All eight of his wives lay resting peacefully on the circular arrangement of beds.
Their faces were tired, their skin glistened faintly with the sheen of exertion, but every one of them wore the same expression—quiet satisfaction and peace, the kind that came only after a battle well fought and won.
The sight made Kafka's chest tighten with emotion.
He walked slowly eyes flicking from one sleeping woman to the next, overwhelmed by the sheer love he felt for them all.
"They're all...beautiful." He whispered to himself. "And they look so peaceful."
But what drew his eyes most of all was the center of the room—a large cradle made of crystal, glowing faintly with holy light.
And there, standing beside it, was Evangeline.
She was smiling warmly, her arms crossed as she watched over the tiny bundles within the cradle.
When she noticed Kafka walking in, she lifted her gaze and greeted him softly.
"You're just in time, proud father."
