The sun streamed gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. I lay curled beneath the blankets, our daughter nestled against my chest, her tiny breaths warm and steady. She had drifted back to sleep after nursing, lips parted in the softest little pout, her fingers still tangled in my shirt like she couldn’t bear to let go—even in her dreams.

  Apolloh sat close, one hand cradling my ankle beneath the covers, the other brushing through her dark wisps of hair. His eyes were tired, but they were glowing. He kept looking at us like he still couldn’t believe we were real. I felt it too—this stunned, aching joy that hadn’t left me since the moment I first held her.

  “She’s perfect,” I whispered, afraid to speak any louder, afraid to disturb this fragile peace wrapped around us like a blanket.

  His thumb moved in slow circles against my skin. “You both are,” he murmured, and then leaned forward to press a kiss to my leg—slow, reverent, like a vow.

  She stirred just a little in my arms, a tiny sound escaping her lips before she snuggled deeper against me. My chest ached with love.

  “How can something this small make the whole world feel different?” I asked quietly, my voice thick with wonder.

  Apolloh moved closer, slipping beneath the covers with us, wrapping his arm around my waist as he settled in behind me. His warmth pressed against my back, grounding me.

  “Because she is the world now,” he said, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. “Ours.”

  And just like that, everything in me melted. I closed my eyes, holding her close, surrounded by him. There was nowhere else I’d rather be.

  The room was wrapped in stillness, the kind that settles over you when everything important is right here in your arms. I held her close, her tiny breaths syncing with mine, and behind me, Apolloh wrapped us both in his warmth. I could feel his heartbeat through my back, steady and strong. The others were nearby, curled into the blankets between us—four small bodies, four quiet, perfect souls.

  I let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears I hadn’t realized had formed. “They need names,” I whispered, my voice barely above the hush in the room. “They deserve to know who they are.”

  Apolloh’s hand slid over mine, fingers tangling gently. “We’ll give them ones that carry strength… light… pieces of everything we’ve survived.”

  I nodded, gazing down at the baby girl nestled against my chest. Her little brow was furrowed in sleep, like she was already dreaming of something important. “Elara,” I said softly. “She looks like the stars. Like she was born from them.”

  Apolloh leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her head. “Elara,” he echoed.

  I turned slightly, careful not to jostle anyone. Two more girls lay curled beside me, each tucked under an arm. One had kicked off her blanket, already squirming in her sleep, wild even now. The other was peaceful, hands tucked under her cheek, lashes fluttering.

  “For her,” I said, nodding toward the spirited one, “Lyra. She’s going to run before she crawls.”

  He smiled. “And the quiet one?”

  I reached out, brushing her cheek. She barely moved, but she leaned into the touch like she knew me. “Liora,” I breathed. “She feels like light.”

  Apolloh kissed her gently. “Lyra, Liora, Elara…” His voice was thick with emotion. “And him?”

  We both looked down at the small boy nestled against his chest, pressed close like he already knew where he belonged. There was something powerful in his stillness, like he held more than his tiny form could contain.

  “Riven,” Apolloh said softly, and I nodded. “He’ll carry our strength.”

  “Elara, Lyra, Liora, and Riven,” I whispered, tasting each name like a promise.

  Our babies. Our future. Our world.

  And in that quiet, sacred moment, nothing else existed.

  Time blurred around us—minutes or hours, I couldn’t tell. The weight of birth still lingered in my body, but it was softened by the warmth pressed all around me. Apolloh’s breath tickled the back of my neck, slow and steady. The pups shifted now and then, little murmurs and twitches breaking the silence, but they always settled again.

  I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think past this moment.

  But eventually, Apolloh’s fingers brushed along my side, and he whispered, “Do you want me to get anything? Water, food… Zia?”

  I shook my head slowly. “Not yet.” My voice cracked slightly. “I just… I want to stay here a little longer. With them. With you.”

  He kissed my shoulder. “Then we stay.”

  And we did.

  When I finally stirred, my body reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since before the contractions began, Apolloh helped me sit up without waking any of them. He held one of the girls—Elara—while I took a few careful sips of water, my hands still trembling from exhaustion. The others lay close, limbs tangled in each other like they couldn’t bear to be apart.

  “They already know each other,” I murmured.

  “They were never apart,” he said, looking at them with awe.

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “Just a little longer.”

