This year, all of our prayers have been answered in the most magnificent way possible. Every mate has a child of their own, and the profound completeness that brings to our extraordinary family fills my heart to overflowing. All of our precious children lay curled up in various sleeping arrangements, taking their afternoon naps with the peaceful contentment that only comes to the truly loved and secure. The sight of them—our living proof of love made flesh—makes my green eyes glow brighter with pure paternal joy.
We wait with barely contained anticipation for night to fall so we can finally open the solstice presents that have been taunting us from beneath the magnificent tree. Dozens upon dozens of carefully wrapped gifts balance precariously under the towering evergreen that Vaughn insisted his people traditionally put up every Solstice. The sight of that tree, adorned with our family’s handiwork, represents everything beautiful about the blending of our different traditions into something uniquely ours.
Earlier today, I watched with deep affection as Vaughn sat cross-legged on the floor with all the children gathered around him like eager disciples. His hands moved with surprising gentleness as he showed them how to thread popcorn onto long strings, creating ropes of the white kernels with infinite patience. The children’s laughter had filled the air as they worked, their small fingers fumbling with the task, but they were determined to do it. When they finished, Vaughn carefully wrapped the popcorn strings around the tree with methodical precision, occasionally calling up to Lily to flutter to the highest branches and finish wrapping the garland around the unreachable peak.
The memory makes my chest warm with love for this incredible family we’ve built together. Klauth had joined the festivities earlier, his ancient wisdom perfectly suited to helping the children craft decorative balls from more popcorn. His massive hands, capable of such destruction, worked with delicate care to shape the kernels into perfect spheres. My beloved Mina had taken some of the finished ornaments and transformed them into works of art, spraying them with vibrant food coloring that created brilliant shades of red, blue, and green. The children had taken turns throughout the day hanging their creations, each placement deliberated with the serious concentration that only children can bring to such important tasks.
Now, as evening approaches, the tree stands as a testament to our unity. It’s a beautiful symbol of how different traditions can weave together into something even more meaningful than the sum of its parts. The soft glow from the ornaments catches the light just right, creating a magical ambiance that seems to pulse with the warmth of family love.
Thauglor leans against the window frame with casual elegance, his ancient form perfectly relaxed as Raven sleeps peacefully inher father’s protective arms. It’s her absolute favorite place to rest, aside from those rare moments when she curls up with Lily and Orpheus, the three of them wrapped together in a tangle of scales, wings, and contentment. Most times, though, she actively seeks her father, drawn to sleep near or directly on him with an instinct we don’t fully understand but have learned to respect.
The sight tugs at something deep in my chest as I consider the mysteries of dragon bonding. Thorne consistently seeks Mina for her sleeping spot, gravitating toward her dragon mother with the same inexplicable pull that draws Raven to Thauglor. Thorne is our miracle child, our beautiful anomaly—she carries the genetics of all three of her fathers and Mina woven together in one perfect little body. The complexity of her heritage never ceases to amaze me, and I often wonder if Raven shares some of that same miraculous blending. Perhaps that’s why she feels such a strong connection to specific parents—some ancient dragon instinct calling her to seek out particular bonds.
“Are we joining the rest of the flight later?” I whisper, moving closer to my beloved bond mates with the silent grace that comes naturally to my displacer beast nature. The familiar tingle of potential displacement magic hums just beneath my skin, ready to carry me anywhere they might need me to go.
“Definitely. I just want our kids to open their presents first,” Mina whispers back, her voice soft as silk as she runs her graceful fingers through Thorne’s magnificent hair—those long strands of emerald and silver that catch the light like liquid metal. The tender gesture makes my heart skip a beat, as it always does when I witness these quiet moments of maternal love. Her touch is so gentle, so full of devotion, that it reminds me all over again why I fell so completely under her spell.
The love I feel for this extraordinary woman crashes over me like a tidal wave, as fresh and powerful as the day we first bonded. She is the center of our universe, the gravitational force that keeps us all in perfect orbit around the warmth of her heart. Every day I wake up grateful beyond measure she chose me—that she saw something in a happy-go-lucky displacer beast worth loving and keeping.
“The hatchlings that can fly will glide down with us. The ones that can’t fly, if you would be so kind as to phase them down below,” Klauth requests with a slight bow that speaks to his respect for my abilities. Even after all these years, his formal courtesy toward my displacement magic makes me stand a little taller with pride.
“Of course. My daughters will help as well,” I respond with a smile so wide it makes my cheeks hurt, looking over at Bella and Azalea’s peacefully sleeping forms with paternal pride that threatens to burst from my chest. They’ve grown into such capable, caring young women, always ready to help with their younger siblings without complaint or hesitation. The thought of working alongside them to transport our family fills me with the deep satisfaction that comes from knowing you’re part of something truly special.
My mind quickly calculates the logistics with the efficiency born of years managing our large, complex family. We only need to transport Leander and Balor with their children—my daughters can easily handle moving one sibling each with their tentacles, while I can take both adult males at the same time without any issue whatsoever. The familiar confidence of my displacement abilities hums through my veins, ready to carry our precious cargo safely through space and time.
As I stand here surrounded by my sleeping family, the tree twinkling with their handmade decorations, presents waiting to bring joy to eager faces, I’m struck by how perfect this moment is. This is what happiness looks like in its purest form—not just the grand gestures or passionate declarations, but these quiet interludes where love exists in every breath, every gentle touch, every peaceful face.
