The birthing chamber's air, still heavy from the struggle, gently cleared. Eleonoré lay drained yet glowing, a new mother holding her world close. Dolores, tiny and perfect, stirred softly against her chest, a faint light glowing from her, a sign of the unique, cosmic essence flowing in her veins. Eleonoré's gaze, though tired, was completely fixed on the baby. An old, deep love unwound in her heart. Every small breath Dolores took, every soft gurgle, played a melody Eleonoré hadn't known she missed.
Augustus stood by the ornate door, a quiet guard. His usual calm was slightly broken, replaced by a still quietness as he watched the two. He didn't move closer, but his eyes, softer than usual, stayed on his newest daughter. A new weight settled in his mind, not a burden, but a quiet, clear promise. This child, born from their duty, had already woven herself into his life, a tiny, bright thread.
Aurené, curious as ever, crept near, her bare feet silent on the polished floor. She peered over the bed's edge, her big, innocent eyes taking in the sleeping infant. She reached out a hesitant hand, then pulled back, as if sensing how delicate this moment was. Eleonoré, feeling her presence, managed a weak, loving smile. Aurené, gaining courage, gently touched Dolores's soft cheek. Dolores stirred, a small hand reaching out to hold Aurené's finger.
"Nene," Dolores whispered, a sound barely heard, yet powerful in its simplicity.
Aurené gasped. A little sound of pure wonder. Her first awe quickly changed into something fiercely protective. Her eyes, so much like her father's, shone with a quiet promise. This was her little sister. Her new duty.
Outside the chamber, soft murmurs floated on the wind—the Luminarian acolytes, sensing the strong new life born among them, offered quiet blessings. Their light-filled prayers created a gentle hum around the sacred rooms. A new time had begun, not with a loud sound, but with the quiet, tender breath of a new dawn.