  We stayed wrapped in that bubble for the rest of the morning—whispering, dozing, feeding, touching each one again and again as if reminding ourselves this wasn’t a dream.

  And then… the sun shifted. The light in the room changed. It was time.

  ~~~

  The fortress felt different now. Softer. Warmer. It was as if the walls themselves had taken a deep breath and settled into something quieter. Word had spread, though we’d asked for space. And to their credit, the pack had listened—giving us time to breathe, to bond, to exist in the kind of sacred stillness that could never be reclaimed once it was gone.

  But now, the halls held an undercurrent of excitement. I could hear it even from here—quiet footsteps, low voices, the shuffling of anticipation waiting just beyond our doors.

  I stood by the open window, Riven nestled against my chest in a sling. My body still ached, my steps slower, my breath shallower—but I felt full. Not just from the bond with them, but from the quiet pride that came with surviving something that had nearly undone me.

  Behind me, Apolloh was settling the girls into a large woven bassinet, their little limbs stretching and twitching as they stirred from their nap. Elara blinked up at him sleepily, already reaching.

  “They’re awake,” he called gently. “All three.”

  I turned just as a soft knock came at the door.

  Zia didn’t wait for permission—she never really did. She stepped in first, her eyes immediately scanning the room before landing on me. Her expression cracked open with warmth.

  “You look like a goddess,” she whispered, crossing the space in a few strides to wrap her arms around me gently, carefully avoiding where Riven rested. “You did it.”

  I smiled into her shoulder. “We did.”

  Jaxe followed her in with a quieter kind of reverence, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. “You really had four,” he said, a little breathless. “Damn.”

  I laughed—a quiet, tired, joyful sound. “We really did.”

  They stepped in closer, Zia hovering over the girls, Jaxe peeking over Apolloh’s shoulder to look at Riven.

  “Can I?” Zia asked, motioning to Liora.

  I nodded. “Of course. Meet your nieces and nephew.”

  Zia’s hands were already shaking as she scooped the baby up and pressed her against her heart.

  For the first time since the birth, I let myself lean back, just a little, and breathe in the joy on someone else’s face.

  This was their family, too.

  Zia gently rocked Liora in her arms, her eyes glistening as she traced the baby’s cheek with a fingertip. “She’s so small,” she whispered, like she was afraid to break the silence. “So perfect.”

  Jaxe had taken a seat near the bassinet, staring down at Lyra, who was already squirming like she had plans. “This one’s gonna be a handful,” he murmured with a half-grin. “She’s got that look.”

  “She already kicked Apolloh when he tried to swaddle her this morning,” I added with a soft laugh.

  “I think she liked it,” Apolloh said, clearly trying not to smile too much as he scooped Elara into his arms. “She was proud.”

  A second knock came at the door—then another. A few familiar voices outside the room whispered excitedly, and then Elias’s voice broke through the quiet.

  “Can we come in now? Please?”

  I exchanged a quick glance with Apolloh, who nodded.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door pushed open, and Kailaa bounded in first, eyes wide with awe and arms full of flowers that looked freshly picked from the garden. Elias followed closely behind, slightly more composed, but no less excited. They weren’t alone—several other pack members stepped in behind them. Familiar faces. Friends.

  Kailaa gasped the moment she spotted the bassinet. “There’s so many of them!”

  Elias went straight to Apolloh, tugging gently on his arm to get a closer look at Elara. “Is that one mine?”

  Apolloh chuckled, kneeling so Elias could see better. “They’re all yours. You’re their big brother now.”

  Elias’s eyes widened, and he reached out hesitantly before pulling his hand back. “She’s so little. What if I break her?”

  “You won’t,” I said, smiling as I motioned him closer. “You’ve always been gentle.”

  Kailaa had gone to Zia, peeking over her arms to get a better look at Liora. “She’s pretty,” she said dreamily, then turned to me. “They all look like you.”

  I felt Apolloh’s gaze on me—warm, proud. “They look like us,” he corrected softly. “All six of us.”

  More pack members gathered around slowly, offering gifts, quiet congratulations, and warm embraces. The room began to hum with life and laughter, filling every corner with a comfort that ran deeper than words.

  And as I watched them—my pups being held and admired, Kailaa and Elias standing protectively close, my mate’s hand never leaving mine—I knew that this was only the beginning.

  We weren’t just a family.

  We were a pack.

