The days drifted by in a peaceful haze, the constant rhythm of feeding, rocking, and cooing settling into a new routine. It felt like every day the four were a little more themselves—more aware, more present, and, dare I say, more mischievous.

  Liora had become the first to truly find her voice, if you could call it that. The sound she made—soft, almost musical—rang out like a bell whenever she was upset, and it never failed to make me smile. It was as though she could already sense the world around her, her little brows furrowing as she studied every movement, every sound, every face.

  Lyra, on the other hand, was quieter, more contemplative. She would gaze up at me for long moments, her small hands reaching for the air as if trying to grab something just beyond her reach. I often caught Apolloh watching her in silence, his expression soft, eyes full of wonder. I knew he was just as entranced by her quiet beauty as I was.

  Elara was the playful one, the one who loved to laugh and giggle at the smallest things. Every time she found herself in my arms, her tiny fists would flail around, her eyes lighting up when I made silly faces at her. Riven—oh, Riven—was the wild one, always wriggling, always trying to squirm his way into new places. He was the first to turn his head and look for things—anything—his big eyes wide, his curiosity unrestrained.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as I held them all close, remembering the days when I had worried about whether I could handle being a mother to four. Now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  They were starting to sleep for longer stretches too, though that didn’t always mean a full night’s rest for me. Still, I reveled in the quiet moments when Apolloh and I could sit together in our room, each of us holding one of them, wrapped in a silence that spoke volumes about how far we’d come.

  Kailaa and Elias had taken to helping more, eagerly fetching blankets or offering to entertain the babies when they were a bit too fussy. The twins had developed a sweet bond with each of the four, often making faces and noises to try and get their attention. I smiled at how well they were adjusting—how well they were all adjusting.

  But even with the joy and wonder that the babies brought, there was an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite shake. The dream. The dream that still haunted the edges of my thoughts like a whisper I couldn’t escape. I had told Apolloh about it, but something told me I wasn’t done with it. Something told me it was far from over.

  Still, I pushed those thoughts aside as I settled back into the quiet comfort of my bed, the babies nestled against me. I had a moment of peace, even if fleeting, and I cherished it for what it was.

  Apolloh’s voice cut through the silence. “I think they’re going to be a handful, Laika.”

  I laughed softly, glancing down at the four of them. Lyra, Elara, Liora, and Riven. Each one of them so different, yet so perfectly mine. “I think we’ve got it covered.”

  He smiled at me, his eyes warm. “I’m glad you think so.”

