Page 14 of The Minotaur's Little Peach
And then suddenly the pressure releases and there's a thin, high cry that cuts through everything else. A sound so piercing and perfect it pulls me back into my body like a fishhook in my chest.
"It's a boy." Mirath's voice is thick with emotion as she lifts the tiny, wriggling form. She works quickly, clearing his airways, checking his breathing, her skilled hands gentle but thorough. "A beautiful, healthy boy."
When she places him in my arms, I can only stare. He's so small, so perfectly formed despite arriving weeks before I expected him. His skin is pale but warming, taking on a healthy pink flush as he settles against my chest. Dark eyes blink open, unfocused but alert, searching for something familiar in this strange new world.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, mixing with the sticky heat of sweat and blood that clings to my skin. Everything feels raw, exposed, like my nerve endings are sitting on the surface. But beneath the physical exhaustion, something else stirs. Something fierce and protective that I didn't know I still had in me.
"Hello, little one." My voice cracks as I study his face, mapping each feature with desperate intensity. The curve of his nose, the set of his eyes, the way his tiny fist curls against my chest. "I'm your mama."
He's beautiful. Perfect. And looking at him hurts in ways I wasn't prepared for.
Because I see Korrun in the shape of his eyes, in the stubborn set of his jaw even as a newborn. The promise of broad shoulders in his tiny frame, the potential for massive hands in his delicate fingers. This child will grow up to look like his father, willcarry Korrun's features and mannerisms and maybe his gentle strength.
And Korrun will never see any of it.
The tears come hard and fast, mixing joy and grief until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. This perfect little person is everything we dreamed of and planned for, the future we built together made flesh. But he's also proof of everything I've lost, a living reminder of the love that was stolen from us before it could truly bloom.
"He's perfect," I whisper, pressing my lips to his downy head. His hair is dark like mine but with a softness that speaks to minotaur heritage. Soon there will be tiny horn buds pushing through, marking him as his father's son. "Your papa would have been so proud."
Mirath settles beside us, her expression soft with exhaustion and wonder. She reaches out to stroke one finger along the baby's cheek, her touch reverent. "Have you thought about a name?"
"Taran." The word comes without hesitation. It was Korrun's choice, a name that means 'thunder' in the old minotaur tongue. Strong and bold, like he wanted his son to be. "His name is Taran."
He makes a small sound, almost like he approves. His dark eyes focus on my face with startling intensity for someone so new to the world. He knows my voice, recognizes the rhythm of my heartbeat from months of hearing it from the inside. I'm his anchor in this overwhelming new reality.
A knock at the front door shatters the peaceful moment, sharp and insistent. Mirath looks up with surprise, her brow furrowing as she wipes her hands on a clean cloth. "I'm not expecting anyone."
"Send them away." My arms tighten around Taran instinctively. I can't handle visitors right now, can't pretend tobe gracious or grateful when everything feels so raw. "I don't care who it is. Just make them leave."
But Mirath hesitates, studying my face with the careful attention she reserves for complicated diagnoses. "Let me see who it is first. They might have news, or?—"
"I said send them away." The words come out harder than I intend, but I'm beyond caring about politeness. This moment belongs to me and my son. To the first fragile minutes of his life and the last remnants of my connection to Korrun. I won't share it with strangers who want to offer empty condolences or curious neighbors hoping for gossip.
Mirath nods reluctantly and heads for the door, her footsteps quick and light on the wooden floor. I hear the sound of it opening, followed by a conversation too low for me to make out the words. But the tone is serious, urgent in a way that makes my stomach clench with fresh anxiety.
When she returns, her expression is strange. Confused and careful and something else I can't identify. Her dark eyes dart between me and the hallway behind her, like she's trying to solve a puzzle with pieces that don't quite fit.
"Soreya." Her voice carries a note I've never heard before, cautious but not afraid. "You're not going to want me to send him away."
"I don't care who—" I start, but the words die in my throat as a massive shadow fills the doorway behind her.
A minotaur steps into view, and my breath catches in my chest like a physical blow. He's enormous, even by minotaur standards, with the kind of presence that seems to fill a room just by existing. Warm brown fur with dark speckling covers his frame, and sea-glass green eyes survey the scene with careful intensity.
But it's not his size that steals my voice. It's the terrible, aching familiarity of his features. The broad set of his shoulders,the curve of his horns, the way he carries himself with quiet confidence. He looks like Korrun in ways that hurt to witness, like someone took my beloved's image and stretched it slightly, changed the colors but kept the essential structure.
I've never seen this minotaur before in my life. But looking at him feels like staring at a ghost, at a cruel reminder of everything I've lost made flesh.
Taran chooses that moment to let out a thin cry, his tiny voice cutting through the charged silence. The sound makes the stranger's green eyes snap to my face, then down to the bundle in my arms, and something shifts in his expression. Something raw and unguarded that makes my chest tighten with fresh tears.
Because it hits me.
Korrun had a little brother.
7
DAEGAN
The air in the small home wraps around me like a living thing—warm with the scent of newborn skin and clean linen, thick with something I can't quite name. Birth, maybe. New beginnings. The kind of moment that changes everything, whether you're ready for it or not.
