Chapter 195

Lila

I sat propped against the headboard, my arms cradling both of them, their tiny bodies swaddled in linen, pressed close to my skin.

My children. The words still felt impossible. I had dreamed of this moment, feared it, prayed for it in quiet broken moments. But the reality of their warmth against me, their breath tickling faintly at my collarbone, was more overwhelming than I could bear.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t hollow. I wasn’t a shadow of what I had been.

Ruby blazed inside me, fierce and whole, her presence flooding every inch of me like wildfire racing through dry grasses. I could feel her in my heartbeat, in my breath, in the way my body hummed with power even after all it had endured.

You did it, she whispered, her voice fierce with pride. You brought them into the world. I knew you could do it.

Tears welled and I tilted my head back closing my eyes as I let the sensation wash through me. For so long, Ruby was lost to me in the poison, silenced. I had lived without her voice, without her strength, carrying nothing but echoes of who I used to be.

I barely had memories of what it was like before. But now… now she was fire again.

The exhaustion in my muscles was real, but it no longer pressed me down. Instead, it felt like something I could hold and recover from.

My breaths came deeper, fuller, carrying strength back into my body with each inhale. My senses sharpened, noticing the smell of woodsmoke, the faint sweetness of milk on the air, the steady heartbeat of the infants curled closest to my chest.

I shifted one hand, brushing a finger down the soft curve of a tiny cheek. The baby squirmed, his lips puckering in sleep, then settled again. My heart twisted painfully, in awe and disbelief.

“I thought I’d never make it,” I whispered to them, my voice hoarse but steady. “But we’re here. All of us.”

Ruby pressed close in my mind, her energy radiating like sunlight, fierce and protective. We’re more than here. We’re alive. Restored and stronger than before.

I laughed quietly, the sound foreign to my ears. The word ‘stronger’ felt foreign too after years of weakness, after years of fatigue. But it rang true now, humming through me with Ruby’s energy.

When I looked down again, I caught my reflection faintly in the sheen of dark eyes as they fluttered open for a moment. Something passed between us then, the deepening of an unbreakable bond between parent and child.

I saw the shape of a future I had never dared let myself imagine. One where I wasn’t just enduring, wasn’t running and hiding, but living. Thriving. Teaching them to be strong, to be unafraid.

I lowered my head, pressing a kiss to the crown of each tiny head, breathing in the scent of new life, fresh and perfect. My chest ached with love so sharp it was blissfully painful.

Ruby’s voice thrummed through me again, clear and fierce: We are reborn. You, me, and them. And no one will take this from us.

I nodded faintly, clutching them closer. I believed her; I wasn’t dying anymore, wasn’t broken. I was alive and reborn along with my children.

The quiet didn’t last long. It never does with newborns.

One of them stirred, a soft whimper building into a thin, urgent cry that sliced through the stillness of the cabin. The sound pierced me, instinct kicking in.

I shifted carefully, cradling the tiny bundle closer, rocking gently. “Shh,” I whispered, brushing a hand over the small curve of her back. My voice trembled, uncertain, but my touch was steady. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

Still she cried, fists balled tight, face screwed with distress. Panic threatened to bloom in my chest. What if I couldn’t calm them? What if, after everything, I wasn’t enough even for this?

Breathe, Ruby whispered. Trust me, you’re doing fine. She just has an upset tummy.

Her voice wrapped around me, a command and a comfort all at once. I did as she said, closing my eyes, inhaling deep and slow.

When I exhaled, something shifted. Warmth surged outward from my chest, spreading into my arms, my palms, into the fragile body pressed against me.

The baby hiccupped, cries softening, then fell into quiet shudders. Their tiny fingers uncurled, clutching weakly at the edge of my shirt.

My eyes flew open. I hadn’t consciously done anything differently, and yet the energy coursing through me had flowed into them, soothing where words and touch had failed.

I gasped softly, staring down at them. Ruby, what did we just do?

Her answering growl vibrated through my mind, proud and fierce. We healed. We calmed their spirit, eased their pain. This was always our strength before it was taken..

Awe crashed over me, hot and overwhelming. Healing. Not physical endurance, fierce claws and teeth. But a gift so rare, and waiting all this time beneath the poison.

Was this why you were suppressed? I ask, desperately.

I glanced down again as the baby nestled against me, their breathing even and soft now. My chest ached with gratitude so sharp I couldn’t contain the tears that welled again.

The warmth hadn’t faded. It lingered, humming under my skin, seeping deeper until it reached my own aching muscles, the tender places left raw by birth. The pain dulled, the soreness easing, like my own body was being stitched back together from the inside out.

For years, I had carried nothing but weakness. Every step shadowed by the fear of collapse. And now, in the aftermath of labor, I felt something I hadn’t in so long—resilience. Renewal.

Yes, Ruby said, I believe it was.

I rocked gently, pressing another kiss to my daughter’s damp crown, my lips trembling against her soft skin. “We’re going to be all right,” I whispered, as much to myself as to them. “I think… we might even thrive.”

Ruby’s laugh echoed inside me, wild and exultant. That’s the truth. We will thrive. We will rise, stronger than those who tried to break us. You and I are not held back anymore.

My son stirred faintly in the crook of my arm, but I felt no fear this time. I knew instinctively that I had what I needed to keep them safe, to ease their cries, to fight for their future.

I held them closer, letting the warmth ripple through us all. My body was weary, but my spirit blazed.

Suddenly, it occurred to me I hadn’t chosen their names for a naming ceremony. The thought struck through the fog of exhaustion.

I looked down at the two perfect halves of my heart. The girl stirred first, her tiny hand uncurling against my chest, skin warm as sunlight. The boy followed with a quiet sigh, his brow furrowing as though dreaming already of battles he would one day face.

I couldn’t help the tears that welled again.

“You’ve both fought so hard,” I whispered. “You deserve names worthy of you.”

My fingers brushed the girl’s downy hair. “Auren,” I murmured. “My golden one.” Then I turned to her brother, tracing the curve of his cheek. “And you… Lucien. My light.”

Their breaths synched, small chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

Auren and Lucien. Proof that even in exile, love and hope could endure.