The passage of time was strange. Days blurred together in an endless cycle of hunger, warmth, and exhaustion. His body operated on instincts, dictating when he cried, when he slept, when he clung to the familiar presence of those around him.
Four months. That's how long it had been. He couldn't measure time the way he once did, but he knew. He felt it in the way his body grew stronger, how his senses sharpened, how he began to understand the rhythm of this new life.
It was a simple life. A good life. Warm hands, soft voices, steady comfort. He had never felt this safe before. There were no expectations, no burdens, just existence.
Well, mostly.
There was one problem.
A little menace that had far too much energy for someone his size.
His older brother.
He couldn't escape him. Every nap, every peaceful moment, was interrupted by tiny hands shaking him, curious eyes peering too closely. A constant barrage of pokes, prods, and rambling questions that his infant body had no way of responding to.
It was a special kind of torture.
"Can he fly yet?"
That question made him pause. Or, well, it would have, if he had control over his body.
Fly?
The word didn't make sense. It settled into his brain and sat there, nagging at the edge of his mind. His father could fly—that much, he had observed. He had seen it in passing, the way he moved with effortless grace, weightless and untethered by gravity. But he hadn't connected it to himself.
Was he supposed to fly too?
The thought sent an unfamiliar feeling crawling through him. Excitement? Fear? He wasn't sure. He barely had control over his limbs; flying seemed like an impossible concept. Maybe it was just childish imagination. Maybe his brother was just making things up.
Still, the thought wouldn't leave him alone.
He wanted to know more.
But no matter how much his mind raced, his body had its own agenda. The longer he was awake, the heavier his eyelids became. Consciousness was a fleeting thing, stolen away by exhaustion before he could grasp it.
Damn this baby body.
_ _ ♛ _ _
The checkups continued.
Routine evaluations, quiet observations, the weight of unseen expectations pressing down on him. The man—his father—watched him closely, but never spoke of what he was looking for. His mother was different. Warm, patient, always reassuring. She held him tightly, whispered soft words, hummed lullabies in the quiet moments.
His father's presence was heavier. Measured. Always watching.
One evening, after another of those checkups, he was lifted again. Held in large, steady hands.
"He's growing fast."
The voice was deep, firm. It carried weight. He felt the gaze studying him, searching for something unseen.
The hands tightened, just for a moment.
"Strong."
A single word.
He didn't understand why it sent a shiver through him.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Weeks passed, and he began noticing more. The way his brother moved, full of energy and boundless excitement. The way his mother carried a softness in her eyes, even when tired. The way his father's posture shifted when he thought no one was looking, tension lining his broad shoulders.
More than once, he found himself being held up to the sky. His brother giggled each time, flapping his arms wildly, declaring that soon, he too would take off.
"You're gonna be just like Dad," his brother said once, eyes shining with certainty. "You just gotta get bigger first."
Stephen didn't have the heart to be annoyed. Not this time.
Because, deep down, he wanted to know if that was true.
If he would ever leave the ground the way his father did.
If he was meant to.
And what it would mean if he couldn't.
_ _ ♛ _ _
Days turned to weeks. His body was stronger now. He could hold his head up, shift his tiny limbs with more coordination. He was still weak, but less so. He could feel it—potential simmering beneath his skin, waiting.
He still didn't know what it meant. But he had time to figure it out.
For now, life was simple.
Warmth. Safety. A family that held him close.
And for the first time in both his lives…
He was happy.
End of Chapter 2