  The afternoon drifted by in a blur of warm voices and quiet joy. Eventually, one by one, the pack members began to trickle out—each leaving behind a piece of themselves in their smiles, their whispered blessings, the way they lingered just a little longer before saying goodbye. No one rushed. No one wanted to break the peace.

  Zia was the last to leave. She stood at the door with Jaxe, Liora now back in her nest of blankets with her siblings. Zia looked back one last time, her eyes meeting mine with a kind of unspoken promise. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Then it was just us again.

  The room had shifted—full, but quiet. Tired, but whole. Elias and Kailaa stayed behind, curled up together on the large rug near the bassinet. Elias rested his chin on his arms, watching Riven sleep with the kind of soft stillness only he ever showed. Kailaa hummed under her breath, already starting to make up lullabies for the girls.

  I watched them with my heart in my throat.

  Apolloh came to stand beside me, one arm around my back, the other resting gently over my belly out of instinct—even though it was no longer round. That gesture still grounded me.

  “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice low, just for me.

  “I’m just… taking it all in.” I leaned into him, resting my head on his chest. “They’re loved. So deeply. It already shows.”

  “They are,” he said, then tilted his head to press a kiss into my hair. “Because of you. Because of the way you love.”

  I turned to face him, the exhaustion of the last few days softened by the peace in his eyes. “Because of us.”

  We stood there for a moment, watching them—all six of them, now—and I felt something deep settle into place. Something solid. Unshakable.

  Later that night, when Kailaa and Elias had been tucked into their own beds, and the fire was low, Apolloh and I lay side by side in bed, the pups nestled in their bassinet. Riven’s hand twitched in his sleep. Lyra had her foot pressed against Elara’s cheek. Liora slept like a stone.

  I reached over to lace my fingers through Apolloh’s.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again,” I whispered.

  He chuckled softly, already half-asleep. “We’ll sleep eventually.”

  “We better. There are four of them.”

  He reached across and brushed his thumb over my cheek. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Neither would I.

  ——

  The room had fallen into the kind of silence only night can bring—deep, still, and velvet-soft. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a gentle glow across the walls. Just a few feet from our bed, all four pups lay nestled together in the large woven bassinet Zia had reinforced herself. Elara’s fingers were curled into Lyra’s hair. Riven’s foot was tucked under Liora’s leg. They were a single, breathing constellation.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Apolloh’s breathing had gone slow and even beside me, his arm resting across my waist, his other hand hanging off the bed—just barely touching the edge of the bassinet, like he needed to feel close even in sleep. I faced him, one hand resting protectively over my middle, though it was no longer round.

  My eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, the ache in my body pulling me deeper into the mattress. I finally let go—drifting into sleep with the soft, steady sound of their breathing filling the room.

  ?

  It wasn’t long before the peace shattered.

  The first cry came sharp and sudden—Elara, I thought, but then Lyra chimed in right after, and Riven let out a noise so loud and indignant it echoed off the stone walls. Liora, ever the quiet one, tried to hold out for a beat longer… and then joined them, high-pitched and desperate.

  I blinked awake, heart racing as I jolted upright. “Oh—oh, no.”

  Apolloh groaned, already reaching with one hand toward the bassinet. His hair was a wild mess. “They’ve teamed up. It’s a coordinated attack.”

  I was half laughing, half panicking as I threw the blankets off and rushed to Elara and Lyra. “Why are they all crying? All of them.”

  “They’re hungry,” he said, lifting Riven out with practiced care. “Definitely hungry.”

  “And mad,” I added, bouncing Lyra against my chest as Elara tried to eat my shoulder. “This one’s trying to bite me.”

  “I think Riven’s yelling at me in a full sentence,” Apolloh muttered, already rocking him gently.

  We scrambled, half-blind with sleep, both of us whispering soft reassurances as we moved around the room—feeding, soothing, rocking, and patting backs with desperate determination. Liora settled first, calm once she was cradled securely in my arms. Lyra had to be walked in laps around the room. Elara needed my skin against hers to stop fussing. And Riven… Riven only calmed when Apolloh started humming under his breath again, that deep, warm sound rumbling through his chest.

