He inhales sharply and wails, and my knees nearly give out. He has a shock of dark hair plastered to his skull which is damp and soft-looking. His fists flail with surprising strength. His skin is flushed from heat, but faint shadows lie beneath it, like scales waiting beneath the surface.
Ronyn makes a broken sound in his throat, and Aura is there in a flash to pick up the infant and hold him to her chest.
My son.
Before we can take it in, the gold egg splits.
Another infant spills into Darial’s waiting hands; a girl this time. Her pale hair is already visible, and her cry is lower and angrier, as if offended by the indignity of birth.
Then the scarlet egg breaks, its shell fracturing into jagged seams as a second girl emerges, her red hair catching the firelight. She doesn’t cry immediately. She blinks up at us, solemn and almost wise, as if she recognizes us already.
Aura sobs in joy.
“They’re… so beautiful,” she whispers, as Darial and Ronyn embrace their children, kissing damp hair and cheeks, breathing in their scents. I reach for my son, and Aura allows me to take him, bending to check on her other children. I have never held something so small and fragile.
Ronyn gathers the scarlet-haired infant against his broad chest, swearing softly as tears spill freely down his face.
“I would burn the world for you,” he murmurs to his daughter.
Darial cradles his daughter, pressing his forehead gently to the baby’s. “Little sun,” he whispers.
Aura slides from the bed and joins us on the floor, her gold shift pooling around her. She touches each child with trembling reverence, kissing damp foreheads and whispering soft endearments.
“You did it,” she breathes. “You’re here. My precious babies.”
She studies them carefully. “I wonder if they will grow faster like Ahya.”
“Who knows,” I say. “Their existence is a miracle.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kelan growls. “As long as they are strong and healthy.”
A warmth unlike any dragon fire blooms around us. The candles along the walls flare untouched. Aura’s runes ignite in soft light.
Above us, the ceiling trembles.
Light filters through the window as the star-filled night sky is obliterated by a single beam descending like a blessing, illuminating the four of us and the three small lives between us.
In that light, for the briefest heartbeat, I see wings. The presence is vast and luminous; an intense presence settles into my bones with ancient approval.
The goddess.
The babies stop crying all at once. Three tiny pulses of light shimmer beneath their skin, black, gold, scarlet, thenfade.
Ronyn exhales shakily. “She welcomes them.”
“Yes,” Aura whispers. From her heart, an answering beam streams toward the window. She raises her left hand with instinctive praise. Our mate is pure maternal power.
I bow my head without meaning to. I don’t bow often, but in this precious moment, surrounded by my mate and our children, I understand.
We were never meant to dominate Aura’s power.
We were meant to guard it. To love it. To help it flourish.
My son yawns in my arms.
The golden-haired girl grips Darial’s thumb like a warrior claiming a sword.
The red-haired child stares at Ronyn with solemn, assessing eyes.
