Nightmares

It was past midnight when Eny stumbled into the lounge.
Jere had sensed her getting up - and Eny, in turn, had sensed Jere’s sensing. But she came through anyway, rubbing her eyes, her little legs wobbling as she made her way toward the couch.

She wasn’t frightened by Jere’s gleaming gaze, though most would’ve been. She knew he meant no harm. His eyes tracked her movements with quiet concern.

“I had a bad dream,” she murmured, her voice small and tired.

Ylfa mumbled something in her sleep, her hand twitching faintly. Jere gestured to the empty space beside him - the half of the couch not occupied by Ylfa’s resting form.

Eny plopped herself down and leaned against his side. He wasn’t sure how to react, so he simply continued tending to Ylfa’s hair, fingers combing through it with mechanical precision and a tenderness that felt increasingly natural.

Then Eny’s telepathic voice brushed across his mind, soft and childlike.
I had a bad dream, Papa.

He replied by shaping his thoughts clearly, allowing her to read them.
What was it this time?

She pressed her head deeper into his side, seeking warmth. He understood, freeing one hand from Ylfa’s hair to wrap it around her small body.

Loud noises, she thought. And bright lights that wouldn’t stop or go away.

He tilted his head slightly. It wasn’t the first time. His logs confirmed this was the fourth occurrence.
Again?

She nodded, her hair brushing against his chest.
Nothing makes sense in there. It’s like… another world.

That last part made his internal systems spike with alerts.
Can you see anything?

She shook her head.
Just the lights. They come faster and faster, until they hit me.

A billion possibilities flickered across his processors, one after another, but they all converged on a single theme: wheeled vehicles. His old world.

The odds climbed. Correlations, probabilities, patterns - all meaningless without the one thing his data couldn’t provide. Why.

Why was she dreaming of his world?

The nightmares had begun suddenly, without any precursor. On the same day, he’d detected a sharp rise in the strange energy she emitted. It hadn’t harmed her - or anyone - but it pulsed stronger when her emotions changed. The closest thing his processors could conclude was supernatural phenomena.
It didn’t fit any known physical law.

He pushed the thought aside and answered her.
You can sleep here.

She nodded sleepily, slipped off the couch, and padded around to the other side. She eased herself down in front of Ylfa’s torso, then gently leaned back.

Even asleep, Ylfa responded instantly. Her arms came up, wrapping around Eny and pulling her close like a beloved toy.

Eny’s head came to rest on Jere’s lap. Within minutes, her breathing steadied.

Jere resumed his work on Ylfa’s hair, his fingers gliding through it in smooth, methodical motions. The soft strands shimmered faintly in the firelight. His internal counter ticked upward, strand by strand - each motion exact, each one a tiny assertion of peace in a world he no longer fully understood.

Ylfa’s eyes flickered open.

The first thing she noticed was the small child wrapped tightly in her arms, golden hair gleaming in the soft light streaming through the window. Eny was still asleep, her breathing slow and steady, her chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm.

Ylfa shifted slightly, feeling the familiar firmness of Jere’s lap beneath her cheek. She tilted her head upward. He looked down, and the look in his eyes told her everything.

More nightmares.

Her gaze softened. Turning back to the little girl, she nuzzled into her hair, breathing in the faint scent of wildflowers that clung to her. She made up her mind - as she always did after the bad nights - she wouldn’t move until Eny woke up.

Jere didn’t move either. He sat motionless, understanding Ylfa’s intentions without a single word or sign. The room filled slowly with light as the sun climbed higher. Eventually, a stray beam reached Eny’s face.

Ylfa felt the child’s breathing shift. A moment later, Eny stirred, blinking in the brightness.

Ylfa loosened her embrace bit by bit, until Eny rolled over on her own, sat up, and then stood. She turned to face her mother with that same sleepy, radiant smile only a child could manage. Her voice drifted telepathically into Ylfa’s mind.
Good vrbebrorning, Mama.