  Eventually, the cries softened to hiccups, and then to nothing at all. We laid them back into the bassinet, one by one, all four pressed close together in their tiny woven nest, limbs overlapping like they couldn’t sleep without touching.

  I collapsed back into the bed, heart pounding, body aching. Apolloh flopped down beside me, his arm brushing mine as we stared up at the ceiling in silence.

  “I’m scared to close my eyes,” I whispered.

  “I’m scared to move,” he whispered back.

  We turned to look at each other—exhausted, undone, completely in love. And then we laughed. Quiet, breathless laughter that cracked the last bit of tension between us and made everything feel okay again.

  We didn’t sleep much the rest of that night.

  But we were together.

  And that was enough.

  Morning came far too quickly.

  I barely remembered falling back asleep, only that the sun was already climbing through the window by the time the bassinet rustled again—soft squeaks, little grunts, then full-blown wailing in stereo. My body screamed in protest as I sat up, but Apolloh was already moving too, one sock on, one sock missing, hair sticking up in every direction.

  “Who’s hungry this time?” he muttered, peeking into the bassinet with one eye still closed.

  “All of them,” I said, groaning as I reached for Lyra. “It’s always all of them.”

  Somehow, the day had begun.

  From that point forward, it felt like time stopped existing altogether. There was no such thing as a peaceful minute. There was just the next bottle, the next burp, the next diaper. Apolloh and I tried our best to move in sync, but half the time we bumped into each other or reached for the same baby at once.

  At one point, Riven spit up on Apolloh while Lyra managed to kick a cup of water off the table. I stepped on a pacifier. Twice. Liora screamed every time I laid her down. Elara only wanted to be held facing out and got mad when I forgot.

  “I think I’ve reheated this tea five times,” I muttered, staring blankly at the cold mug in my hands.

  A knock at the door broke through the chaos, followed by the door swinging open—Zia entered with her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back, like she’d already prepared for battle.

  “We brought food,” she announced, and behind her, Jaxe followed with an armful of containers and a huge stack of clean towels.

  “Oh, thank the goddess,” I breathed.

  “Where do you want us?” Jaxe asked.

  “Anywhere you can stand,” Apolloh said, bouncing Liora with one arm while stirring a pot with the other. “We’re in survival mode.”

  The cavalry had arrived.

  Zia went straight to the kitchen and took over, pushing Apolloh out with a firm but loving hand. “You’re not cooking. You’re a new dad. Go sit down before you melt into the floor.”

  Jaxe handed me a fresh burp cloth before picking up Riven. “Alright, little warrior. Let’s give your mom a break before she hides under the table.”

  More pack members trickled in throughout the morning. Some brought fresh linens. Others swept the floor or folded laundry that had been forgotten on the chairs. Kailaa and Elias proudly took charge of “guarding the bassinet” and ended up singing off-key lullabies while Riven tried to wiggle out of his swaddle again.

  I finally had a moment to sit, nestled on the couch with Lyra against my chest and Elara curled on my lap. Apolloh lowered himself beside me with a long, winded sigh, setting a plate of Zia’s food on the table before we forgot to eat again.

  The house still buzzed with noise—people moving, babies grunting, Kailaa asking if she could try changing a diaper—but it felt different now. Less chaotic. More like a rhythm was beginning to form.

  “I thought today would never end,” I whispered.

  Apolloh leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple. “It kind of didn’t. But we’re still standing.”

  “And so are they,” I added, glancing at the bassinet where Liora and Riven now slept again, their tiny chests rising and falling in sync.

  He smiled at me, hand covering mine. “We’re doing it.”

  We really were.

  By the time evening rolled in, the sun cast long golden streaks through the windows, making everything look warmer than it felt. The chaos had softened into something slower, quieter—like the whole house had finally taken a deep breath.

  The babies were all clean, fed, and in fresh onesies, napping in shifts that overlapped just enough to keep our heads above water. I sat curled up on the oversized chair, feet tucked beneath me, watching as Elias gently rocked Liora’s cradle. He took the job very seriously, tongue peeking out in concentration while he hummed some made-up tune.

  Kailaa tiptoed up beside him, holding a folded blanket. “You have to keep her warm too, Elias. Babies get chilly.”

  “She’s already wearing two layers,” he whispered back. “But okay.”

