The morning sun had already begun to stretch long golden fingers across the floor by the time I finally stirred again. My body felt like it had never quite left the night behind—every bone achy, every breath heavier than it should’ve been. Sleep had come and gone in ragged waves, never letting me fully rest. I remembered the dream. Every vivid, haunting detail of it.

  But I didn’t speak of it yet.

  Apolloh helped me sit up slowly, his hands warm on my back. “Just take it easy today,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against my temple. “We’ll handle things together.”

  The pups had been taken out earlier, likely by Zia or Jaxe, and the room was quiet save for the soft shifting of blankets and the occasional coo from the bassinet.

  I barely touched my breakfast, though Apolloh tried to coax me into eating. My thoughts were already elsewhere.

  The Elders.

  The stone.

  That dream hadn’t been just a dream.

  By midmorning, I’d managed to get myself dressed with Apolloh’s help—nothing elaborate, just something warm and soft that wouldn’t press too tightly on my still-recovering body. As we stepped out of the room together, the hallway felt too quiet, too calm, like the world didn’t know what I’d seen.

  “Are you sure you want to do this today?” Apolloh asked gently, eyes scanning my face.

  “I have to,” I said. “I need answers. If something’s coming—if it means anything—I need to know.”

  We moved through the corridors in silence for a while, side by side. I leaned into his warmth, grateful for it even now. Eventually, the door to the Elders’ chamber came into view, carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the morning light.

  I swallowed hard as we approached.

  Time to speak the dream aloud. Time to ask if the stone had shifted, pulsed, reacted. Time to find out if what I’d seen was only the beginning.

  The walk to the Elders’ chamber felt longer than usual, every step weighted by exhaustion and the remnants of fear I couldn’t shake. Apolloh stayed close beside me, silent but steady, his hand occasionally brushing against mine. I hadn’t said much all morning. I didn’t have the words for what that dream had left behind.

  The moment we stepped inside, the hush of the chamber met us. The Elders had already gathered, their gazes sharp but not unkind as we approached.

  “You’re welcome here, Laika,” Elder Anwen said first. Her voice was calm, but not soft. “Come. Sit.”

  I sat down slowly, settling onto the cushion they offered, and tried to find the words—though they felt too small for what I’d seen. What I’d felt.

  “It didn’t feel like a dream,” I said softly, my voice hoarse. “I wasn’t in bed anymore. Everything was gone—the room, the warmth, all of it. I was standing in a field… endless, covered in this thick silver mist. The sky was blank. No stars, no color—just a pulsing void above me. And there were these whispers on the wind. They sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place them.”

  Apolloh’s hand found my back, grounding me, and I took a shaky breath.

  “Then there was this sound behind me, like something burning. And when I turned, I saw it. A figure. Cloaked in shadows. No face. Just… standing there. Watching me. It didn’t speak, but it pointed.”

  I hesitated as the memory stabbed through me again—sharp, urgent.

  “And the ground—it cracked open. Fire and stone. Screams rising from below. I tried to run, but it felt like I was sinking, like the earth was holding me back. Then I saw them.”

  I swallowed, barely holding my voice steady.

  “The babies. Liora, Lyra, Elara, Riven. They were scattered. Crying. Reaching. And then… they started to fade. I tried to get to them, but I couldn’t move fast enough. The smoke was swallowing them. And I just—” I looked down, voice breaking, “I screamed. For real. I woke up screaming their names.”

  The chamber was quiet.

  I glanced up, meeting the eyes of each Elder in turn. “It wasn’t just a dream,” I said. “I felt it in my bones. Something was reaching for them. Or for me.”

  The chamber remained still.

  Not silent—no, silence felt too gentle. This was heavier. Like the air itself had stopped moving, holding its breath in response to what I’d said.

  The Elders didn’t speak at first. They sat with my words, letting them ripple through the space like a pebble dropped into still water. One of them—Elder Mira—shifted slightly, her eyes distant, as though tracing each image I’d painted in her mind.

  A deep creak of old wood echoed as Elder Tovin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Still, no one rushed to speak. Not even Apolloh.

  And somehow, that silence made it feel real all over again.

  Like they knew something. Or feared they did.

  Finally, Mira’s voice broke the quiet.

  She studied me carefully, her expression unreadable. “This dream, Laika… it’s a warning, and it’s tied to the stone. But what exactly it means, I’m not yet certain.”

  Elder Tovin shifted beside her, his hand brushing the edge of his beard as he processed my words. “The stone was never meant to be easily understood. But dreams such as these,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “are often a reflection of things hidden from us. The question is, what are we supposed to do with this warning?”

