The light was different when I woke. A soft, buttery gold, it spilled across the room, gentling the edges of the strange, sleek furniture and making the hovering holo-panels seem less alien.
For the first time since I'd been torn from one life and dumped into this one, I didn't wake fighting for air or clawing away from a memory.
I simply lay there, listening to the quiet hum of the world, feeling the astonishing softness of the sheets against my skin.
The silence was broken not by a shout, but by a murmur of voices just beyond the door—a hushed, layered argument that felt… familiar in a way I couldn't place.
"I'm telling you, his breathing changed. He's awake."
"Kaelen,let him sleep. His body needs to heal more than we need to see him."
"But Arin's right!I heard it too! Can I just peek?"
"Rin,hush! You'll frighten him."
The door clicked open.
They entered not as a mob, but as a constellation, each finding their orbit in the space around my bed.
The first was a girl, my age, her eyes—a startling, vibrant green—locking onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath.
Her hair was a messy cascade of jet black, a mirror of my own, and her face held the ghost of the one I'd seen in the glass.
She took a half-step forward, her lower lip trembling. "Brother…" The word was a cracked whisper, a prayer released after a decade of silence.
Before I could process it, the others solidified from the doorway. A woman with kind, weary eyes the color of summer leaves and soft brown hair streaked with silver.
Her hands were clasped tightly, her knuckles white. Peeking from behind her was a little boy—Rin—with the same brown hair and a face full of freckles, clutching a wooden toy soldier. He stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes, not of fear, but of awe.
Then, the man stepped into the light.
The air left my body.
He was taller than I remembered, his presence a calm weight that filled the room.
His hair was the same black as mine and the girl's. And his eyes… one was covered by a simple dark cloth, but the other was that same piercing, luminous crimson.
My eyes. The connection was a physical jolt. This was no coincidence. This was blood.
His gaze, from that one, shared red eye, held mine, steady and sure. "Liam," he said, and my name in his voice was not just a word. It was a reclaiming.
A painful warmth bloomed in my chest. No one had ever said my name like that. As if it was something precious.
The girl—my sister, Arin—took another step, her whole body trembling with the effort of restraint.
The panic rose in me, a cold tide. "I…" My voice was a ragged thing. "I don't… know any of you."
I saw the words land—a flinch from the woman, a fresh welling of tears. Rin hid his face fully in her skirts. Arin bit her lip raw.
But my father did not look away. He moved closer and knelt by the bed, bringing himself to my level. His single red eye held a universe of patience.
"You don't have to know us," he said, his voice a low, firm bedrock. "You just have to listen."
I gave a jerky nod.
"You were taken from us," he began, the words simple and heavy. "Ten years ago. We searched… by the gods, we searched. We scoured every district, followed every false trail. We found graves for other lost children. We found hope, and we watched it turn to dust." His jaw tightened. "You were alive. And you were suffering. And I did not find you in time."
The confession hung in the air. His guilt was a tangible force, a shield he was laying at my feet.
"We never gave up," the woman—my mother—whispered, her voice thick. "You were always in our hearts, Liam. Always."
Ten years. The number echoed. They had looked for a ghost for ten years. While I was starving, believing myself utterly forgotten, a family had been tearing the world apart for me.
The loneliness I had worn like a second skin began to fissure. It wasn't that the world was indifferent; it was that I had been lost from the part of it that cared most.
My father rested his hand on the edge of the mattress, close to mine but not touching. "You don't have to remember. You are safe here. That is all that matters now."
My breathing shuddered.
It was Arin who broke the final barrier. "Can I…" she whispered, her green eyes pleading. "Can I just sit? I won't touch you. I just want to be near you."
I nodded.
She was at the bedside in a heartbeat, perching on the edge. She was close enough that I could feel her warmth. "You're really home," she breathed, and a sob escaped in a happy gasp.
I didn't know what to do. My instincts were a tangled knot.
Then, Rin, emboldened, crept forward. He looked up at me with those solemn eyes, then at my father, his gaze lingering on our shared red eye as if it was a secret handshake he understood. He carefully placed the worn wooden soldier on my lap.
"For you," he whispered. "Welcome home, big brother."
Something inside me broke then. Not with violence, but with the gentle, inevitable giving way of ice in a spring thaw.
I looked at them—my father, with the proof of our lineage burning in his gaze; my mother, gentle and strong; my sister, fierce and devoted; my little brother, Rin, offering me his treasure. The strangers were gone.
A warmth spread through my chest, unfamiliar and comforting. My father saw the change in my eyes and let out a long, slow breath, the sound of a man finally laying down a burden.
"You can rest now," he said, his voice softer than I thought possible.
My mother brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, her touch healing. "You're safe, Liam. You're home."
Arin leaned her head against my shoulder. "We're not going anywhere. Ever again."
I didn't cry. I didn't speak. I closed my eyes and let the feeling wash over me.
It wasn't the room that felt like home.
It was them.
"I…" I began, my voice barely audible. I opened my eyes and looked at my father, at our shared crimson eye, a silent question answered with a slow, sure nod. "I want to stay."
The breath my father released was a symphony of relief. My mother's hand found mine. Arin pressed her forehead against my shoulder. Rin beamed, a smile of pure, unadulterated joy.
The red of my eye was no longer just a color. It was a tether. A promise. A belonging.
I was home.