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His fear twisted inside of Reuban. “But… I… hurt Mother.” His words fragmented between shallow breaths. “He will be very angry… because I am not to hurt Mother. I did not know I hurt her. I never want to hurt her.”

The seal demanded immediate ramifications as if his fear was an enemy. Given his makeup, it likely was. “Would you trust me and allow me to hold you?”

“I’m… a big boy, now,” he breathed, the words sounding scripted, making Reuban wonder how aware of himself he was. “Mother said I am to grow fast like… Kaos.”

Why didn’t he refer to Kaos as his father?

“Uncle Reuban?” he whispered, voice thin and shaking.

“What is it, little one?”

Whatever his question was, weighed very heavily on his being and took him many seconds to voice it. “Do I... have to be a monster?”

Reuban’s heart splintered with his fear. “Little one, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment.

“Then come to me. It’s important that I touch you.”

“Why?” he asked, curious.

“Because I have gifts in my hands that will make you brave. And to answer your question, no. You indeed do not have to be a monster.”

By now, Reuban made out his shape and appearance. Alabaster skin like Kaos, clumpy appearing black hair and big dark eyes that shimmered with his emotions, moving between multiple shades of red and green. Reuban realized then... like his father Kaos, he too was the first of his kind.

****

The moment they returned to the hut, Krave realized he and Kildare couldn’t move.

Reuban. He’d placed some kind of power-net all around them and one wrong move meant… something Krave couldn’t even identify or care to when every part of his being was in a perpetual state of shattering.

“Do not move,” Reuban called out, the words tight. “I found the child. I have him and he’s afraid of both of you, so do not move until I say.”

Kildare’s fire wings wrapped Krave in a prison when his winds kicked up again, ready to obliterate on reflex. “What is going on, Kollaborator?” Kildare called out, his flames chaotic and unstable.

“He grows quickly like Kaos,” he announced. “Only physically. He says both of you are his fathers. And Kaos. And he would like me to tell you that he wants you to help him… to learn how not to be a monster. I told him both of you would love nothing more than to teach him that.”

The power in Reuban’s words was law, not suggestion, and both of them felt it in the divine bond between them.

On top of that, his tone acted like a dial, turning both their powers down to a level Krave had never recalled feeling.

The abnormal gentleness clung to his mind like a sticky skin, making him want to fling it off.

The only reason they’d returned was because Kildare reminded him that they were part of something larger than death, and their faith was a blade they could not permit to be dulled under any circumstances.

“We’re here to assist,” Kildare answered while muttering in annoyance, “What is this sticky darkness?”

“It’s a blindfold over your perception,” Reuban half warned like he could make it permanent if he wanted to. “Are you ready to meet the Little King?”

Little King? Five minutes ago, he wasn’t ready to do anything but kill. But if this Little King was part of The Hand, then he was ready to play him however he was supposed to be.

“Krave?” Reuban called with a testing tone.

“You have my word I… will not be angry.”

The black goo in their minds slowly cleared to Reuban standing a few feet before them, holding an actual child on his hip that was larger and more human looking than he’d imagined.

He wore only a piece of sheet over his midsection and his head lay on Reuban’s shoulder, thin arms and legs clinging, wary, galactical colored eyes contrasting sharply against his Kaos-white skin.

“He’s grown at least four inches since I found him,” Reuban said quietly as the boy continued to stare intently at Krave.

“Why is he only staring at me?”

Kildare’s fire gave him a mocking ass-pat. “He clearly likes you more.”

“Can he talk?” Krave asked, realizing his nose reminded him of Josie’s. “With words?”

“He can,” Reuban said.

Krave’s tongue tied up with a list of questions and how to ask them without pissing off his protector.

“Do you know how old you are?” Kildare went first.

He gave a nod without lifting his head. “I’m six years old and forty-five days. In four hours and thirty-two minutes, I will be fully grown.”

His knowledge stunned them while his voice stirred something in Krave. It didn’t sound like Josie, but he spoke like her. “He speaks…”

“Like his mother,” Reuban said, in the same awe. “He’s learned her cadence, her enunciation. Every syllable is sculpted with her precise measure from his conception. She talked a lot to him.”

Hunger stabbed him in the chest at the memory of the adorable little motor-mouth human trait.