  A few feet away, Zia and Jaxe were quietly straightening up the kitchen, putting the last of the dishes away and reorganizing the bottles without needing to be asked. Zia glanced over at me with a soft smile, eyes lingering on the way I cradled Lyra against my chest.

  “You look more tired than I’ve ever seen you,” she said gently, “but also more… you.”

  I smiled. “I feel like I’ve aged fifty years since last night.”

  “You probably have,” Apolloh chimed in from the other room. He reemerged with a fresh shirt and damp hair, the telltale signs of a very quick, very interrupted shower. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “But I still can’t stop looking at you.”

  Heat flushed my cheeks, and I looked down at Lyra, pretending I wasn’t smiling.

  Jaxe plopped down onto the couch nearby and let out a long, dramatic sigh. “So, is it like this every day now?”

  “This was a good day,” I said.

  Everyone groaned in sympathy, but it was full of warmth. Liora stirred in her cradle. Elias immediately shushed everyone and waved his arms like he was orchestrating a symphony. “Quiet! She’s doing the face thing again!”

  We all held our breath… but she settled.

  Apolloh crossed the room and gently scooped Lyra out of my arms. “Go lie down, love. Just for a little bit. I’ll keep them close.”

  I hesitated, then slowly stood, my legs stiff and aching, but grateful. “You’ll come with me?”

  “Always.”

  He handed Lyra to Kailaa for a moment and helped me into bed, the quiet hum of voices from the next room lulling me into a sense of peace I hadn’t felt since the moment the first cry rang out the night before. He climbed in beside me, pulling the blankets up, his hand instinctively finding mine beneath the covers.

  We didn’t say anything. Just listened.

  To the muffled voices of our pack. To Kailaa giggling softly as Riven grunted and stretched in his sleep. To Elias making up a lullaby that didn’t rhyme but still somehow worked.

  It was still messy. Still exhausting.

  But this was the heart of our home now.

  And I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

  By the time dawn broke again, it felt like I’d only blinked. Pale blue light leaked through the curtains, soft and cool against the stone floor. The warmth of Apolloh’s body beside mine kept me from moving right away, but I could already hear quiet sounds from the other room—gentle shuffling, a whispered yawn, the unmistakable crinkle of someone trying to open a clean diaper without waking a baby.

  I slipped out of bed as carefully as I could manage and padded into the living space.

  Kailaa was sitting cross-legged near the bassinet, her hair wild from sleep but her face glowing with pride as she held Elara, wrapped up like a little burrito in a pink blanket. “She didn’t even cry this time,” she whispered when she saw me. “I just picked her up, and she sighed. That means she likes me.”

  “She loves you,” I said softly, coming over to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for helping.”

  Elias was already sprawled in a nest of pillows beside Riven, who was snuggled against his side and drooling into the fabric of his shirt. “I think he’s my favorite,” he announced sleepily. “But don’t tell the others.”

  “They can hear you,” I teased, and he immediately looked guilty before whispering an apology toward the bassinet.

  Zia had apparently spent the night on the nearby couch, one arm flung over her face, the other reaching for the cup of tea on the table she hadn’t managed to finish. Jaxe walked back into the room with two steaming mugs and handed one to her with a knowing look. “Still think we’re ready for kids?”

  “Don’t you dare ask me that before I’ve had my tea,” she groaned, sitting up.

  Apolloh wandered in shirtless and half asleep, rubbing his hand through his hair and looking far too attractive for someone who hadn’t had more than three hours of rest. He blinked at the scene—the pups spread out like tiny stars, Kailaa and Elias playing their roles like they’d always belonged here, and our pack bustling around like this was just how mornings worked now.

  He met my eyes across the room and smiled. “They all made it through another night.”

  “So did we,” I said, stepping into his arms the moment he opened them.

  Zia got up and started preparing breakfast while humming under her breath. Jaxe handled the laundry pile. Kailaa helped fold the tiny onesies, holding each one up like a sacred artifact. Elias insisted on being in charge of organizing the sock drawer, which led to him wearing two pairs at once and announcing that “doubling up keeps you twice as fast.”

  For a little while, the morning unfolded in a rhythm that felt good. Normal, even.

  I held Elara as I sat beside the hearth, and Apolloh joined me, Riven asleep against his chest. The chaos was still there, always under the surface—but it no longer felt overwhelming. It felt like life.

  Our life.

  And every bit of it was worth it.

