Io…”

He says it again, softer this time. I blink out of my thoughts and turn toward him.

“We want to check on the horse,” he says. “Want to come?”

How long was I sitting there? He finished the story and everything.

“Sure,” I say. It’s easier than unpacking all this.

We find the back door and step into the courtyard—or whatever you’d call this little square of open air. Not much space, but more than enough for Lu, who’s already running circles, her hair bouncing behind her like a streamer. She’s having the time of her life in this tiny, worn rectangle between buildings.

Nate and I lean against the wall, side by side, watching.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

His voice is softer than usual. It makes the question feel different. Real.

I want to brush it off. Say I’m tired. Blame the city. But I don’t.

“Just thinking,” I say. “Maybe too much.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.

“Everyone back home used to say it would just… happen. That one day you’d turn into a mother, like flipping a switch. Like it was already inside you, just waiting to come out.”

I cross my arms. My voice feels brittle.

“I spent so long proving them wrong. I was useful. I was strong. And now…” I glance at Lu. “Now I hear all those old voices crawling back. See? This is what you were supposed to be.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just listens.

“And… is it?” he asks. “What you want?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.” I force myself to look at him. “And then I watch you with her, and it’s just… easy. And it makes me feel like I failed at something I wasn’t even sure I wanted.”

He tilts his head a little, thinking. Then:

“I don’t think one day is enough to decide if you want to be a parent,” he says. “And for better or worse, we’re not Lu’s parents. Not yet.”

“There’s no switch. No sudden moment where we become something we weren’t. Most people I know with kids still feel like they’re winging it. Some days they connect, some days they don’t.”

He shrugs.

“I’m basically a clown. You saw me—rambling about music, braiding her hair like I’m trying out for some dad-of-the-year contest.”

I smirk. Just a little.

“But she trusts you,” he adds. “And she curled up next to you last night. That wasn’t nothing.”

I look away again. “I don’t feel like I’m enough. Not calm enough. Not soft enough. Not what she probably needs. What if I’m just a temporary shape in her life?”

There’s a long pause.

“Back where I’m from,” Nate says, “a lot of women don’t become mothers until their thirties. Some never do. And that’s fine too.”

“You’re not on a timer, Io. Especially not after one day.”

I breathe that in. Let it settle.

“She’s amazing,” I say. “But I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all this.”

“You’ve already been someone great,” he says. “You picked a path once and walked it well. That counts. And maybe now you’re just walking another one.”

“You don’t have to know what role you’re playing right away. Just… spend time with her. With us. See what happens.”

We stand in silence. Not heavy this time. Just quiet.

“Thanks,” I say. “For not trying to fix it.”

“You’d punch me if I tried.”

“Only a little.”

We both watch Lu running wild in the courtyard, her laughter echoing off the stone. The day isn’t bright, but it’s clear.

And for now, that feels like enough.

###

Nate and Lu went ahead to feed the horse. I said I’d follow… eventually. But I’m just standing here, leaning against the wall like it’ll give me answers.

My head is still a mess. Why can’t I just stop thinking? This isn’t the right time for doubt, not now.

I need a task. A plan. That’s when I function best—when there’s a goal ahead of me, something to push toward.

But we’re stuck here. What plan can I even make?

…No, I do have one. Just spend time with them. No expectations. No roles. No motherhood talk. Just… see what happens.

It’s better than pacing or lying in bed and overthinking everything.

So: the plan is to play. Or at least try.

With a sigh, I brush off my skirt and head to the back of the inn. I spot them near the little courtyard stable. Nate’s crouched next to the feed bucket, Lu beside him like a second shadow. Her sleeves are rolled up, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Okay, here goes nothing.

“So, uhh… how’s he doing?” I ask, aiming for casual.

Nate looks up with a grin. “We gave him some food. Right, Lu?”

She nods and grins at him like he just taught her the secrets of the universe.

He’s so natural with her. It’s almost annoying. Maybe I should just… copy his rhythm.

I crouch beside them and try. “Is that right, Lu?” My voice comes out a bit too soft, but she turns to me and nods again, smiling.

Okay. That wasn’t so bad.

“Did you… did he eat out of your hand?” I ask, hoping to keep the momentum.

