The girls woke slowly. They weren’t screaming, not yet.

  They were naked, and I froze for a heartbeat.

  But I was blind at the moment. My eyes were still wrapped in the cloth. It was better this way, and I was safer.

  I wasn’t a lolicon. I just… wasn’t.

  Single pieces of meat were a different thing from full, breathing people. Back then, it had been… academic. Now, this was real.

  “Where… am I?” one whispered. Her voice cracked - small and trembling, like it might go out again at any moment.

  I crouched down to the linen, careful not to touch them, pretending that my bandaged eyes were some sort of mystical ritual requirement.

  My voice was calm and soft. “You’re… safe. Very safe.”

  I let that hang, letting them absorb the words. Then, subtly, as best as I could, I prodded. “Do you remember anything? Anything? Your names maybe?”

  I couldn’t really see what they were doing, but I think they looked at each other.

  Then the other girl whispered, almost in tandem, “I feel like everything’s gone.”

  Absorbing it like a sponge, I let my mind process.

  Small and helpless, they were thrust into a situation that devoured them. My stomach churned with… not guilt. Not exactly. Responsibility. The sort of responsibility that makes you talk bigger than you are.

  And then, the lie formed fully in my mouth, polished like a pearl on a black velvet cloth:

  “You… you have been chosen. Witnesses,” I said, my voice gaining weight with authority I didn’t fully feel but needed to project. I stood up and turned to face away from them, and as quietly as I could, cast “Sol,” the light spell.

  A ray of light shone down on me to add to my theatrics, and then I turned around again.

  “To the great truth. The old ways… the world… it is ending. Entropy, the all-encompassing god, has demanded sacrifice. But…” I gestured broadly, as if power itself circled my hands, “I am here. I am the true prophet. You, my first witnesses, have been saved - spared - to see the world reborn through my testament.”

  Their eyes went wide. Curiosity, fear, awe - a mixture that made my small chest swell.

  “You… understand?” I asked.

  They nodded slowly, unsure, holding onto the fragments of themselves and the warmth I’d given them.

  “Good,” I whispered, and smiled. My voice was firm. “Because what comes next… depends on you believing. And I will make sure the world remembers.”

  I crouched there a moment longer, letting the words sink into the frostbitten, traumatized corners of their minds. They didn’t argue. They didn’t scream. That, at least, was promising.

  I let the silence stretch. Let it sit. Let it thicken like winter fog in the forest. Then, carefully, I began to speak again. My voice was low and deliberate, like I had rehearsed this, even though I hadn’t.

  “The gods,” I said, letting the word hang heavy in the cold air, “they chose me, and I have been reborn in mortal flesh. Not by accident. Not by chance. I have been given a task… a mission. One that cannot fail. Entropy, the enemy - He spreads like rot through the world. Consuming, destroying, and swallowing everything that is.”

  “I… I am the one they have marked to fight it,” I continued, pacing slowly, one hand extended toward the moonlit canopy. “The powers, the wisdom, the strength… it flows through me. I am your guide. I am your protector. I am… your father in this struggle.”

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  Father. The word slipped out, and I let it. Small and trembling as I might be, my mind was of an adult, however damaged.

  Their wide eyes focused on me, glimmering in the faint moonlight. One whispered, uncertain, “Father…?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding gravely. “My mission is to lead you, to show you the truth. I will fight for what the world cannot fight for on its own. And will show humanity the power of the gods themselves, the light they lend me to guide.”

  Another pause. I let it hang. Their fear mixed with awe, fragile as ice on a pond.

  “Then… I want to help,” the first girl said softly, voice firming with resolve. “If you are to fight this… Entropy… we want to fight with you.”

  “I will stay too,” the second added, more quietly, but just as resolute.

  My chest tightened. I swallowed, heart thudding in a way that felt far too big for a toddler’s ribcage. A pang of… I don’t know if it was guilt, or joy, or just narrative convenience… stabbed me.