  ~~~

  By late afternoon, the air outside had warmed just enough to coax everyone out into the courtyard. The sun hung low in the sky, bathing everything in golden light. Flowers were tucked along the railing, gathered by Kailaa and Elias earlier in the day, their bright colors dancing in the breeze. A few elders from the pack arrived quietly, respectful and smiling, their hands full of soft gifts—blankets, hand-carved charms, little bundles of dried herbs for protection and luck.

  I stood near the stone fountain, swaying gently with Lyra in my arms, her tiny head tucked beneath my chin. Apolloh stood beside me, holding Riven. Zia had Elara resting in a sling against her chest, while Jaxe carried Liora, grinning at the way she grunted every time someone cooed at her.

  Kailaa and Elias stood front and center, their faces beaming with pride, like they were the ones getting named.

  The courtyard quieted as one of the oldest pack members stepped forward—Soren, his silver hair tied back, a carved walking stick in one hand. He had officiated more ceremonies than I could count. But when he looked at me, at Apolloh, there was a warmth in his gaze that made my throat tighten.

  “We gather today,” he began, his voice low and steady, “to welcome four new souls into the heart of our pack. Born under the watchful moon and sun, children of strength, light, and legacy. Let them be known. Let them be seen. Let them be loved.”

  Apolloh and I turned to each other, nodding in silent agreement. Then, together, we spoke their names.

  “Elara,” I said first, lifting her name into the air like a song. “Gentle light. Quiet wisdom.”

  “Lyra,” Apolloh followed, his voice soft and full. “The melody of the stars. Fierce and bright.”

  “Liora,” I added, the name catching on a breath. “Bringer of light, small and bold.”

  “And Riven,” Apolloh finished, holding our son a little closer. “Strength in stillness. Steady heart.”

  Soren lifted his staff and touched it to the earth once, sealing the moment in silence. “They are known,” he said. “And they are home.”

  The pack let out a quiet cheer—no loud celebration, no chaos. Just warmth. Acceptance. Arms open wide. I watched as Kailaa reached for Lyra, whispering something to her only they would understand. Elias sat cross-legged beside Riven and gently tapped his fingers along the baby’s foot like he was trying to teach him a rhythm only they shared.

  One by one, pack members came forward, placing blessings into the woven basket near the fountain. Small gifts. Words murmured softly over tiny heads. Zia added a silver charm shaped like a crescent moon for each of the girls. Jaxe tied a strip of cloth with runes to Riven’s wrist—temporary, gentle, but full of meaning.

  I turned to Apolloh as the sun dipped a little lower, catching the shimmer of emotion in his eyes.

  “They’re ours,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “And they’re everyone’s.”

  And that was exactly how it should be.

  As the ceremony softened into a quiet gathering, the crowd began to ebb and flow around us—family brushing against family, gentle laughter carrying on the breeze, but all of it centered around the little ones in our arms. Each blessing was more than tradition—it was a piece of someone’s heart, offered freely to our children.

  Zia was the first to approach after the formal words were spoken. She moved with purpose, untying the soft moon charms she’d hung around her wrist for safekeeping.

  “These are for protection,” she said, her voice quiet as she leaned in, resting a palm gently on Elara’s back. “For knowing when to trust your instincts. For strength in silence.”

  Then she turned to Lyra, brushing a kiss against her brow. “And for you—may your voice always be heard. Even when you’re the smallest in the room.”

  She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Her eyes spoke volumes.

  Jaxe followed right behind, with the kind of energy that could make anyone feel like a hero in their own story. He held Riven like he was already picturing adventures they’d have together.

  “I want to be the first to teach you how to climb trees,” he said with mock seriousness, then leaned in. “But don’t tell your dad. He’s still mad about the roof incident.”

  I raised a brow at Apolloh, who only shook his head, grinning.

  Jaxe knelt down by Liora next. “For you, little firefly—I hope you always burn just bright enough to find your way, but not so bright you forget to rest.”

  He tied a small strip of leather around her wrist, braided and worn, clearly his.

  “Was mine when I was a runt,” he added softly. “It brought me luck. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.”

  Then came Kailaa. She didn’t rush. She stood in front of all four bassinets and looked at each baby like they were a masterpiece she had secretly painted herself.

  “For Elara,” she said, slipping a flower she’d picked into the edge of the blanket, “because I think you’ll grow up to be the kind of girl who sees things others miss.”

  “For Lyra,” she placed a single smooth stone on the edge of the bassinet, “so you always remember to stay grounded. Even when you’re flying.”

