The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

The sun slipped through the cracks in the wooden planks as if asking permission to enter. Each filtered ray painted the interior of the house in soft, dusty shades of gold, dancing across the clay walls and packed-earth floor. In the dimness of the narrow room, Elian awoke slowly, feeling the warmth of Emanuelle's body still curled against his, sharing the same worn blanket. There was no soft mattress, no real pillows—only folded cloth, dry straw, and the familiar scent of a home surviving between patches and hope.

From the back of the house came the sounds of life already stirring: the groan of the wood stove as Maria lit it, the impatient clucking of chickens in the yard, and a hoarse murmur—probably Arthur complaining about the morning chill. It was all humble, flawed, worn… but for a moment, the world felt bearable. Warm. Alive.

Soft footsteps approached the only room where the siblings slept.

"Elian, Emanuelle," Maria called, her voice still dragged by fatigue. "Come eat your breakfast. It's time to get up."

Anthony was already awake. Accustomed to working the fields with his father, he was always the first to rise—his face still drowsy, but his hands ready for the day.

Beside Elian, Emanuelle stretched, yawning loudly.

"Good morning, Eli…" she murmured, her voice still wrapped in dreams.

"Good morning, Manu," he answered with a gentle smile.

Before they could exchange more words, Maria appeared at the door, a cloth draped over her shoulders and a stern expression that barely hid her tenderness.

"Are you two getting up or not? The sun's already high in the sky!" she said, trying to sound serious.

"Okay, Mom," they answered in unison, like two little conspirators who knew exactly how to disarm her.

They leapt from the straw bed with a lightness only childhood allowed. The contrast with the infirmary bed from the night before was striking, yet neither of them seemed to mind. They were home—and that was enough.

After splashing cold water on their faces to shake off sleep, they sat at the table. It was simple, very different from Elise's table—where fresh fruit, soft bread, coffee, and honey tea were the norm. Here, they had what life allowed: a rustic loaf baked by Maria, herbal tea brewed from the garden, and a bit of steaming porridge in clay bowls.

Maria served the tea with steady hands, but her weary eyes betrayed what lingered beneath. She hadn't slept well—the memory of what nearly happened to her children still haunted the dim corners of her heart.

Anthony was nearly finished eating when the siblings joined him. Elian sat beside Emanuelle, and for a moment, everything seemed ordinary. As if nothing had happened. As if that morning were just another like so many before it.

"Did you sleep well?" Arthur asked, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders, his eyes still heavy.

Elian nodded. So did Emanuelle. But deep down, they both knew: one never truly sleeps after nearly losing someone they love.

"Today we finish cleaning the chicken coop, remember, Anthony?" Arthur said, rising. "Elian, if you want to help…"

"I do," Elian replied firmly. Now more than ever, he wanted to be there. To live every moment he could, to savor the small gestures of daily life as if they were rare treasures. He knew that moments like these—simple, almost invisible—were the ones missed most when they were gone. The memory of an ordinary morning, the scent of hay, the muffled sound of chickens pecking… all of it gained weight when you knew you'd be away for a while.

Emanuelle watched him from the corner of her eye, trying to memorize every detail of her brother. As if she could capture his face to carry it with her through the days without him. It wasn't a goodbye—not truly—but to her heart, even a "see you later" already felt too long.

The morning passed with muffled laughter, the splash of water in buckets, and the song of a rooster insisting on ruling from atop the fence. Elian cleaned the nests with a calm expression, Anthony fetched the feed bowls, and Maria hung laundry on the line, the fabric dancing in the wind.

Elian watched her—her red hair fluttering in the breeze, her deep blue eyes glowing in the sunlight. It hadn't been long since Elian was reborn, but even so, this new family was all he had.

He still thought it unfair that he'd been given a second chance and Luciana hadn't—even if he had no way of knowing whether she, too, had been reborn. Deep down, he hoped she had.

At one point, Maria called Elian inside. He stepped into the warm kitchen, the smell of baking bread wrapping the air like a hug.

She handed him some cloths to fold.

"I made your favorite bread," she said, smiling without meeting his eyes. "For your last day… before you go."