  And for that moment, I did.

  ~~~

  The afternoon sun poured gently through the windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. The room was warm, filled with the quiet hum of life—tiny breaths, the occasional coo, the creak of floorboards as someone shifted.

  I lay on the couch, half-dozing, while Apolloh hummed something under his breath as he folded a light blanket near the bassinets. The twins sat nearby on the rug, watching the four with wide, fascinated eyes—especially Riven, who had somehow managed to roll himself halfway over.

  Kailaa gasped, whispering urgently, “Momma! Did you see that? He moved!”

  Elias, eyes huge, crawled a little closer. “He rolled. I saw it. He rolled.”

  Riven blinked up at them like he hadn’t done anything extraordinary at all, his tiny hands flailing for balance. He made a happy noise, proud and content.

  I smiled, feeling the warmth bloom from somewhere deep in my chest. “He’s getting strong,” I murmured, shifting upright to get a better look. “They all are.”

  Kailaa leaned over carefully, her curls falling forward as she whispered to Riven like it was a secret just between them. “You’re gonna be walking before your sisters if you keep that up.”

  Apolloh chuckled softly. “He’s already trying to race.”

  Lyra gave a soft fuss from the bassinet, as if she didn’t like being outdone, and Elias stood to peek in on her. “They talk to each other, I think,” he said suddenly, his voice full of wonder.

  “They probably do,” I replied. “Just not with words. Yet.”

  The moment was simple. But it was everything.

  Just as Riven settled down with a tired sigh, a soft gurgle drew our attention back to the bassinets. This time, it was Lyra.

  Her hands were curled in tight fists, her eyes locked on the dangling corner of a swaddle blanket that had slipped off the edge of the bassinet. Her little brows furrowed—focused, determined—and then, with a tiny grunt, she reached out and grabbed it.

  Kailaa gasped again, louder this time. “She grabbed it! Momma, did you see that?”

  “She did,” I breathed, sitting up straighter, the ache in my limbs forgotten. “She really did.”

  Lyra waved the cloth triumphantly, squealing at her own strength, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Look at you, sweet girl.”

  “She’s strong too,” Elias whispered, eyes wide with admiration. “Just like you, Momma.”

  My throat tightened. I reached out and drew the twins closer, holding them against my sides, watching Lyra chew on her hard-won prize and Riven blink slowly at the ceiling.

  “They’re all strong,” I murmured. “Just like all of us.”

  Just as Lyra began to lose interest in the cloth and let it drop beside her, a sleepy rustle came from the bassinet beside hers.

  Elara.

  She blinked slowly, long lashes fluttering against her cheeks, her tiny body stretching in that uncoordinated way newborns did—like she was still trying to figure out how everything worked. But then her eyes caught the faint light trickling through the curtains. And she smiled.

  Not a reflexive twitch. A real smile.

  “Momma!” Kailaa breathed, practically bouncing. “She smiled! Did you see? She saw the light and smiled!”

  “She did,” I said, amazed. My voice had dropped to a hush. “She really did…”

  Elara cooed quietly, her gaze still locked on that soft light like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  “She’s your dreamer,” Apolloh murmured beside me, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder.

  I smiled at that. “Yeah… maybe she is.”

  Before the moment could slip away, a soft fussing started from the last bassinet—Liora, shifting under her blanket. She didn’t cry, just squirmed with clear intent, her brow wrinkling like she was on a mission.

  “She’s gonna roll,” Elias whispered. “I think she’s gonna do it!”

  We all leaned forward.

  With one more determined wiggle, Liora rocked herself just enough to tip from her side onto her belly, then let out a surprised little grunt like she hadn’t expected it to work. Her arms flailed, confused, but she didn’t cry.

  She just huffed—and tried again.

  “She’s the feisty one,” Apolloh chuckled.

  “Definitely,” I said, eyes shining. “She’s not gonna wait for anyone.”

  Kailaa and Elias were practically vibrating with pride.

  “They’re getting big so fast…” I whispered, overwhelmed but glowing. “Too fast.”

  “She’s not gonna wait for anyone,” I repeated with a laugh, watching as Liora lifted her head an inch off the mattress like she was trying to prove a point.

  “She’s got your stubborn streak,” Apolloh said without missing a beat.

  I shot him a look. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” he grinned, clearly enjoying himself.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Elias giggled. “She’s definitely yours, Momma.”

  Kailaa leaned in close to Liora, whispering like she was sharing sacred knowledge. “You can be the boss of the babies. I think you already are.”

  I snorted, and Apolloh laughed harder. “Now hold on,” he said, “we’re not establishing a baby hierarchy. They’re not even sitting up yet.”

  “She is!” Elias said, pointing to Liora, who was valiantly trying to lift her chest a little more, now grunting in the effort. “Sort of!”

  Lyra let out a loud burp from her bassinet, startling herself—and everyone else. Her eyes went wide, then she blinked like she was trying to act innocent.

  Kailaa clapped. “That was amazing!”

  I covered my face with both hands, laughing until my eyes watered. “They’re going to be unstoppable. Every single one of them.”

  Riven yawned with dramatic flair, like the conversation bored him now that he wasn’t the center of attention. Elias noticed and said, “He thinks he’s above it all ‘cause he was first today.”

  “He was first,” Kailaa agreed, “but only ‘cause he was closest to the edge. I bet Elara could’ve beat him if she tried.”

  “She’s too busy making goo-goo eyes at sunlight,” Apolloh chimed in with a teasing lilt.

  “She has taste,” I countered. “The rest of you are missing out.”

