The next five days passed quickly, with me carefully guiding my mom toward making clothes I liked. Not that I could do much, but subtly pushing some paints closer and pulling others further to generate a focus on blue hues was doable.

  The blue came from flowers. Leather clothes were sturdy, so the only dye expenditure was for new clothes for kids when they outgrew what their parents had saved from their own childhood. It wasn't an incredibly colorful set—brown from the tanned skins it was made from, adorned with dark blue, and yellow appearing here and there. On the brownish material the yellow looked more like a vague orange, which actually worked well as an outliner.

  Overall, I was happy with the result. The wait for the last dyes to dry gave me time to finalize my plan: as soon as they handed me the clothes, I'd thank my parents. Actual full speech, trained for months in secret. I just hoped I wouldn't scare them too much.

  Well. My plans were thwarted when Eld-Mother Edith came by for the occasion.

  From what I gathered, my parents had been surprised by my walking and were told to stay calm and just let her observe what I did. If my parents would have a hard time suspecting what I really was, then what about this old woman?

  There was no point in holding back. What would she do? Kill me? If instead of hiding I just openly showed myself, it would either make her think I had no reason to hide, or that I couldn't care less about the threat she represented. Either way it would act as both an assurance and a bluff. I just hoped she wouldn't suspect anything beyond that I was some kind of sumthin'.

  I was standing there with the old lady not letting me out of her sight. It was a bit intimidating and made me question what she knew. Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. My mom soon came back with my clothes, which were genuinely big—but these were meant to keep me going for at least two years, so there was no point in complaining.

  I was dressed quickly. Then, taking a big breath, I said my first addressed words in this world.

  "Thank you, thank you very much for these clothes. I like them a lot."

  The result? Dramatic.

  My mom fainted while my father paled and caught her with a wry smile, quick enough that she didn't hit the floor. The Eld-Mother's brows shot so high I thought she'd lose them among the stars. She was unmoved otherwise, and her eyes cast an even more piercing gaze at me.

  I could feel the shift. Her evaluation of me had changed. A pressure emanated from her—something I was beginning to recognize as aether. She had started seeing me as a threat.

  The atmosphere was so stifling that I found only one way out.

  "Is mom fine? Why did she suddenly fall asleep? Were these too much work?"

  "Uh… Ah… No, don't worry, she was just overwhelmed by how good you look in your new clothes, that's all. I'll get your mother to rest for now." My father answered with an obvious feeling of fluster.

  "Come with grandma, kid. I'd like to talk with you—your mom needs rest. Come and granny will give you some fruit." Edith said. The pressure lessened the moment I asked about my mother.

  Feeling out of options, I followed her out. I still stumbled over my own feet—that wasn't something I could fix quickly, not being used to walking in this body just yet. Still, I thought it was better than having a perfect step in this situation, and since it was genuine I didn't think it would raise further suspicion.

  Once outside, she didn't hesitate.

  "Since when could you talk?"

  "Not sure, it's been some time. But I didn't feel like doing it. I kept in mind all the things my parents talked about and just did like them."

  "How did you know? What drove you to do this and keep quiet?"

  I looked at her in confusion. It was the first time in this life I'd heard the word for 'know'. In my heart I was happy—there were still a lot of words I had no idea about. It would make me seem like a genuine child, a smart one, but a kid nonetheless. One that lacked full knowledge of the language and just happened to be very good at learning.

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  The Eld-Mother, seeing the look on my face, stood there a moment and judged how to rephrase her question so I'd understand.

  "How did you... do it? What drove you to do this and keep quiet?"

  "I saw them talk and laugh. Laughing meant happy, so talking was making them happy. But I couldn't talk well—I kept making the wrong sounds. So I waited until I could make them right. And since this seemed like something big, I decided to thank them for it."

  She looked at me as if trying to see through me. But I had said the full truth. I only left out the part about having the pride of an adult and not wanting to speak in a broken tongue. So even if she tried to pick up on any lies or falsehoods, she wouldn't find any.