She tilts her head, confused.

Right. Of course. If she’s spent her whole life in the city, horses probably aren’t something she’s used to.

So—show, don’t ask.

I step forward, scoop a palmful of grain from the bucket, and stretch my hand out. Moss ambles over and happily munches from it, brushing my fingers.

It does tickle.

I glance at Lu. “Want to try?”

She nods, wide-eyed.

“Give me your hand,” I say, gently. I pour some of the grain into her little palm and guide her hand forward. The horse noses her hand, soft and slow.

Lu lets out a bright, delighted laugh—the kind that sneaks up on you. Like sunshine slipping past a shutter.

“Does it tickle?” I ask, smiling before I can stop myself.

She nods eagerly, then buries her face in my side for just a second. I freeze. Then—slowly—I rest a hand on her back.

That’s… something.

“You know this horse,” I begin, half talking to her, half steadying myself. “His name is Moss. He was born in my village. I remember when he could barely stand straight on his legs…”

She listens like every word is important.

I keep going. Tell her how he was afraid of chickens for the first few weeks. How he once chewed through someone’s laundry line. I don’t even care that it’s not exciting—it’s ours. It’s something I know.

And she wants to know it, too.

###

Why does it feel like every moment since yesterday stretches so long?

The simplest things seem to take up so much time, so much space. Maybe this is what having a child around does—forcing you to be constantly present. It’s not a bad feeling. Just… a very new one.

Better this than overthinking my supposed “womanly duties.”

...What are we even doing?

If someone told me I’d be lying on a patch of city grass playing “shapes in the clouds,” I’d have called them delusional. Yet here I am.

“Oh, see that one?” Nate says, pointing up at a lumpy swirl overhead. “What do you think it is?”

I squint. A vague blob. “Uhh… maybe a bush?”

“A bush?” Nate repeats, half laughing. “Lu? What do you think?”

She shakes her head, lips twitching.

“Try again,” he teases.

“Alright… fine. A chicken?” It looks vaguely like it has a head, maybe wings.

Lu lets out a tiny, delighted noise.

“I think we have a winner,” I say, smirking.

Looking at clouds. What a strange, pointless, lovely thing to do.

“Hey, that one looks like your ear!” Nate says, pointing again. “It’s got the point and everything!”

By reflex, I reach up and touch it. I wouldn’t say it looks that much like an ear…

Then something soft taps my other one—Lu’s hand. She’s curious, not rough. Just… exploring.

“Huh? She touched your ear!” Nate says, like it’s the most incredible discovery in the world.

“Is that a big deal?”

“I mean, I’ve never gotten to,” he says. “And we’ve known each other for a while.”

“Did you ever ask?”

“…Ehh, no. Can I—?”

“Sure.” I say before I can second-guess myself.

Nate shifts position, now on my right side, Lu still nestled on my left. And now both my ears are under inspection.

“Is this really that exciting for you two?” I ask, half-embarrassed.

“Are you joking?! This is amazing,” Nate grins. “Right, Lu?”

She nods, solemnly, like this is an important cultural event.

“Ohh, why didn’t I do this sooner?”

“You’re so weird about this,” I mutter. “It’s just ears.”

“Not just ears,” he says seriously. “Where I’m from, ears like yours only exist in myths and legends. Elves—they’re called elves. Long lives, powerful magic, perfect beauty, pointy ears... all that stuff.”

“You’re only telling me this now?”

“I didn’t want to be disrespectful.” He shrugs. “But yeah. Where I’m from, someone like you would be a literal storybook character.”

“And what, that means you get to play with my ears?” I arch an eyebrow.

“No. That means I get to tell you that you’re just like the stories in one way.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” I ask, fully expecting him to say something ridiculous.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he says, softly but surely.

I blink. “Uhh… what? No—stop messing with me.”

“I’m not! Ask Lu if you don’t believe me.”

“Lu?” I turn to the little traitor beside me.

She nods. Vigorously.

“Oh, for—That’s enough. I’m going inside before I die of embarrassment. Time for dinner,” I declare, bolting upright and brushing off my clothes.

Behind me, I hear Nate chuckle. Lu giggles.

But for a moment there… that strange warm feeling in my chest didn’t feel so strange anymore.