  “On what? Being blinded?” he shot back.

  We all burst out laughing, even as the four started fussing in soft, sleepy waves—like they were over our nonsense.

  I looked at each of their tiny faces, their distinct expressions, their growing personalities.

  This?

  This was joy.

  ——

  The laughter faded slowly, melting into the quiet rustle of blankets and the soft sounds of the four settling down again. Riven had curled onto his side, thumb near his mouth. Lyra had her fists in her swaddle, still holding onto the cloth like a trophy. Elara blinked lazily at the ceiling, her smile lingering like a secret. Liora had given up on her tummy triumph and now lay peacefully, utterly satisfied with her accomplishment.

  Kailaa and Elias flanked me on either side, their energy finally dipping into something more thoughtful, content. Elias leaned his head against my shoulder, and Kailaa tucked herself gently against my arm.

  Apolloh stood and stretched, his joints cracking in quiet protest. “I’ll make tea,” he said, already heading toward the tiny stove tucked in the corner of the room. “We deserve it.”

  “Make that the good kind,” I called after him, “not the bitter one that tastes like regret.”

  “That’s healing regret,” he shot back over his shoulder.

  I smiled, resting my cheek lightly on Elias’ hair, the warmth of my children soaking into my skin. The kind of tired I felt wasn’t one that begged sleep—but one that came from being full. Full of love. Full of life. Full of hope I hadn’t dared hold onto in months.

  We didn’t need big things right now. No omens, no quests, no riddles to unravel.

  Just this.

  Just us.

  And for now, that was more than enough.

  ——

  The sun had shifted by the time the tea was poured. A warm gold hue stretched across the room, casting soft shadows that danced with every breeze from the cracked window. Apolloh handed me a mug, steam curling upward in slow, lazy swirls.

  “Still not the bitter one,” he promised.

  I sipped, humming in approval. “It better not be. I just started forgiving you for the last time.”

  He smirked as he settled beside me again, shoulder brushing mine.

  The twins were on the floor with a pile of soft cloth toys, half-entertaining themselves, half-checking on the bassinet every five seconds. It was like they couldn’t decide whether they were siblings or junior caretakers.

  “They’re watching,” Apolloh murmured, nodding toward Kailaa and Elias. “Always watching.”

  I followed his gaze. Kailaa was gently mimicking Liora’s earlier wiggle, trying to understand how such a little person had pulled it off. Elias kept pretending to coo at Riven, who seemed very unimpressed.

  “They’re learning,” I said, my voice soft. “How to care. How to love. How to protect.”

  “From us.”

  A pause. I looked at him, and he looked at me.

  “That scares me sometimes,” I admitted.

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.”

  But there was no fear in his voice. Just honesty. A quiet understanding between two people still trying to figure out how to raise a family in a world that kept shifting under their feet.

  And still—we kept walking. Together.

  As if on cue, the soft knock on the door echoed through the quiet room, followed by the faint sound of voices in the hall.

  I glanced up, but Apolloh was already standing, his hand lightly brushing my shoulder as he made his way toward the door.

  “Who’s there?” he called, his tone warm but cautious.

  The door creaked open, revealing Zia, her eyes soft but the faintest crease of concern in her brow.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said, her voice low, “but I think you’ll want to hear this.”

  I felt a stir of unease, a shift that tugged at my chest. Apolloh exchanged a look with me before stepping aside, ushering Zia into the room. She glanced over at the twins, who had paused in their play, clearly aware of the change in the atmosphere. Behind her stood both Tovin and Mira, their faces just as serious.

  “You brought them?” Apolloh asked, his voice hinting at surprise.

  Zia nodded. “We need the wisdom of all of us for what’s coming.”

  I felt a tightness in my chest, a sudden tension in the room that hadn’t been there moments before. Apolloh exchanged a glance with me, then stepped aside to let them all in.

  Zia’s words hung in the air, thick with meaning, the weight settling between us like a stone in water.

  I felt the air shift—more than just in the room, but within myself, as if something deep inside me knew the truth of her words before I could fully process them. The calm we’d just started to find felt too fragile now, as if the world outside our walls was waiting to shatter it.

  Apolloh was the first to speak, his voice quiet, measured. “What kind of storm?”

  Zia hesitated before answering, her eyes flicking to the window, as though the breeze had just carried whispers from the horizon. “Not a natural one. Not in the way we’ve known. It’s something darker, something ancient. And it’s moving quickly.”

  The room seemed to close in. Kailaa, usually so full of questions, stayed silent, her eyes wide and fixed on Zia as though she understood the gravity of what was being said more than the adults in the room.

  Elias, on the other hand, leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What is it? Is it… is it bad?”

  Zia looked at him, her expression softening, but there was no denying the serious undertone in her voice. “Yes, Elias. It’s bad. But we don’t know yet how bad.”

  There was a pause as everyone absorbed her words. The silence stretched until Tovin spoke up, his voice unexpectedly firm for his usual calm demeanor.

  “We’ve been feeling something for days now,” he said, his tone rough with the weight of unspoken fears. “Something in the air, something wrong. The land isn’t as it was. We’ve been tracing its movements, but it’s… faster than we expected.”