  Apolloh was still beside me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder, a steadying presence. But the tension in his posture was hard to ignore. He, too, seemed caught between the world of the waking and the realm of the dream.

  “I think… I think we need to be ready,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever this is, it’s coming for us.”

  Elder Mira exchanged a glance with Elder Tovin, their quiet understanding speaking volumes.

  “Then we’ll begin preparations,” she said, rising slowly to her feet. “Discreet ones. We don’t want to alarm the pack without cause—but we also won’t be caught unready.”

  Elder Tovin gave a slow nod. “And we’ll consult the archives. There may be something in the old texts… something we’ve overlooked.”

  Apolloh stood with me, his hand never leaving mine as we exited the chamber. The moment the doors closed behind us, the weight of what had just happened settled fully into my bones. The dream still lingered in the edges of my mind—those cries, the figure, the smoke.

  We walked in silence for a few moments, the morning air crisp and bright around us.

  “Do you want to go back to the pups?” Apolloh asked gently.

  I hesitated. I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in their scent, to count every finger and toe and reassure myself they were real. Safe. But I also knew… something was shifting. Something was coming.

  I gave a small nod. “Yeah. I need to see them.”

  And with that, we headed back—home, for now—while the dream simmered quietly behind my ribs, like a fire waiting for wind.

  ——

  The walk back to our quarters was quiet, but everything inside me was loud. My footsteps felt too heavy. The halls felt too bright. My chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with recovery.

  When we stepped into the room, the scent of home wrapped around me—warm milk, soft blankets, and that newborn sweetness that never seemed to fade.

  Zia looked up from where she sat beside the bassinet, her eyes gentle. “They just settled down a few minutes ago. Perfect timing.”

  I didn’t answer her. I couldn’t. My eyes had already found them—Liora’s tiny fingers twitching in sleep, Lyra curled in the exact same position as Riven, and Elara’s mouth opening in a little sigh.

  They were real.

  They were safe.

  And I crumbled.

  A soft, broken sound fell from my lips as I dropped to my knees beside the bassinet. I reached in, gathering as many of them as I could into my arms—two, then three, then four—cradling their warm, wiggly little bodies against my chest like it would keep the dream away.

  I buried my face in their softness and sobbed.

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  The tears came without warning—deep, shaking sobs I couldn’t hold back if I tried. Not this time. All the strength I had been clinging to since I woke up screaming, since I sat in front of the Elders trying to sound steady, shattered in that moment.

  Apolloh knelt beside me, one arm around my shoulders, the other resting gently over our babies. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to stop the tears. He just stayed with me—solid, steady, safe.

  ——

  I didn’t notice Zia slip away.

  I was too deep in it—in the trembling of my arms as I held them, in the wetness of my cheeks, in the way their tiny breaths pressed against my skin like they were reminding me to breathe, too. The four of them squirmed gently, making those soft newborn noises that always tugged at something deep in my chest.

  I rocked slightly, though I didn’t remember starting to. It was instinct, maybe. Desperation. Comfort. I wasn’t sure. My body moved while my mind stayed frozen in that dream-space, the images still clinging like fog.

  A fire that didn’t burn. A scream that wasn’t mine—but was. The feeling of losing them.

  I held them closer, nose buried in their soft hair, as if I could hold all of them tightly enough to erase the echoes.

  Apolloh’s hand rubbed gentle circles on my back, his other arm braced across my knees to keep me grounded, to keep me whole.

  And still, he said nothing.

  Because he didn’t need to.

  Just outside the room, the door clicked softly into place.

  Zia knew we needed this. Just us.

  Just this moment.

  And I stayed there, holding the four like they were my anchor to a world that had started to feel too thin. My tears slowed, but they didn’t stop—not yet.

  Not until I was sure we were still here.

  Still safe.

  Still together.

  I didn’t know how long I stayed like that.

  The weight of them in my arms was grounding, yes, but also fragile—like the whole world might shatter if I loosened my grip. My breathing came in soft hiccups, chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven, like my body hadn’t caught up to the safety of now.

  But they were here.

  All four of them.

  Warm. Alive. Real.

  Elara twitched against my chest, a tiny sound bubbling from her throat. Riven’s fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. Lyra’s lashes fluttered, brushing my skin. Liora stretched with a soft grunt and settled again, pressed between her siblings like she’d never been anywhere else.

  I kissed the crown of Liora’s head, then Lyra’s, then Elara’s, then Riven’s—careful and slow, like a ritual. My voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, trembling with something too big to name.

  “I thought I lost you.”

  Apolloh shifted closer, arms around all of us now. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. His warmth, his presence, the quiet way he tucked his chin against the top of my head—it said everything.

