Qeya River [m] ghosts

gjalla follows him in silence, listening. his conviction is undeniable, the way he speaks of his future with such clarity, such certainty. and yet, as she pads alongside him, the thought of his son rising to take his life stirs something uneasy in her chest. not fear—no, something more difficult to name.

her steps falter briefly, her ears twitching back as she considers what he’s said. “you sound so sure of it,” she murmurs, neither mocking nor dismissive. she casts a glance his way, catching the ripple of his shoulder and the proud set of his stride. “of your son. of the way your life will end.”

her gaze lingers on him for a moment before shifting back to the stars, their glow beginning to pale against the encroaching dawn. “i hope you do not expect the son to be ours.” she says finally, amused. as sure he is of his firstborn, she is sure she will have a daughter. several, perhaps. “a daughter, maybe.”