  Mira, who had been standing quietly by the window, finally turned to face us. Her face, usually so unreadable, now held the faintest furrow of concern. “There’s more than just strange weather at play,” she added, her voice low. “People are starting to feel the change. It’s stirring something, and I fear it’s not going to stop until it’s confronted.”

  I could see Apolloh’s muscles tense, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “And what do we do about it? We can’t just sit here and wait for it to find us.”

  “Waiting might be our best option for now,” Zia said, though she didn’t sound completely convinced. “We don’t know how to fight it yet. We need more time to understand what this… storm really is.”

  I watched as she looked at the four sleeping babies, the peaceful faces of our children casting a fragile blanket of calm over the tension in the room. How could the world be on the brink of something dark when they were so serene?

  Tovin’s eyes softened as he turned to me. “We won’t let anything happen to them, Laika. To any of you.”

  The heaviness in the room didn’t lift, but I felt something flicker deep inside—a spark of hope, small but persistent. “We can handle it,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else. “We’ll protect them.”

  There was a long moment where no one spoke. The only sounds were the soft murmurs of the four in their sleep and the rustling of leaves outside. We were left with the weight of the unknown hanging over us.

  Finally, Zia cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “We should prepare. Quietly. We’ll gather what we need. The less we draw attention, the better.”

  “We’ll figure this out,” Apolloh said quietly, as though speaking more to himself than to anyone else. He looked at me, his eyes filled with determination—and something darker, something I hadn’t seen in him before.

  I reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “We always do.”

  But even as I said the words, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this time would be different. The storm that was coming wasn’t something we could simply weather. It was something we would have to face.

  And I didn’t know if we were ready.

  ——

  Once I was settled enough, the decision was made to call a meeting. Preparations needed to begin, and delaying further could put us all at risk. The others knew it, too.

  The four were still too young to be left alone, and the twins weren’t old enough to sit through something like this—not with how heavy the conversation was bound to get. So Kira offered, without hesitation, to watch over them. I kissed each of the babies one last time, whispered reassurances I wasn’t sure I fully believed, and stepped away.

  Kira nodded to me gently, already gathering the twins and scooping up one of the four into her arms. I watched as Lyra snuggled into her shoulder, small hands curling into Kira’s collar as if she understood.

  “They’ll be safe with me,” Kira said softly, the surety in her voice helping me keep my legs from giving out again.

  I nodded, gave her a grateful smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, and turned toward the council chamber.

  It was time.

  ——

  The council chamber felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was just me. The stone walls stood tall and still, like silent witnesses to the weight we carried into the room. A long table had been cleared and surrounded with chairs, and already a few familiar faces were seated: Elder Mira, Elder Tovin, Zia—her presence calm but alert—and Elder Caelen, who stood at the far end, arms crossed and eyes dark with unspoken thought.

  I slipped into a seat beside Apolloh, who reached under the table to take my hand in his. The warmth grounded me.

  Elder Mira was the first to speak. “The storm in the vision… you believe it’s more than a dream.”

  “It wasn’t just a dream,” I said quietly, but with conviction. “There was a presence in the mist—faceless, cloaked in shadow. It didn’t speak, but it pointed. And when it did… the earth split. The sky vanished. There was fire. Smoke. I heard the babies—mine—crying. And I couldn’t reach them.”

  Tovin leaned forward slightly. “You saw them clearly?”

  I nodded. “Liora. Lyra. Elara. Riven. Scattered. Fading. I screamed until my chest ached, but they just kept slipping away.”

  Silence settled over the table like ash. No one moved. No one questioned what I’d said. Zia’s jaw had tightened. Caelen stared into the table, eyes shadowed.

  Finally, Mira inhaled slowly. “If this storm is more than metaphor… then we must prepare. Not only for its arrival, but for what it represents.”

  Caelen looked up. “We don’t know what form it will take. But if the dream has any truth to it… we might not be facing just a storm. We might be facing something sentient.”

  Something malevolent.

  The weight of those unspoken words pressed in like fog.

  Zia stood, folding her arms. “Then we train. We gather our strongest. And we learn to stand against it.”

  I took a breath and straightened my shoulders. The meeting had already begun to shift in tone—urgency humming beneath every word.

  Elder Mira stood near the hearth, her fingers curled loosely around a carved staff. “What you saw in your dream…” she said carefully, “it may not have been just a dream. Visions like that come with warnings. We must treat it as one.”

  Elder Tovin nodded in agreement. “The land is uneasy. The air carries a charge I haven’t felt since the old storms.”

  Caelen rested his hands on the table. “Then we start preparing. Not just for shelter, but for defense. We don’t know what form this threat will take, but we won’t be caught unaware.”

  There were murmurs of agreement. Plans began to take shape—assignments of scouts to monitor the skies and outer territory, strengthening wards at the perimeter, and gathering supplies.

  My heart was still unsettled, but as the weight of action replaced the fog of fear, I found something solid to hold onto.

  We didn’t have answers. Not yet.

  But we weren’t waiting for the storm to come to us.

  We would meet it prepared.