  A breath passed between us.

  Then another.

  Finally, I found enough strength to lean back just slightly, enough to meet his eyes.

  “We need to figure out what it means,” I murmured. “The dream. The stone. All of it. Because whatever it was…” I swallowed. “It wasn’t just a nightmare. I felt it.”

  He nodded once, firm. “We will.”

  And still, the quiet hummed around us. Still, the babies stirred softly, unaware of the shadows lingering behind their mother’s eyes. Still, the moment clung to us—tender and sharp all at once.

  But for now, it was enough just to hold them.

  To breathe.

  To begin again.

  ——

  Just when I thought the quiet might last a little longer, a tiny fussing sound broke through the stillness.

  Then another.

  And another.

  All four stirred, almost in harmony—squirming and kicking gently in my arms, their hunger rising in breathy little cries. Liora was the first to squawk, her mouth already rooting against the blanket, followed quickly by Elara’s impatient grunt. Lyra and Riven weren’t far behind, their tiny faces scrunching with earnest, sleepy protest.

  A shaky laugh slipped out of me—wet with the edge of lingering tears, but real.

  “Okay, okay,” I whispered, brushing their cheeks with my fingertips. “I hear you. One moment, little ones.”

  I shifted gently, supported by Apolloh’s arms as he helped ease the blanket away. With practiced care, I guided Liora and Elara to nurse first, one nestled against each side. The moment their mouths latched, the cries softened to little sighs, replaced by the rhythm of tiny gulps and relaxed fingers.

  Lyra and Riven waited their turn tucked against Apolloh’s chest, their soft grumbles fading as he whispered to them and rubbed slow circles into their backs. Their patience was short-lived, of course—but it bought us enough time.

  I leaned back again, exhaling slowly as I cradled the girls.

  “They’re growing so fast already,” I murmured, almost to myself.

  “They are,” Apolloh said, his voice low. “And they’re strong. Just like their momma.”

  The warmth of that settled in my chest. Just enough to ease the tremble still lingering there.

  A few minutes later, it was the others’ turn. I carefully switched the girls into Apolloh’s arms and welcomed Lyra and Riven next—each one latching quickly like they’d been waiting their whole lives for this moment.

  And maybe they had.

  The room, still dim and quiet, pulsed with something new now. Not fear. Not even peace.

  Just… love.

  Gentle. Undeniable.

  And for now, that was more than enough.

  Once they had finished nursing—each one drifting off with their tiny fists curled against my skin—I eased them back into the bassinet, careful not to wake them. Riven let out a soft sigh in his sleep. Elara stirred once, then stilled. My hand lingered a moment longer, brushing Lyra’s cheek, tucking a blanket closer around Liora.

  They were safe. Here. Real.

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and leaned back into Apolloh’s chest, my body fitting into the space where I always seemed to belong. His arms wrapped around me like they always did—steadily, silently. A wordless promise.

  He didn’t say anything right away. Just held me, his presence strong and grounding in a world that still felt like it might tip sideways at any moment.

  Then his fingers brushed back a strand of hair from my face. “You don’t have to carry this alone,” he murmured, voice low, rough with feeling. “I’ve got you, Laika. Always.”

  A tear slid down my cheek again—but this time, it wasn’t from fear. Just release.

  “I know,” I whispered, the words catching on a breath that felt too big to let go of all at once.

  I sank deeper into him, letting the sound of our children’s breathing lull me. The room held a quiet that wasn’t empty—it was full of us. Full of them.

  I didn’t even realize my body had started to shake until his hands found my shoulders again—warm, grounding. I blinked up at him through blurry lashes, lips parted to speak, but no words came.

  Apolloh didn’t ask. He just moved.

  I felt his arms slide beneath me, steady and sure, the fabric of his shirt brushing my cheek as he lifted me effortlessly off the floor. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as I leaned into him, heart still pounding from the weight of everything.

  I could tell from the way he held me—like I was something breakable, precious—that he knew I was close to unraveling again.

  The shift in space was subtle. Familiar.

  He was taking me back to our bed.

  Each step was quiet, slow, like he didn’t want to disturb the air too much. I pressed my face into his shoulder and breathed him in, grounding myself in the scent of pine, warmth, and him.

  He eased me down onto the mattress with care, his hands lingering on my arms as if checking to make sure I was really okay to let go.

  I wasn’t. Not completely.

  But I was here. With him. And for now… that was enough.

  Once he tucked the blankets around me, Apolloh lingered for a moment, his hand brushing gently over my hair, eyes filled with that protective softness I’d come to rely on. But there was something in the way he held himself that made me feel like he wasn’t sure if I needed comfort or space. He stayed, though, just within reach.