  Them staying here, as witnesses, as companions, as part of my story… it was perfect. A hundred times more interesting than letting them wander off, returning to a home that might no longer exist.

  “Very well,” I said, voice quivering just ever so slightly. “You will stay. You will learn. You will bear witness to the rebirth of the world. And you will call me… Father. Because though my body is small, my mind is not. Even my hands,” I looked at them and clenched, “my power… is great.”

  They nodded again. Tentative, cautious, but committed. Their little hands reached out, brushing against the linens I had carefully arranged, as if affirming their choice.

  And inside my mind… Oh, inside my mind, I almost laughed. Almost cried. Almost everything at once. Some horror too.

  Father. Prophet. Savior. Those titles were mine, in this story, until the world forced my hand or the gods decided otherwise.

  For a moment, the cold of the forest didn’t matter. The smallness of my body didn’t matter.

  I had a story.

  “Do you… remember your names?” I asked quietly.

  There was a long silence. Linen shifted. Breathing trembled.

  Finally, the girls looked at each other for comfort, but in the end, both said no.

  Names mattered. If characters in your story didn’t have them, they would be lesser characters. Or just having a title. But two nameless figures in my story? I couldn’t have that.

  “You deserve names,” I told them, voice low, letting the weight of importance settle over the moment. “Names carry power. And someday, yours will be known.”

  I turned my head toward where I thought they were sitting, still blindfolded, but committed to the theatrics. I decided to name them after some of my favorite characters in classic fiction.

  “You,” I said, pointing in what I hoped was the right direction, “shall be Catherine - Leo.”

  A tiny breath caught. A rustle of linen. Awe. Yes!

  “And you,” I said, shifting slightly, “are Juliet - Lepus.”

  The titles rolled off my tongue as if I’d spent years in a dusty library reading star sign symbolism, which, actually, I had.

  “And I am Father, Cepheus.”

  They repeated the names slowly.

  Catherine. Juliet. Leo. Lepus.

  Their new identities are settling in like frost on skin.

  But reality, unfortunately, returned quickly.

  They were naked but not shivering - maybe because of the shock? In any case, I was morally obligated to fix that.

  Which meant I needed clothes. Girl clothes.

  Getting into town during daylight was stupid. Truly, colossally, idiotic. But it wasn’t like I had a wardrobe in the middle of the woods. So I did what any three-year-old dark prodigy prophet would do:

  Broke into a noble’s house and robbed them blind - quickly and quietly.

  I had removed the blindfold from my eyes and used another healing spell, which didn’t help my exhaustion.

  Sneaking while tired was like trying to swim with lead shoes. My entire body felt like wet clay.

  I ducked into an estate, four manors away, through a servant’s window, praying no one noticed the toddler creeping through their laundry room. My head throbbed from lack of sleep; magic burned energy fast; and between healing two corpses into people and sleepless nights of study… I was about to faceplant into the nearest bed.

  But I pushed on.

  Cloaks. Dresses. Tunics. Socks. Anything warm. I grabbed what I could carry in tiny arms that were shaking far more than I liked.

  At one point, footsteps passed close - far too close - and I had to press against a wardrobe and slow my breathing until I almost fainted. If anyone saw me… well, prophets don’t belong in jail cells.

  Finally, I slipped back out, clothes overflowing from my bundle.

  Every step back to the forest felt like walking through tar. My legs wobbled, my vision swam behind the cloth bandages, and when I finally reached the clearing, I collapsed to my knees.

  But the girls - my signs - gasped softly and rushed forward, lifting the clothes from my arms like sacred offerings.

  Before I went to them, I bound my eyes again. Being blind, or at least pretending to be, gave me a sort of dramatic flair.

  “You brought these… for us?” Juliet whispered.

  I nodded. “You are chosen. You deserve proper garments for your roles.”

  And also: I REALLY didn’t want to be the blind prophet keeping naked girls around. That was a future arrest waiting to happen.