###

When did it get dark?

Yesterday and the first half of today stretched on like forever — every moment slow, deliberate, aching in its uncertainty. And now… it's like the afternoon disappeared in a blink. The food turned out fine, until Lu decided to “help,” and then it turned into a battlefield of spilled water and uneven slices. Not that she minded.

And my plan for today…?

I think I can actually be satisfied. Maybe I had it wrong — maybe the whole idea of “family life” isn’t about perfection or some clear role you fall into. Maybe it's just this. Shared moments. A little chaos. A little laughter. No big declarations. Just the act of showing up.

Maybe we don’t need labels… not yet, anyway.

Still… we had it easy with Lu. She's sweet, quiet — maybe too quiet sometimes. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary. If it was every day. For years. If she got sick. If she started screaming. If she shut us out.

If I really had to be someone’s mother.

But at least I have Nate.

That thought lands softly, without panic now. Just is. Like a fact. He's trying, and so am I, and that might be enough. Maybe I can convince him to help out at the school once we’re back — he has that patient way with explaining things. And kids like him. Obviously.

I go over the whole day in my head — how it started, where I was emotionally, and how we ended up here, in a borrowed room, after a strange kind of peace. Enjoyable? Maybe.

I hear the faintest shuffle of footsteps, then feel a gentle tug.

I glance down.

Lu, of course. Although with how strange things have been lately, part of me half-expected Nate crawling on the floor in some misguided attempt to cheer me up.

“Yes, Lu?” I ask.

She turns, chin up, eyes bright — and shows off a new braid draped neatly over her shoulder. I wish I had someone to braid my hair when I was a kid…

“Oh? Nate made you another one?” I ask with a raised brow and a small smile.

She nods, sleepy but proud. And then lets out a tiny yawn. All the running earlier… and the mess we called “helping” in the kitchen must’ve worn her out.

###

Once again, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep.

Lu curled up fast tonight — maybe even faster than yesterday. She’s so small, yet somehow manages to take up so much space in this room. In my thoughts.

Outside, there were no screams today. No clashes. Just the distant rhythm of marching boots. It should feel better — and maybe it does — but I can’t help but wonder… what will we see when we finally step outside again? What kind of city will be waiting for us?

A small movement from behind breaks me out of my thoughts.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice quiet but curious.

“Figured I’d repeat yesterday’s braid,” he says, hands already moving through my hair. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“…I don’t mind,” I reply, maybe a little too quickly.

His fingers begin to work. Gentle, steady. Quieter than I remember.

“Is this your idea of a new routine?” I ask, teasing just to hide how nice it feels.

“Why not?” he says. “Don’t think I’ll get tired of making you look cute.”

I tilt my head back to look up at him — all the way up — and raise an eyebrow. That earns me a sheepish grin.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Nothing,” I murmur, but I’m still smiling.

He keeps going. And, I’ll admit it — he’s better at this than yesterday. I guess even hair becomes muscle memory.

“And… done,” he announces, proudly.

I turn slightly, just as his voice softens.

“Io?” he says, his tone quiet.

“Hm?”

Then I feel it — the warmth of him pressing gently against my back. A hug.

“Sorry if I said anything dumb today,” he murmurs. “I know I don’t really understand everything you’re going through but…”

“Actually…” I say, eyes still on Lu’s sleeping form. “You helped.”

He exhales a breath I didn’t realize he was holding. “That’s good. And… thank you. For today.”

I let the silence settle. Let it say what I don’t need to.

Then I sigh. “Ugh. Time to sleep, huh?”

He chuckles, a little awkward. “Yeah… I guess. I’ll take the chair again—”

“…You could just…” I start too quickly. Then I slow down. “You could sleep here. Next to me.”

A pause.

“…Huh?” he says, caught off guard.

“If your back gives out from that chair, who’s going to lift things for me?” I add, managing to sound dry even as I feel my face heating up.

He doesn’t respond right away. But I can feel the silence change. Softer. Warmer.

Is he blushing?

Am I?

I blow out the candle before he has time to notice.

The bed creaks slightly as he joins us. Lu is on my left. Nate now on my right.

This… this is new.

“Goodnight,” I say quietly.

“Goodnight,” he answers.