  “For Liora…” she hesitated, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny bead she’d made from clay earlier in the week. “You’re going to be a little wild, huh? This one’s from my first time learning how to paint. I messed it up. But I kept it. Because sometimes messy things are the most beautiful.”

  And finally, she knelt by Riven, her smile a little more gentle, a little more protective.

  “For you, little brother,” she whispered, laying a small scrap of woven cloth beside him—the one she used to carry everywhere as a baby. “Because you’re ours now. And I want you to always have a piece of home, no matter where you go.”

  Elias came last, stepping forward with arms full of something wrapped in cloth. “I made you all something too.”

  He unwrapped the bundle, revealing four lumpy, colorful cloth dolls. One for each baby—slightly uneven, clearly stitched with love, and utterly perfect.

  “They’re bedtime guards,” he said proudly. “They keep bad dreams away. But only if you let them nap with you.”

  He placed each one carefully, murmuring something under his breath to each doll as though giving them instructions.

  “Don’t worry,” he said seriously to me, “they know how to fight.”

  My throat tightened as I gathered Lyra into my arms again. Apolloh shifted beside me, gently nudging Riven’s doll closer to his blanket.

  All around us, our family stood—Zia and Jaxe, Kailaa and Elias, the pack members who’d watched us grow, who’d waited for this moment alongside us. Their presence was steady. Their love, overwhelming.

  The babies didn’t know what any of this meant yet.

  But I did.

  And one day, they would too.

  As the last rays of sunlight slipped behind the trees and the courtyard began to empty, the space softened around us. Zia gave one final kiss to Elara’s cheek before whispering, “We’ll give you the night,” and disappearing with Jaxe into the halls. Kailaa and Elias followed behind, but not before each of them turned for one last peek at the babies—as if parting with them, even for a night, was almost too much.

  And then, it was just us again.

  Apolloh carried two of the babies while I held the other two, and together, we returned to our room, the door closing behind us with a comforting thud. The gentle crackle of the fire welcomed us back, casting a soft orange glow across the stone walls.

  I exhaled slowly and looked around—our nest of pillows and blankets, the bassinet now lined with little gifts, and the dolls Elias had made perched like loyal sentinels around the edges.

  Home.

  We settled in, side by side on the floor, legs stretched out and babies cradled close. Lyra shifted in my arms, letting out a little whimper before sighing and tucking her face beneath my chin. Elara was already asleep on Apolloh’s chest, her tiny hand gripping a bit of his shirt. Liora blinked sleepily at the firelight, her lips twitching in a soft smile. Riven, the calmest of the four, lay nestled in the crook of Apolloh’s arm, as if this had always been his rightful place.

  “I didn’t know it could feel like this,” I whispered.

  Apolloh looked at me, his expression warm and full of something I couldn’t quite name—something deeper than joy, heavier than peace. “Like what?”

  “Like everything,” I murmured. “Like the past is behind us, and the future is right here, breathing against my skin.”

  He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then rested his against mine. “They’re the start of something better,” he said. “For us. For everyone.”

  We stayed like that for a while, the quiet wrapping around us like a blanket. No pressure, no noise, no duty beyond this—holding them, being here, breathing slow.

  One by one, their little bodies grew heavy with sleep. Apolloh helped me gently place them in the bassinet, arranging each of them with soft hands and lingering touches. The dolls stayed beside them like tiny guardians. I added Kailaa’s flower and Elias’s cloth back where they belonged.

  We climbed into bed together, muscles aching and hearts full. I curled into Apolloh’s side, and for the first time in what felt like forever, we didn’t say anything at all.

  We didn’t have to.

  Sleep came easily—at least, for a little while.

  Until, somewhere deep into the night, a shrill, hungry wail shattered the silence. Then another. And another.

  Then all four.

  I sat bolt upright. Apolloh groaned beside me, covering his face with a pillow.

  “We jinxed it,” he mumbled.

  “No,” I said, already reaching for the edge of the bed. “We had an intermission. Now it’s the encore.”

  We rushed to the bassinet—half stumbling, half laughing through our exhaustion—and there they were. All four of them, red-faced and furious, their hunger echoing off the stone walls.

  “Okay, okay, we hear you,” Apolloh soothed, his voice raspy from sleep. “Loud and clear.”

  And just like that, the quiet was over.

  For now.