  I reached out for him, my hand weakly grasping at his sleeve. “Stay with me,” I whispered, barely above a breath.

  Without a word, he slipped into bed beside me, pulling me into the curve of his body. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just him there. But that was all I needed.

  We stayed like that for what felt like hours, the house quiet around us, the stillness pressing down like a comforting weight. The day didn’t seem to want to start—not yet. And in that space, in the warmth of him, I allowed myself to breathe.

  But then I felt it—a shift.

  The weight of the room slowly started to change. I could feel the presence of the others—Kailaa and Elias were awake now, running down the hall, their tiny footsteps loud in the otherwise quiet morning. I could hear Zia and Jaxe talking softly, and the low hum of conversations I couldn’t quite catch.

  It was all normal. The bustle of the day calling, life continuing despite the weight of what had happened. But for now, in this quiet corner of the world, I let myself stay in the comfort of the moment.

  It wouldn’t last forever, but it was enough for now.

  I tightened my grip on Apolloh’s shirt, holding on just a little longer before the world pulled us back.

  ——

  The sound of Kailaa and Elias’ voices echoed from the hallway, their laughter bright and innocent as they ran toward the door. I could hear their excited chatter growing louder before they burst into the room, their faces lit up with energy and curiosity. It was as though nothing had happened, as though the world outside hadn’t just shifted in the way it had. But in here, with Apolloh by my side and the kids brimming with energy, the world felt a little more manageable.

  “Momma!” Kailaa’s voice rang out as she climbed onto the bed, her little hands reaching for me. “Auntie Zia said we could bring breakfast in here today!”

  Elias followed right behind her, his eyes wide with that same eager expression. He handed me a small tray with a bowl of porridge, bread, and a few berries. It was nothing fancy, but the gesture was enough to make me smile.

  “Thank you, sweethearts,” I murmured, reaching out to pull them both close, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure on my still-sensitive body. They crawled into bed, wedging themselves between me and Apolloh, content to settle in for a few quiet moments together.

  I couldn’t help but laugh softly at their antics, despite the heaviness that still lingered in my chest. “You two are full of energy today,” I said, my voice soft but laced with warmth.

  Kailaa beamed, nudging Elias as if she had something important to share. “We’re going to help you today, Momma! We can do lots of things! Like picking flowers, and making sure the babies are happy.”

  Elias nodded, his expression so serious it almost made me laugh again. “We can keep everyone safe, too. We know how.”

  Their words hit me harder than I expected. The weight of their love and their trust in us, in this family we’d built together, was humbling. My heart ached with something fierce and tender all at once.

  “You’re going to make great helpers, I just know it,” I said, squeezing them both tightly. Then, as if to emphasize my point, I turned to Apolloh, giving him a look that said everything. “We’ve got a great team, don’t we?”

  Apolloh’s smile was slow but genuine as he met my gaze, his hand resting on my shoulder. He leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “The best team.”

  And for a moment, everything felt right in the world again—like we were going to be okay.

  The days after my breakdown were a blur, but in the best way. I was still fragile, my mind clouded with the remnants of the dream and the fear that had gripped me. But with each passing hour, I felt more like myself again, the weight of worry and exhaustion slowly lifting.

  The four were my anchor—my source of comfort in those moments when the world felt too heavy. They needed me, and I needed them. It was like we were learning each other anew, their tiny cries and instinctual need for my warmth grounding me when I thought I might lose myself.

  Their growth was subtle, but it didn’t escape me. The way they stared up at me with wide, curious eyes as they nursed, or the tiny sounds they made when they were content, always brought a soft smile to my lips.

  I couldn’t help but notice how they started to settle into a rhythm—two at a time, their little mouths finding me like they knew exactly what they needed. And it didn’t just make my heart swell with love; it reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this journey. Apolloh was always by my side, his touch reassuring as he watched over us both.

  The moments when he took them to burp or hold them while I rested were the ones I cherished most. I couldn’t help but laugh softly when the babies squirmed in his arms, their tiny limbs flailing like they were trying to escape. It was a reminder that, no matter how difficult the road ahead might seem, there was joy in the little things.

  And even though I had my own struggles, I felt a sense of peace in knowing that Apolloh, Zia, Jaxe, and the pack were here, ready to help when I needed it. This newfound balance wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.

  As the days continued, I could feel myself regaining strength—physically and mentally—and the weight of the past few weeks began to feel like it was behind me. My world was no longer spinning out of control. I had found my rhythm, and I was determined to keep moving forward, one step at a time, for my babies. For Apolloh.