And then, another wave of pain hit her so intensely that she nearly lost grip of her child. Midas was there, of course. He caught the wriggling, slimy newborn with his tail, holding him steady against her chest.
Midas leaned his head down to inspect Elowen’s body, to see what was there that could be causing her more pain. She seized once more, and when she did, Midas saw it—another child crowning between her legs, forcing itself into the world.
Her body trembled with exhaustion, blood pooling beneath her. Midas made a low, desperate sound—his talons digging into the stone beneath them. He would have given her his fire, his heart, anything to take her pain as she brought another babe into the world.
The second child came with a sudden rush, limbs limp but breathing. Elowen collapsed, eyes fluttering closed for a terrifying moment before her chest rose again.
He helped lift the child into her arms as he did the first one, and only once Elowen’s breathing steadied didhe bend his head forward to examine the newborns. Both males. Both strong in their breath and warm with fire in their hearts—Midas could feel it as easily as he could feel his own.
He sniffed, then opened his mouth and drew his tongue across the firstborn’s skin, clearing the afterbirth with precise, delicate strokes. It was instinct more than thought. The second child received the same. He licked them clean, pressed his muzzle to their damp heads, breathing in the scent of them like it might brand them to his soul.
They were tiny. Fragile. Yet unmistakably marked by him. Their eyes gleamed with that same molten gold that burned in his.
He made a low, thrumming sound in his chest. Something protective. Something proud. Elowen stirred weakly, eyes fluttering open. He turned to her.
She was pale, soaked in sweat, hair tangled against her cheeks, but she was alive. He curled beside her, careful not to disturb the blood-streaked blankets, and pressed his snout gently to her shoulder.
“I’m…I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice was barely above a whisper. Her fingers found the edge of his face, stroking the warm scales there.
The twins squirmed in the curve of her arm. She looked down at them—two tiny boys, their skin pink and flushed, each one bearing the mark of their father in his eyes.
Midas made a low sound and curled his wings protectively around all three of them. He lowered his head until it rested beside hers, his gold eyes soft and wide with awe.
Together, they breathed in the quiet. In that moment, there was no world beyond the cave. Only a woman, adragon, and two newborn boys—held together with fire and love. Their cave, their home, once a tomb of silence and solitude, came alive with the sound and scent of family, legacy, and pride.
The fire crackled low,casting a soft glow over the curve of the cave’s interior. Outside, a wet, cold storm whispered against the stone, but within, all was warm.
Midas lay coiled along the outer edge of their den, his massive form at rest, though his eyes were not closed.
They were onthem.
Elowen sat on a pile of fur-lined blankets, back braced against a mound of softened pelts, her legs curled beneath her. One of the twins, the more impatient one, was nestled against her chest, his tiny fists balled tightly near his face, mouth latched to her breast.
Midas didn’t move for long stretches, and his breath was slow and deep, as though afraid that even exhaling too loud might disrupt the moment.
Elowen murmured something low and sweet as she smoothed the baby’s dark hair. Her clothing had been ripped and soiled during the birth, so she removed it entirely, but she seemed unbothered; natural, content, and utterly focused on her sons.
Midas had seen the rawness of childbirth, the fire of her pain. He had seen blood and trembling and strength that rivaled the mountains. But this quiet act of nourishment, ofgiving not just safety but sustenance, was something else entirely. It was beautiful.
He inched closer, just enough to see better, not daring to touch or interfere. His wing curled inward, a barrier between them and the rest of the world.
Elowen noticed him watching. “You can come closer,” she said, patting the nest near her side.
Midas hesitated, then moved with slow grace, lowering his head beside her. He didn’t speak, but rested his snout close enough to feel the warmth of her skin and the steady heartbeat of his son. When the first had finished feeding, she gently traded places with the second in her lap in order to feed him as well.
Elowen smoothed the baby’s back, rocking gently. “I never thought I’d be doing this in a cave. With a dragon.” He let out a soft sound, deep in his throat. Not offended. Thoughtful. “But you’re not just a dragon, are you?” she added quickly, glancing at him. “You’re…you’re their father.”
He blinked, slow and heavy. His eyes lowered to her chest again—her body so small, so human, and yet she did what no magic of his could ever do. She fed them. She grew them. She birthed them with an animalistic grace and beauty he felt unworthy to witness.
He watched her fingers move. The way she shifted the baby’s weight. The way her thumb soothed a crease in his brow. He studied everything.
He’d never seen anything so fragile or so powerful.
When both boys had finished nursing, Elowen held them both to her shoulders, rocking them gently. Theinfants gave contented sighs in sync with each other, eyes drifting shut.
She looked at Midas with a kind of tired triumph.
Midas reached forward—slow, careful—and placed the tip of one claw lightly beside one of the newborn’s feet, as if measuring the size of his own children.