Ylfa smiled, ignoring the garbled “morning,” and patted her head affectionately.
Did you sleep well, Eny?

Eny nodded - a lie, but one Ylfa didn’t question. They both knew the truth, and both chose to let it pass. Pretending was one of the few ways they could feel normal, less fragile than they really were.

Jere didn’t correct her either, even though his processors had finally decoded enough of Eny’s speech to understand her morning greeting. He didn’t know much about social conventions, but he’d learned one key rule: if Ylfa was smiling, he could smile too. And so he did, because making her happy felt like the most human thing he could do.

The morning passed quietly. There was nothing special about this day - Jere would soon take to the skies, Ylfa would work in the gardens and practice her signing, and Eny would go out and try to play with the village children again.

She never quite fit in. She tried, though - earnestly, bravely. But she could hear their thoughts. The whispered judgments. The quiet, hostile questions. Who is she? Why does she play with us? Isn’t she the child of the demons who invaded our village?

It hurt her, even if she tried to hide it. So more often than not, she stayed near Ylfa, helping in the garden instead.

Still, she smiled.
Are we doing the same thing again today?

Ylfa nodded, her reply gentle.
Yes, sorry. We have to, if we want to keep the house.

Jere sat silently as the conversation passed between them, the air filled with unspoken understanding. His processors went to work again, intercepting and analysing the minute pulses of Eny’s telepathy - tiny bursts of energy flickering through the air like whispers of light.

Then Ylfa rolled to face him, her hands rising gracefully to sign above her chest.
When you come back, I need to talk to you. Just me and you. Okay?

He nodded, his fingers moving as he signed back, deliberately thinking the words so Eny could follow.
Okay. What will Eny do?

Ylfa’s lips curved into a smile.
We’ve already made an agreement.

He shrugged slightly. His processors calculated that the likelihood of her explaining further was below three percent.
Okay, he signed.

Ylfa nodded once more, rolling back to face Eny, who was watching them with innocent curiosity. Jere’s processors briefly generated hundreds of possibilities for what this mysterious “agreement” might be - but then something in him halted the search.

The emotion forming in his chest was unfamiliar. His processors scrambled, sorting through recorded examples, matching the sensation to a name.

Trust.

He didn’t need to calculate the outcome of something as small as whatever Ylfa and Eny had planned. For the first time, it was enough to simply trust them.

The forest blurred around him as the ion engines embedded in Jere’s feathers screamed. He scythed between the trees with such precision that, despite his six-meter wingspan, not a single leaf was nicked. Grass flattened in his wake as the speedometer flashed in the corner of his vision: six hundred and thirty kilometers per hour.

His wings flexed minutely, each tiny twitch enough to redirect the air and alter his course entirely. His processors surged to sixty percent, analyzing the environment, calculating optimal paths, and executing maneuvers. In moments like these, his mind acted only as a general guide, telling the processors where he wanted to go.

Already, his wingtips were streaked with blood from the wild animals he’d struck. These weren’t accidents. Each target had been tagged in his HUD, to be collected after he reached his daily quota. Efficiency dictated the order, and his processors had chosen it perfectly. The number to reach was twenty-four.

Another dark brown, log-shaped blur passed beneath him; his wing sliced clean through its neck, fresh blood splattering across the tip as he surged onward.

Since his body ran mostly on autopilot, there was room left for thought. His processors, occupied by his mission, refrained from interference, letting his mind wander freely - though much of it wasn’t particularly useful. He calculated that roughly eighty percent of his thinking was devoted to Ylfa, the rest to Eny and their future.

Another pig fell, and his thoughts drifted back to Ylfa. What could she want to discuss in private? Her signs had hinted at things she needed his help with, but whenever he asked, she’d stopped mid-sign, glancing around nervously. He didn’t know yet, but whatever it was, he was eager to try. If it could make her happy, there was no question he would do it.

Another pig dropped beneath his wings as he twisted and twirled between the tree trunks, mind fully occupied with thoughts of his beautiful wolf-girl.