Elian said nothing. He folded the cloth with great care, as if each crease were an unspoken goodbye. Deep down, he knew he'd return on weekends, that nothing was truly ending—but that small distance, that fracture in their routine, hurt like the beginning of something much greater. Something he couldn't yet name, but already felt pressing against his chest.

Maria was silent for a while, pretending to tidy the jars on the shelf. Then, without facing him, she whispered:

"Do you promise you'll come home on the weekends?"

Elian nodded, pressing the folded cloth to his chest. And though he said nothing, he wished—more than anything—that this place would always remain his way back.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, until Maria spoke again.

"You know, Elian…" she said softly, her voice nearly a whisper, "do you know why I chose your name?"

Elian shook his head in silence. He knew the meaning: the one who brings light. But he also knew the darkness within himself—the sins of a past life, the blood spilled, the memories no one here would ever know. All of it felt like a cruel irony in the face of the name he'd been given. And yet… she had chosen it.

"After Emanuelle was born… they told me I wouldn't be able to have more children." Maria continued, her eyes fixed on some distant point in the past. "My greatest dream was always to be a mother. I wanted a house full of children. At least five… just like my mother."

She paused, her gaze clouded.

"When Emanuelle was born, Elise said I had lost something… I don't know what, and maybe I'll never know." She gave a sorrowful smile, one that hid more pain than acceptance. "I didn't understand. I didn't even know what it meant… and maybe that's why I never asked."

Elian felt a tightness in his chest. That wasn't ignorance—it was survival. Peasants didn't have access to doctors, to books, to answers. In his past life, he had seen this play out countless times. And now, across from that simple woman, he saw someone who had faced it all with love.

"Just so you know…" Maria said, with a firm tone that pulled him back. "I never blamed Emanuelle. I would never blame a child for something like that."

Elian nodded, a lump forming in his throat. He remembered her words, spoken as she lay on the verge of death: "Don't blame him. He's not at fault, even if I die… love him." Words he would never forget.

"Three years later… I became pregnant again. With you."

Maria smiled sweetly, but her face soon darkened.

"But during the pregnancy, they told me you had died inside me."

Her world collapsed in that moment. What had seemed like a miracle turned into a nightmare. Nearly nine months carrying a dream… and in the end, only silence.

"Elise said she might have to take you out. That maybe they'd have to cut me open. But I refused. I fought with her, I fought with Arthur. I said I wouldn't let them take you from me. If I had to die, I'd rather die with you."

Her voice trembled now. She clutched her apron cloth as if reliving that moment cut her anew.

"I stopped eating. Barely spoke. I didn't expect anything anymore. But… one night, as I slept, I heard something. A voice… feminine, distant, like it came from far, far away. I couldn't understand the words. But I felt it."

Elian held his breath.

"I felt that something had changed. And in that instant… I knew. I knew you were alive."

Maria smiled tenderly, tears now welling in her eyes.

"And then… you were born. But I almost died that day."

Elian knew that. Knew too well. It was a weight he carried in silence—the fear of having nearly killed his mother just by being born.

"When you cried, and my eyes were closing… I was happy and sad at the same time. Happy to see your face. It was all I ever wanted. Sad, because I thought I wouldn't live to watch you grow."

She took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears already falling.

"I was going to name you Theo. Divine gift. That was the name I had chosen. But… the moment I felt my life slipping away… I saw a light come from you. A soft, warm light. It went straight into Elise."

Elian's eyes widened. He didn't remember this. But something deep inside resonated with truth. An echo in the soul.

"That light saved me. It was you, Elian. It was your essence."

Maria knelt before him, her deep blue eyes reflecting a love pure and unburdened. She gently ran her hand through his red hair.

"I changed your name that instant. You weren't just a gift. You were light. You brought my light back. That's why… your name is Elian."

She smiled, pressing her forehead to his.

"I love you more than anything in this world, my son. If I'm alive today… if I'm still happy… it's because of you."

And Elian couldn't hold it in anymore.

The tears came—like a river held back for far too long.

The name he carried, which had always felt like a cruel lie, now made sense. Not because he believed himself to be light. But because someone had found light in him. Even when he saw only darkness in himself.

And in that embrace, between the sobs, Elian allowed himself to begin forgiving… at least a little.