If someone asked how nervous Lyor was, Sol would be able to respond better than Lyor himself.
The kid was standing in the center of the clearing, spine straight as a spear, hands clasped behind his back in a posture that spoke of such strict discipline. His face was smooth, blank, a mask carved from practiced silence. No eye contact. No fidgeting. No visible tremor in his fingers or twitch in his jaw.
But Sol's senses were overwhelmed by Lyor's.
The anxiety rolling off him was a physical weight, a dense fog that pressed against Sol's chest and made his own breath shallow. Constant. Unrelenting. A storm so contained that the surface showed nothing but still water, while beneath, currents tore at everything.
It made him wonder how long Lyor had been dealing with these heavy emotions to look this nonchalant.
Teebu called him over to the middle of the clearing to face the people. The rest of them were seated with happy smiles and chatter, eager to welcome the new person. Their warmth didn't reach Sol, being overpowered by Lyor's.
"Mom... he has pretty hair! So white!"
A child's voice, bright, from the middle of the gathered families. He saw Lyor's eyes snap up, too fast, too desperate, searching for the source of the sound.
"He sure does, Alin." Teebu smiled and reached to pat Lyor's head.
His shoulders drew inward, microscopic, controlled, but Sol felt the spike of longing that followed.
"So, as you can see," Teebu's voice carried, warm and ceremonial, "we have a new arrival. We will follow the welcome ceremony as usual. His name is Lyor, and he is eighteen years old."
Few murmurs erupted. Sol didn't need to look to know why. Lyor wasn't taller than five feet, his frame slight, his face carrying the soft, unfinished edges of actual youth.
But he had his memories, unlike them. He knew who he was. Where had he been for how long? With whom.
Next to him, Elowen nudged.
"What?"
"I don't think he is eighteen," Elowen whispered, his voice carrying that particular curiosity and detection which was mostly accurate. "He looks so young. The anatomy isn't much different for the people who arrive. Could it be something like late growth?"
"Could be." Sol's own voice came out rough, strained by the effort of filtering Lyor's emotions. "I think he hadn't been fed well. He is lightweight. And mentioned something about his father hitting him." The words tasted wrong, too bare, too exposing of things Lyor had confessed to a cat he thought was just a cat.
"You should have listened to all the work he had done. He may look little, but he is eighteen for sure."
"Hmm..."
As per the tradition, Teebu then proceeded to give him a necklace with the tracking stone. The cord was woven from flexwillow fiber, and the stone itself glowed faintly with attunement as Teebu placed his hand over it, linking it to Lyor's life force. The light flared, golden, then settled into a steady pulse.
People clapped lightly, a soft welcome.
Lyor's fingers found the stone at his chest. Traced its surface.
Then six families stepped up at Teebu's call. Sol watched Lyor watch them, his eyes moving from face to face with the desperate assessment that was not required.
Something felt off. Lyor should be at least relieved that he wasn't rejected by the village. So why was he looking so terrified and looking at them as if he was trying to figure out who was the worst?
Not even a minute after, something slammed into him, sending him over the edge.
It was the sudden expansion of Lyor's control, finally, finally breaking. The storm contained behind that blank face was bursting outward in a wave of black, suffocating despair. Sol hunched over, eyes wide, mouth agape, his own enhanced senses making him a perfect receiver for what he was broadcasting.
"Sol!?" Elowen closed in, placing his hand over his back, but the touch was distant, muffled. He can't identify what feeling this was, but it hurt. And it was heavy.
Not a second after, the other people started feeling it. He could hear the murmurs and labored breathing all around. It felt like a heavy, dark blanket wrapping around the heart. Lungs weakening. The air itself became thick with something they were unfamiliar with.
"You all are LYING!!"
The scream tore from Lyor's throat, raw.
Lyor's POV
The floor was blending in, everything fuzzy. Lyor's vision had narrowed to tunnels, then to pinpricks, then to something beyond darkness. His body knew things his mind refused. That six families stepping up was impossible. That this had to be a scam, a child trafficking system.
But Teebu had said it was a different world. That the Goddess Neteila brought him here. That he couldn't go back. That they won't hurt him.
The contradiction was a blade, twisting in his mind.
His knees hit the packed earth of the clearing. He didn't remember falling. His arms went to his sides, rigid, balancing himself against a sway that existed only in his perception, as if he were standing on a walking rope stretched over a void.
