Malvoria moved with uncharacteristic gentleness, her arms firm but careful as she carried Kaelith toward the cradle.
Elysia watched her wife closely, marveling at how someone so fierce, so often clad in blood and fire, could hold their child as though she were made of glass.
The cradle stood near the window, crafted from dark polished wood and carved with protective runes, celestial stars, and small lavender roses.
The delicate curtains shimmered faintly, the color of morning dew.
Elysia remembered picking them together—arguing with Malvoria over the difference between lavender and mauve while Veylira laughed behind her hand.
Malvoria leaned over the cradle and lowered their daughter gently into it. Kaelith stirred, one tiny fist lifting toward the sky like a warrior in her sleep.
Purple flames flickered harmlessly around her, brushing the edges of the runes which lit up in return, absorbing the magic. Then the baby sighed and settled.
Elysia smiled. She couldn't stop smiling.