  The best lie is always the truth.

  Although there was no need to keep a fa?ade, I also didn't want to cause panic about where I came from. Understanding that there were other worlds with people just like you—who lived, died, enjoyed, and cried—was hard, and could be overwhelming. I'd rather not be treated as a monster before I had the chance to show I wasn't.

  "You're a very smart and sensible child, Cato. As you can see, you made your mom so happy she was overwhelmed. You should keep this pace and make your parents proud. Now go back and take care of your mother." The pressure from her disappeared entirely.

  "Yes, I will. Thank you, Eld-Mother!"

  I quickly turned around and left. After all, even with both lives combined I wasn't as old as that woman. Even if I could outsmart her once, it was only a matter of time until she figured something was up if she kept prying. The fact that she let me go might have just been luck, and I should be happy I survived it.

  Back inside, mom was still sleeping while father recovered from the shock. I went and sat next to him, unsure if I should say something or stay quiet. Some time passed with neither of us speaking. Then my father broke the silence.

  "If you didn't look so much like me, I'd question if your mother had you with someone else. You do things that are too much for a kid."

  I deliberated. I could reveal the truth and let him know everything. But I lacked the words to explain myself properly, and it wasn't something easy to accept. Even if I was his child in every way that mattered, what if fear took hold? I had to tread carefully. In the end I took a riskier route.

  "Then don't treat me like a kid. Sure, I might lack the strength to do things, but I have a good head. Maybe I'm really not a kid."

  Silence settled between us. My father seemed to think deeply on what I'd said. I'd already pushed further than was wise, so I kept quiet and let him fill in the blanks however he wanted. This way I was also preparing him for when I'd eventually have the courage to come clean about my nature and my past.

  I already accepted them as my parents. But they never had the chance to even consider what it meant if I wasn't truly their child. Until I could stand on my own, I had to ensure my safety first.

  "I'll remember what you said. I'm not sure what you mean, but I'll try to give you the freedom to reach whatever your peak will be. I only pray I'll be able to."

  "Well, I do hope that I won't need to exhaust you. I don't want you or mom to fall like this again."

  "Don't worry about us, you little rascal! We have a saying—'The old tree falls to make space for the young sapling.' Just do your thing, and don't forget what lies at your roots. Return the favor when we're in our old age." Then he muttered, "Can you even understand all that…"

  "I won't forget!"

  "Haa… It feels so weird having this talk with you so soon. I feel like this should have come in nine more years or so. If anything, you definitely are as big a troublemaker as I was. Just in a different way."

  We sank into silence again. I honestly didn't know what to say. The guilt from when I was two months old resurfaced—the realization that I had robbed them of the joy of normal parenting. There was nothing I could do about it. How could I replace that?

  Mom woke up a short while later. She looked at me—just once, quickly—and then looked away. Something in her eyes was different. Not cold, but careful. Like she was deciding whether to be frightened of her own child. Then she seemed to make a choice. She stood up, smoothed her clothes, and walked to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

  I didn't push it. She was holding on the only way she could, and I respected that.

  Watching her move quietly around the kitchen, I thought about what Dad had said. The old tree and the young sapling. In my old world, we were so caught up in forging ahead that we forgot to look back. Maybe the hardships here kept that gap smaller—kept wisdom from slipping through the cracks between generations.

  I didn't just stand by, of course. I helped Mom prepare lunch, bringing her whatever she asked for. Over the first three months, while Dad was home, I had quietly memorized every utensil she used, every shelf she reached for, every routine she followed. I'd done it on purpose, without them knowing, waiting for the day I could be useful. Now I moved through the kitchen with her almost seamlessly.

  She glanced at me sideways once while I handed her a pot.

  She didn't say anything. But some of the fear in her eyes softened.

  It was the least I could do, and I was happy to finally not just stand by and watch. After eating, I returned to my meditation. It was the only thing that truly calmed me in these days of continuous pressure—and the progress over these past three months had been genuinely exciting.

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