"I want to stay alone," he heard himself saying, the voice coming from somewhere distant, automatic, the plea he had learned to make when options were traps. "Please, I promise I won't bother anyone." He turned to Teebu, or where he thought Teebu was, the figure blurred and shifted. "I- I will work as much as you want, but please don't give me to them."
The words were wrong. He knew they were wrong even as they left his mouth. In this world, they didn't want to work. They wanted... they wanted something else. Something he hadn't figured out was how to be useful if working wasn't a value.
Just at the first glance, he knew he didn't have a chance of even thinking of escaping if they turned out to be abusive. They had powers. Magic. Abilities. He had nothing.
He wanted his mom.
The thought was a hand closing around his throat. Her voice, the last time, the hospital room, her hand on his forehead, her sacrifice he hadn't asked for.
"Mom..." The word escaped, barely audible, a whimper shaped like prayer. "...please take me to where you are."
He knew it would never happen. She was gone.
Someone. Someone safe. He just needed to stay beside someone safe. Someone he knew wouldn't hurt. Someone he felt he could trust.
"Hunter..."
Then he saw a familiar skirt on the ground.
Mira.
He saw her hand, slowly, so slowly, reaching for his. But she didn't grab on as he thought. She offered. Palm up, fingers slightly curled, waiting.
Without knowing why, he placed his cold hand over his, immediately seeking warmth.
"Look at me, Lyor?"
He lifted his head. The effort was immense, his neck muscles trembling with the strain of holding up a weight that wasn't physical. And for a second, for one impossible second, he thought he was looking at his mom.
Same gentle eyes. Same smile that reached them, that crinkled the corners, that asked for nothing.
"You don't have to make a choice right away," she said, and her voice was the sound of safety he had forgotten existed. "Do you... Do you want to stay with me for a while? Only a little while, till you know your way in and out in the village. I'll bring Hunter as well if you want."
Lyor thought he heard people gasp. The world had narrowed to this hand, this voice, this offer of that one thing he wanted.
People who were approached by cats can be trusted.
Ceera and then Mira, who was in front of him.
"Only a little while?" His own voice was strange, high, young. The voice of the child he actually was, slipping through the cracks of his practice.
"Yes." Her hand squeezed his, once, then relaxed, not trapping. "Only till you learn a few things here. It's for your own safety, sweetie."
"You'll bring Hunter?"
"Not always, but yes. Whenever I can."
The tension eased a little. He didn't have to go with strangers. And he could escape from Mira at any time. She was old. Looked slow.
"Okay."
She smiled, tears escaping.
"Can- if it isn't too much- can I give you a small hug?"
The question froze him. He almost asked how much it cost.
Instead, his arms hung limply by his sides, and he nodded.
He felt it before he recognized it. The feeling of being held. Arms around his shoulders.
Warmth pressed against his chest, his cheek, and he smelled silvermint and something uniquely Mira.
He nuzzled subconsciously, face pressing into the curve of her shoulder, seeking support. His own arms rose, wrapping around her shoulders.
People were saying things. He filtered out a few, "Are you sure? -feel faint? Is it safe for you?"
"For the first time in fifteen years," he heard her say, her voice vibrating against his ear where it pressed her collarbone, "yes."
He thought he could hear something happy yet sad in her voice.
"Look at me," she continued, and he felt her chin move, addressing others, "I'm not even trembling."
"Okay then." Teebu's voice, distant, respectful. "It is decided. Mira will take Lyor in."
The crowd started clapping again.
Mira broke the hug, and he forcefully held back, holding onto her.
"Let's go home," she said, and the word was a key turning in a lock he hadn't known existed. "You look tired. I will make you a warm Cova drink, and you can get a good sleep. We will talk more later."
He nodded. Stood. His legs held, barely, shaking with the aftermath of collapse.
Some people walked up to them, saying that they were happy for Mira and glad that Lyor was here and that it was a miracle. The words flowed around him, through him, not quite landing. He was focused on Mira's hand, which had found his again, which was leading him away from the center, away from the crowd.
Sol's POV
Only from the moment Mira hugged Lyor, the waves of emotions faded. Only then did Sol finally ease up.
"His power," Elowen said, wonder and worry mixing. "It's... It's sharing. Like he can make people feel what he feels."
"I know," Sol said, and his voice was rough, scraped raw.
"Sol, that's not good."
"I know."