Lilia had received all kinds of knowledge—techniques for childbirth and raising the princess—and moreover, being well-known with a clear background, her identity was secure.
She was well received. Furthermore, they offered her a salary higher than expected, which for Lilia was a true blessing.
A child was born.
It wasn't a complicated birth or anything like that; it was a delivery just as they had practiced.
There were no problems. Everything proceeded smoothly. And yet, the baby that was born didn't cry.
As soon as he was born, they suctioned his nose and mouth to extract the amniotic fluid, but the newborn, with a blank expression, only stared at her without making a single sound.
His face was so expressionless that for a moment she thought perhaps it had been a stillbirth.
But when she touched him, she noticed he was warm and his pulse was beating. He was also breathing. Still, he didn't cry.
Something she'd heard from a teacher among the personal guard's maidens flashed through Lilia's mind:
"Babies who don't cry at birth usually have some kind of abnormality."
And in the precise moment she was reflecting on the meaning of those words, she noticed something truly unusual.
The baby's hair was peculiar in a way that couldn't be ignored.
It wasn't blonde like his mother's, it wasn't brown like his father's, nor did it even resemble his parents' in form. It was a deep black color.
Lilia knew that dormant genes could awaken after entire generations, but she also knew that a detail like this... could ignite an impossible discussion to control.
Paul demanded an explanation while observing the baby as if expecting him to answer for himself. Zenith, exhausted and confused, barely understood what he wanted her to explain. She had just given birth. Wasn't he happy?
But Paul insisted: how did she expect him to be happy with *this*?
The baby chose that moment to open his eyes.
Red.
Not like a pinkish glow.
Not like a soft hue.
Red like freshly cut rubies. Red like blood in the air. Red with an intensity that Lilia had never seen in a newborn.
Paul stepped back.
"Oh, of course... Because I have red eyes and black hair, right?"
Even Lilia, who had been trained to never lose her composure, felt something weighing on her chest. Zenith, to her surprise, didn't cry. She didn't even seem devastated.
She was indignant.
It was Zenith who finally spoke.
"Paul Greyrat. Do you really think I'd be capable of something like that?"
It wasn't a plea. It was a question that demanded an answer.
Zenith sat up slowly, ignoring her body's pain, and demanded he tell her the exact moment it had happened. They never separated. They were always together. Or had he forgotten who HE was before meeting her.
Paul looked at the baby. Then at Zenith.
"But... look at him, Zenith. How do you explain that?"
"I don't need to explain anything to you! You should already know! Look carefully. This is your son. He came from me. He carries your blood. It doesn't matter if he had purple hair and golden eyes. He's our son!"
Paul opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come out. Zenith's logic was solid as rock. She had never given him reasons to doubt. Not once in all their time together.
And still, that jet-black hair... those eyes... were impossible to comprehend.
Paul looked away, unable to look at them both. Shame was beginning to catch up with him.
‹Why did I doubt so much?›
Meanwhile, Lilia held the baby awkwardly. It wasn't the time to be in the middle of a family conflict, but she couldn't disappear either. And it was that instant of doubt that allowed her to hear Zenith's choked whisper.
"No... not again..."
"What? What's wrong? Zenith, are you okay? What's happening?"
Zenith's belly was still elevated.
An unforgivable error for someone with her experience... but the previous tension had eclipsed everything.
"It can't be..."
"Will someone tell me what's happening? Are you okay? What's going on?" Paul replaced accusation with panic. He even felt guilty that his wife was suffering again, thinking the argument could have led to this. Though what was coming was something he didn't expect at all.
"There's... another one," said Lilia. "Another baby. They're twins."
She looked at the baby she was holding, then at Zenith, who was already beginning to push again.
Twins. The situation had become more complicated.
The second birth was considerably faster, but no less physically exhausting. Her body barely had real strength, though her mental energy seemed surprisingly infinite.
"He's coming out. I can see the head," Lilia announced.
Paul watched nervously from a corner, still holding the first baby awkwardly, as if he might break at any moment.
It was another boy.
And to Lilia's considerable surprise, or perhaps genuine fear, this one didn't cry at birth either. But he was noticeably different from the first. He had light brown hair, damp and stuck to his small head.
When he opened his eyes, Paul felt the air catch in his throat.
Green.
Bright green.
Paul looked at the baby in Lilia's arms, then at the one he held in his own trembling arms.
The first child was a complete mystery.
The second was his miniature portrait.
And his unfounded suspicions of infidelity evaporated instantly.
"Zenith, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have accused you without..." He said clumsily.
"Lilia. My babies. Give them to me."
Lilia very carefully brought the little one with brown hair to Zenith's extended arms and then cautiously approached Paul seeking visual confirmation.
He simply nodded weakly, visibly ashamed.
"Here he is, my lady."
She contemplated her newborns as if the world had stopped around her. They were so small, so fragile... so full of life. She felt something inside her chest give way, and the tears she had tried to hold back all this time simply escaped.
The pain of childbirth, the argument with Paul, all that knot of emotions that had been drowning her... dissolved instantly the moment she had them before her. As if contact with them cleaned every shadow that still clung to her heart.
How could she stay angry?
