He placed them gently into the shallow water. The boys kicked their legs, one smacking the water with an eager splash.
Midas flinched. But they laughed. The sound wasmusic. Something he was not expecting to hear so soon after their birth. He chuckled softly under his breath, ears twitching as he reached for the washcloth.
You are loud, he murmured to them in dragon tongue, voice gravel-thick and low.Louder than thunder.
One of them hiccupped and gurgled in reply as if they understood him.
Yes, you,he teased.
He worked slowly, carefully wiping between the creases of their tiny limbs, washing behind their ears the way Elowen always did. He whispered nonsense in the language of dragons, stringing together old tales, half-remembered legends from before the fall.
There was once a dragon who could speak to the moon,he told them, dipping the cloth again.She sang silver songs, soft as snow, into the beauty of the night...
He rinsed them gently, using his cupped hand to pour water over their bellies. One kicked again, this timecatching Midas’ forearm with more force than expected, causing a smile to creep to his face.
Good. You will be strong,he growled affectionately.Like your mother.
Elowen stirred. From the bed of furs and moss they shared, she blinked against the morning light, her eyes searching instinctively for her children. But the sight that greeted her instead stilled her breath.
There, by the fire, Midas sat human-shaped—his long, unkempt hair falling in strands around his face, wings curled loosely behind him. He was hunched over the copper basin, the twins nestled safely in his lap, both freshly clean and blinking at their father as he spoke softly in a tongue she could not understand.
For the first time since the twins were born, her body felt light. Her heart felt quiet. She wasn’t needed in that moment—not as a healer, or a protector, or a mother scrambling to stay ahead of exhaustion.
Midas had the boys, and they weresafe.
I think the moon dragon was very lonely,he murmured to the twins, cupping a hand around the back of one small neck.I think she sang because she was waiting for something.Midas lowered his head, brushing his brow against the tops of their hair. His breath caught in his throat as he whispered:
I understood that sorrow. But no longer.
Elowen sat propped against the wall of furs, a thick blanket draped around her shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before snapping open again. Midas had brought the boys to her side after turning to find her awake. They were nestled beside her, swaddledand content after nursing, their small hands curled into fists like budding flower petals.
She was always watching them. Always reaching for them, checking their warmth, smoothing their hair, whispering soft assurances even when they could barely hear.
Though he admired her devotion, it troubled Midas how quickly she forgot herself. How often she forgot to eat. To rest. So today, he brought the food to her.
Roasted root vegetables mixed with soft greens and the meat he’d hunted the day before, carefully shredded and cooked to her liking. It wasn’t perfect—he still didn’t fully grasp the balance of flavors—but it was warm. He presented it to her on a carved wooden bowl, waiting with unblinking patience until she looked up.
“Eat,” he said softly, still learning how to shape the words in her tongue with confidence.
Elowen smiled sleepily, but obediently took the dish. “Thank you.”
Midas didn’t sit far. He hovered like a shadow, just within reach, eyes flicking between her and the twins as she ate. He relaxed only when he saw her take the second bite without hesitation.
“Always looking atthem,” he said after a moment, his tone more observation than complaint. She glanced down at the boys, who slept curled together. “You are everything to them. Warmth. Safety. Nourishment. But they need you strong.”
He watched her chew slowly, her fingers trembling just slightly from fatigue she hadn’t admitted aloud. Then her gaze lifted, softer now. Thoughtful.
“Midas…” she began, her voice hesitant, “do you think they’ll always look like this? Likeme?” He tilted his head curiously. “They have your eyes,” she murmured, “but sometimes I wonder...will they grow wings? Horns? Tails? Will they shift?”
Midas looked to the boys again. “I do not know,” he said carefully. “But I have imagined it.”
Her brow lifted gently. “Imagined?”
His golden eyes flickered like embers. “To fly with them,” he said. “To hear them roar. Teach them the path of the sky. Teach them fire. The hunt. To be dragon.”
There was something wistful in his tone, aching deeply in his chest. Elowen placed the bowl aside, food half-finished now, and reached over to touch his hand. Her fingers laced with his—rough palm to soft skin.
“What if they don’t?” she asked, eyes searching his face. “What if they are human like me?”