My eyes sweep across the room, taking in each beloved face, and I’m overwhelmed by gratitude for the twisting path that brought me to this moment. Every challenge we’ve faced, every danger we’ve weathered, every sacrifice we’ve made—it was all worth it to arrive at this perfect tableau of family contentment.
The bonds that tie me to Leander, Vaughn, and Callan have evolved far beyond mere friendship into something that approaches brotherhood. These men trust me with their lives, with their children, with their deepest fears and greatest joys. In return, I would move heaven and earth to protect them, to support them, to ensure their happiness in any way possible. We’ve become more than a collection of individuals who love the same extraordinary woman—we’ve become a true pack, bound by loyalty, respect, and genuine affection that transcends the ordinary definitions of family.
Tonight, when we gather with the flight for the traditional solstice celebration, our children will be among the newest additions to the ancient dragon community. They’ll play with their cousins, learn from their elders, and take their place in a legacy that stretches back through millennia. But first, they’ll wake up to a tree surrounded by love and gifts chosen with their individual personalities in mind.
I can already picture their faces when they see what we’ve prepared for them—the wonder in their eyes, the squeals ofdelight, the careful way they’ll unwrap each present as if it holds the secrets of the universe. These are the moments that make all the chaos and complexity of our unconventional life worthwhile. These are the memories that will sustain us through whatever challenges the future might bring.
My midnight-black hair catches the soft light from the tree as I settle in to wait with my family, content to exist in this perfect bubble of peace and love for as long as the moment allows. Soon enough, the controlled chaos of present-opening will begin, followed by the joyful reunion with the larger flight community. But for now, I’m exactly where I belong—surrounded by the people who matter most, ready to help make their dreams come true in whatever way my abilities allow.
The echoof a deep purr followed by a tremendous yawn reverberates through the peaceful chamber, and my head whips up with lightning-fast reflexes. Allister is the first hatchling to wake up, and true to form, he makes an excessive amount of noise designed to rouse every other sleeping soul in the vicinity. My eyes glow brighter with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation—some things never change with that little troublemaker.
One by one, the other hatchlings awaken from their naps. Some stretch and blink sleepily with the gentle grace of angels, while others emerge cranky and disheveled, grumbling their displeasure at being disturbed from their dreams. My heart does a little skip of relief when I notice that thankfully, mercifully,Raven wasn’t jolted awake by Allister’s theatrical wake-up call. The last time he disrupted her sleep so abruptly, they ended up in an all-out battle that required two full-grown adults to break up. That incident was when we discovered that despite his attitude, Allister’s scales are actually soft like a green dragon’s—a vulnerability that makes his aggressive posturing all the more concerning.
Thauglor moves with the infinite patience of ancient wisdom, gently cupping his hands over Raven’s delicate ears as he offers a quiet prayer to Bahamut that she won’t wake up with her usual abrupt intensity. I watch with deep respect as he carefully enfolds her in his protective wings, creating a cocoon of safety and warmth. His voice becomes barely audible as he begins the delicate process of coaxing her awake with whispered endearments and gentle encouragement.
Several long minutes pass in tense silence before he gradually reopens his magnificent wings. Raven emerges with the fluid grace that marks her as truly her mother’s daughter, gliding down to the floor with purpose and immediately going over to nudge Orpheus awake with her snout. The tender interaction between siblings makes my chest tight with paternal pride—she’s already developing the protective instincts that will serve her well in life.
When the last sleepy hatchling finally joins the land of the waking, I clap my hands together with enthusiasm that bubbles up from my very core. “Present time!” I announce, my voice ringing with barely contained excitement. “Shift and get dressed. Older kids, help the younger ones, please. Younglings, please go to your parents before you shift.” The familiar routine of family organization kicks in automatically—years of managingour large, chaotic household have taught us all the importance of structure during moments of potential mayhem.
I watch with warm affection as the three newest additions toddle over to their respective fathers before shifting to their vulnerable human forms. The trust they show in seeking their parents first speaks to the strong bonds already forming within our ever-expanding family unit.
Callan’s son emerges from his shift with blonde hair that carries distinctive threads of Mina’s silver woven throughout like precious metal. His skin tone falls closer to Mina’s than Callan’s, creating a beautiful blend of both parents that makes my heart swell with love for this new little person joining our ranks.
“What did you name him?” I ask, catching Callan’s attention as he tends to his boy with the gentle care of a devoted father.
“Conor. I know it’s close to my name, but it felt right,” Callan responds with a smile that transforms his entire face, the joy of fatherhood clear in every line of his expression. He helps his son into a soft diaper and a festive jumper with practiced movements. He carries him over to the tree, where he settles the baby on the special blanket we’ve laid out for our littlest ones.
A burst of delighted laughter draws my attention to Leander, who’s being thoroughly entertained by his daughter’s antics. In her foal form, she’s running circles around him while whinnying in a way that sounds remarkably like gleeful laughter as she expertly escapes every attempt he makes to catch her. The sight fills me with such joy that my eyes practically sparkle with mirth.
Within seconds, my observant daughter Belladonna moves forward with purpose, using her tentacles to gently but firmly capture the playful filly and bring her escape attempts to a halt.“Thanks, Bella,” Leander says with genuine gratitude, reaching out to scratch my daughter on the back of her neck exactly the way she likes. She releases the filly with a pleased purr, and Leander scoops his daughter up in his arms with obvious relief.
