The cottage was quieter than it had ever been.
For years, laughter and clinking mugs had filled its halls — Elara's voice carrying above all the rest. Now, that same silence pressed against every wall, soft and heavy, only broken by the gentle cry of a newborn.
Arin.
Mira hummed softly as she rocked him by the window, the morning sun painting her white sleeves gold. His violet eyes blinked slowly, studying her face like he already understood she was someone safe.
Kaelith leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "He doesn't cry much for a baby."
"That's because you're watching," Mira replied with a faint smile. "You scare even the gods, Kael."
Kaelith grinned. "Good. Maybe he'll grow up tough."
Evelyn entered with a tray of warm milk. "He doesn't need to be tough yet," she said softly, setting it down beside Mira. "He needs warmth. Not fire."
Kaelith rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
On the couch, Lyra sat quietly, sewing a tiny tunic from leftover cloth — her hands steady, her gaze distant. Seraph, sitting opposite her, watched the fire, lost in thought.
"You're thinking about her again," Lyra said quietly.
Seraph didn't deny it. "Every time he smiles, I see her."
Mira looked down at the baby in her arms. "Then she's still here."
For a while, none of them spoke. Only the sound of the fire crackling and Arin's soft breathing filled the air. The grief that had nearly broken them still lingered — but it was quieter now, softened by the fragile warmth sleeping in Mira's arms.
---
Days turned to weeks.
They learned quickly that adventuring and motherhood required entirely different kinds of strength.
Kaelith nearly burned the house down trying to heat the bathwater. Evelyn developed a sixth sense for when Arin was about to cry. Lyra refused to let anyone else handle his blankets — "They're never folded right." Mira became a walking lullaby. And Seraph… she learned how to smile again.
One evening, they sat outside under the stars, exhausted after another long day. The baby slept peacefully between them, wrapped in Mira's shawl.
Kaelith sipped from her flask and groaned. "I miss monster-slaying. At least ogres don't wake up crying at midnight."
"Speak for yourself," Evelyn muttered. "He only cries when you hold him."
"Lies!" Kaelith hissed.
Seraph chuckled softly. "You both sound like children."
"Maybe we're learning from the best," Lyra said, nodding toward the sleeping infant.
That earned a round of quiet laughter. For the first time since Elara's death, the air around them felt light again — not healed, but healing.
---
Late that night, after the others had gone to bed, Seraph lingered by the crib. Arin's tiny hand had wrapped around her finger, his faint violet mark glowing softly.
"You'll have five mothers, little one," she whispered. "And one guardian watching over you from beyond."
Outside, a faint breeze stirred the trees — carrying with it the scent of lavender and warmth.
Seraph smiled faintly.
"Rest well, Elara. He's safe."
---
The morning sun stretched lazily over the hills, spilling light across a quiet cottage tucked between the woods and the river. Smoke curled from the chimney, and birds sang as if trying to wake the house themselves.
Inside, a loud thud echoed, followed by a scream.
"Arin!"
A boy with messy black hair and violet eyes bolted from his bed, clutching a wooden staff like it was a sword. "What—what happened?!"
The door burst open and Kaelith stood there, her fiery hair tied up, a frying pan in one hand and an irritated scowl on her face. "Breakfast happened, that's what. Mira said not to burn the bread but someone—" she shot a glare over her shoulder "—decided to 'experiment with divine heat.'"
From the kitchen, Mira's gentle voice floated out. "It was an accident! I sneezed during the blessing!"
The smell of charred dough filled the air. Arin rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. "So… no breakfast?"
Seraph walked in, perfectly composed as always, holding a cup of tea. "We still have fruit and dried meat. That will suffice."
Kaelith groaned. "You call that a meal? We're raising a boy, not a squirrel!"
Lyra snorted from the window, where she was polishing her bow. "You sound like his grandmother already."
"I am the one doing all the cooking!" Kaelith snapped back.
Arin tried to sneak toward the door, but Evelyn's voice cut through the chaos. "And where do you think you're going?"
He froze. Evelyn was standing by the doorway, arms crossed, her golden eyes gleaming with quiet authority. She was calm as a lake—and just as dangerous when disturbed.
"Uh… the forest?" Arin said, smiling awkwardly. "You know, to gather herbs?"
"Herbs?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "The last time you said that, you came back with a wild wolf cub."
"It was lost!" he protested. "And you said we could keep it!"
"That was before it bit Kaelith's boots in half," Seraph muttered.
The others burst out laughing as Kaelith raised her smoking boot like evidence. "Not funny!"
Arin sighed and scratched his head. Life in a house full of adventurers was exhausting—but it was never boring. Each of his mothers had her own way of showing love: Seraph taught him discipline, Mira gentleness, Lyra focus, Evelyn patience, and Kaelith… chaos.
And though he never said it aloud, he loved them all the same.
---
That afternoon, the forest shimmered in shades of green and gold as Arin and Kaelith walked the trail toward the river. She carried her axe casually over her shoulder while he trailed behind, collecting herbs into a small pouch.
"So," Kaelith said after a while, "you've been spacing out a lot lately. Something on your mind, kid?"
Arin hesitated. "Do you ever… wonder about my mother?"
Kaelith's steps slowed. "Your mother?" she repeated quietly.
He nodded, eyes fixed on the forest floor. "You all talk about her sometimes. I just… want to know what she was like."
Kaelith smiled faintly, looking up at the sky. "Elara was… light and thunder rolled into one person. When she smiled, everyone wanted to smile with her. When she got angry—well, even gods would run."
Arin chuckled. "So kind of like you?"
"Ha! I wish," Kaelith said, ruffling his hair. "I was always the hot-headed one. She was the one who made us believe we could change the world."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Arin asked, "Do you think I'll ever be like her?"
Kaelith stopped and turned to face him. "No," she said simply. "You won't."
Arin blinked. "Oh…"
"Because you're going to be better."
---
That night, Arin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight painted silver lines across the room. His hand drifted to the faint, glowing mark on his chest — the same violet hue as the stone on Elara's grave.
He didn't know why, but lately… it had started to pulse.
Softly. Rhythmically. Like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
And somewhere deep inside him, something was stirring — something ancient, something waiting.
He didn't yet know it, but the peace he loved so much was about to end.