“Remarkable,” Kildare said in awe.

The boy informed them with mild interest in his voice, “I am learning many things.”

“What are you learning?” Kildare asked.

“Measurements.”

His small mouth formed the word with precision and Krave noticed the curvature on his upper lip was identical to Josie.

Something in his wind and blood beckoned him a step closer. “And what are you measuring?” Krave asked, his tone softened by wonder while captivated with his lips.

“I’m measuring if I’m worth the blood they have spent to make me.”

The words were a sword in his chest as he watched him squirm out of Reuban’s arms and walk up to him, angling his head up. “You are measuring like me.”

Krave was still stumped by his first statement while realizing there was something he knew intimately in the child. He lowered to his knees, getting eye level with him. “What am I measuring?”

He lowered his eyes to his chest then brought them back up. “The pain you’ll require yourself to suffer to deserve Mother’s love.”

A chill passed through Krave’s winds as he stared at him. Even without contemplating it, he knew his observation was perfectly accurate. Then it hit him. He smelled her blood in him. The sudden craving for it sent him leaning back, right as the boy raised his wrist to him.

“You can have some if you want,” he offered, his perfect articulation wrinkled by the newness of performing speech.

Krave’s heart squeezed as he realized what stood before him. Not just a new being, but a part of him, a part of her. Of them.

He leaned back toward him, closer to his pure, curious gaze. “What else are you measuring, Little King?” he asked softly, his fingers reaching up and touching the strand of long hair next to his perfect little face.

“My power and authority,” he said, his voice breaking a little on the words. Krave marveled over what he’d said. He wanted to look at Reuban to see what he thought of them, but he was too busy realizing he was growing from a baby into a man and Josie was missing it.

“Your mother loves you very much,” Krave said quietly, daring to stroke the skin along his face as he nodded with knowing.

“She gave her blood for me,” he murmured. “And Father too.” He lowered his gaze, his tone changing when he spoke about Kaos. Like he knew that one gave blood to save him, and the other to kill him.

Krave realized how the boy... his son...

felt about that, and it punched the breath from his lungs.

“Your Father had no idea about you,” Krave swore softly, his winds blowing gently over his words.

“And if he had known, I promise you with all the divine blood in my body that he would tear a million galaxies apart to protect you.”

Kildare slowly knelt next to him now too. “Do you see this?” he asked, holding his finger up.

The boy watched, his eyes almost crossing in earnest as he studied the mesmerizing fire leaping and dancing from Kildare’s fingertip. “This is Sir Harold. And he told me that you have a friend he wants to meet very soon.”

The boy’s brows tugged together, his eyes suddenly swirling with green and red as they locked on Kildare in wonder.

“Sir Harold knows Mother,” he marveled. “And loves her very much.” He slowly reached up and put his hand on Kildare’s face.

“As much as you do.” He kept his hand on him, his little fingers twitching before they lowered. “What friend does Sir Harold mean?”

Kildare smiled slowly. “He says he’s sleeping in your bones. And will wake up soon.”

The boy’s gaze remained fixed on Kildare, as if still processing. Then his chest jerked with a sharp breath, his perfect mouth opening with his widened eyes. “I feel it! I feel it right where you said.” He jerked his gaze up to Reuban. “He’s in my bones!”

Reuban chuckled then knelt next to the boy, the sudden concern in his face bringing a tension Krave didn’t like. “What other things are you measuring, Little King?”

His chin slowly lowered till it touched his chest. “Distance... depth... weight and time.”

They all exchanged brief looks, Reuban’s expression strained with something close to fear. “Do you know why you’re measuring those things?” he carefully asked.

The boy nodded but didn’t say more, his gaze still lowered.

“Does it have anything to do with you measuring the worth of the blood your mother and father spent?”

He nodded again, without hesitation.

“Are you allowed to tell us why you’re measuring those things?”

He stared at Reuban for many seconds then scratched his cheek with a slow shake of his head. “It’s not safe,” he said in a tiny voice, his fear reaching straight into Krave’s blood and strangling him.

Reuban pulled him in his arms and hugged him tightly. “Do not fear the unknowns Little King.”

The boy hugged Reuban’s neck. “The Dark One is not kind and good like you and my fathers,” he whispered, his breaths shaking. “And… he wants to make me into a monster.”