The birthing chamber had finally emptied.
Midwives dismissed.
Guards withdrawn.
Even the braziers were dimmed to gentle, flickering embers at Seraphine's request.
Only Caelan remained, sitting beside the bed where Seraphine held their sleeping newborn, Kaisel, swaddled against her chest. Back from the council convening, with uncertainty in his heart. Moonlight filtered through the high windows, pale silver mixing with the soft glow of the infant's heartbeat.
Caelan had faced warlords, Concept Beast, and Withering monsters without hesitation.
But now…
The 7th Lord of House Ashencrest, the Pyre-storm Tyrant, wielder of the Sky-Fire, hesitated to speak.
Seraphine noticed immediately.
"You're too quiet," she murmured, stroking Kaisel's tiny cheek. "That's never a good sign."
He tried for a smile. It didn't hold. "You're exhausted. I didn't want to burden you."
Her eyes softened. "Caelan. I carried him for nine months. I survived the birth of a child who burns with white fire. I can handle your thoughts too."
He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening.
He reached out, brushing a thumb along Kaisel's forehead and behind his left ear, careful; afraid even a father's touch might trigger another impossible phenomenon.
"He looks so small," Caelan whispered.
Seraphine smiled faintly. "He is small. Babies tend to be that way."
"That's not what I meant." He scoffed.
She didn't tease him this time. She waited.
Caelan swallowed, voice low.
"Seraphine… the Flame of Origin answered him."
She nodded. "I know."
"You don't understand." His voice cracked. "It didn't just appear near him. It resonated with him. As if he's been waiting for it. As if it…chose him. It has only chosen our Progenitor."
"During a time of turmoil and death." Seraphine glanced down at the infant, her fingers tracing soft circles on Kaisel's chest.
"I felt it the moment he cried," she whispered. "A warmth that wasn't mine… or yours. Something ancient. Proud. Lonely."
Caelan's breath hitched.
"You're afraid," she said gently.
"Terrified," he admitted. "The house… the kingdoms… the Withered beyond the Seal… none of them will ignore a child like this."
His hand curled into a fist.
"What if they try to take him from us? What if, one day, even the Ascendants demand him? What if his power consumes him before he can control it? What if-"
Seraphine reached forward and took his hand.
"Caelan," she whispered, "look at him."
He did. And the fear in his eyes softened.
Kaisel shifted in her arms, tiny fingers curling around the air as if grasping a dream. The faintest pulse of warmth radiated from his chest: gentle, steady, alive. Nothing like the explosion of white fire at his birth. Just a glow. A heartbeat of light.
"He's still a child," Seraphine said softly. "Our child. Let the world tremble later. Right now… he just needs a mother and father who love him."
Caelan closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Seraphine's forehead.
"You're right," he murmured. "As you always are."
Her smile returned, tired but warm. "Somethings never change."
Caelan chucked at that.
They sat together in silence, watching Kaisel sleep his breaths small, steady, unaware of the fate that clung to him like a second skin.
After a long moment, Seraphine rested her head against Caelan's shoulder.
"Promise me something," she whispered.
"Anything."
"No matter what power he holds… no matter what the house says… promise me he won't grow up only as a weapon."
Caelan hesitated.
Then he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close.
"I promise," he whispered. "He will grow up as our son first."
Kaisel stirred then, letting out a soft coo, tiny sparks dancing in the air before fading like starlight.
Caelan and Seraphine watched in wonder, fear, and hope.
And for that one quiet night, before the world learned the truth, they were simply a family.