Who could hold a grudge with two miracles breathing in their arms?
It was impossible.
"My children... my two beautiful children," she whispered, almost trembling. "My little ones..."
She leaned down and kissed each one's forehead, with that type of tenderness that hurts, the kind you only discover when you understand there's something in the world you couldn't lose without breaking forever.
"I... Zenith..."
"Paul. Come here. Look. This baby has your eyes. Even your hair... and that cowlick you always have."
"I know. I... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you. Never..." Paul swallowed.
Zenith interrupts him.
"I'm not going to lie to you. It's understandable that you were confused at first. If I saw a baby that didn't look like me at all, I'd have questions too. But you, Paul Greyrat... you're a hypocrite. How many women were with you before me? How many stories didn't you tell me? And still, when I give birth in pain and exhaustion, the first thing you do is accuse me of infidelity."
"I know perfectly well, you're absolutely right. I have no valid excuse."
"No, you don't. But these two need their father. Not a perfect man. They need someone who's present. Who loves them. Who cares for them."
She looked up at Paul again.
"Can you do that? Can you love them both equally?"
Paul couldn't stay on his feet. His legs gave way, and he ended up kneeling by the bed. He looked at the babies. One with his cowlick and same hair color. The other with red eyes. Both his sons.
"Yes. I will. I swear it."
It was strange to see Paul like this. A man who had faced monsters, bandits, and dangers without blinking, now truly trembled. Not from fear of death, but from fear of failing them.
Zenith let a slight smile escape.
"Good. Because if you doubt me again... You'll sleep outside with the animals. Understood?"
Paul let out a choked, somewhat embarrassed laugh.
"Understood, my lady."
"And you won't be able to touch me for a day."
Zenith added, with a mischievous smile:
"A day?! Zenith... I waited months. I don't think I can bear it!"
"Of course you can," she responded, victorious. "You're strong, aren't you?"
Minutes later, Zenith was finally resting. She looked at her children. She observed their small faces, their expressions, even their soft breathing. It was time to decide on names. They already had one prepared for each gender, but the second boy had been a surprise.
"The one with brown hair... will be Rudeus. " said Zenith, and kissed the baby's forehead.
Then she looked at the other.
"And for you, little one... how about... Roland?"
The baby frowned. Zenith noticed immediately.
Lilia, who was observing in silence, felt a slight tremor in her chest.
"No? Well... what if it's... Damian?"
Another expression of displeasure. Paul and Zenith exchanged confused looks.
They tried several more names: Adrian, Kieran, Lysander.
Each received the same negative reaction.
They were about to give up when Paul stood up.
"I'm going to make something up. We've got nothing to lose."
"What are you going to do, Paul?" asked Zenith, curious.
"I'll say sounds until one of them appeals to him. They told me names used to be invented like that."
"Paul... that sounds ridiculous."
"I have experience being ridiculous," he responded with a tired wink.
He approached the black-haired baby, who was watching him with an intensity unusual for a newborn.
"How about... 'Ji, io... ri'?"
Nothing. Neither rejection nor approval.
"I think it's working!"
Paul tried again.
"Well, let's try... 'Da... i... ki.'"
To his surprise, the baby smiled slightly. Very little, but enough for Zenith to feel immediate relief.
"Da... i... ki... why did such a difficult name have to appeal to you?" Zenith complained.
"No, Zenith. It's pronounced 'dAIki.' With emphasis on the 'a,'" Paul corrected with a mocking tone.
"Since when did you become a language professor?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Since exactly this second."
Zenith let out a soft laugh.
"Daiki and Rudeus Greyrat..."
At that moment, little Rudeus's mind could barely process what had occurred.
‹That name... is Japanese. It can't be. Could he also...?›
The doubt was inevitable. His brother had rejected all European names but accepted a Japanese name instantly.
Lilia, who had observed everything with respectful silence, felt a chill run down her spine. There was something unsettling about these babies... but looking at them closely, all she saw was a newborn nestled against his mother.
("Maybe it's just my imagination"), she told herself. It wasn't.
Because within little Daiki's mind, there was a joy he thought he'd never feel again.
‹Close to my original name... perfect. And my twin is... Rudeus? How strange this language sounds. I've never heard it before.›
But his thoughts were cut off by a wave of exhaustion.
Just keeping his eyes open and processing everything around him had drained the little energy from his infant body.
‹Even with my intelligence, this body has limits. For now... sleep. Observe. Learn.›
With that last thought, he closed his eyes. He let himself be carried away by sleep, cradled by his new mother's heartbeat.
Zenith held her two sons against her chest, crying with joy and exhaustion.
"Welcome to the world, my little ones."
Paul, fully reconciled, wrapped his arms around his family.
"I'll train them to be strong. To be honorable. To be better than I was."
"Paul... they've just been born."
"I know, I know. But someone has to prepare them. They won't always be in your arms."
"Let me enjoy them while I can," she whispered. "To me, they'll always be my babies."
Paul carefully took little Rudeus and laid him in a makeshift bed. Then he did the same with Daiki, placing him next to his twin brother.
He tried to kiss Zenith, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips.
"You're still being punished. I promised. And what's more, I said it in front of them."
Paul groaned inwardly, defeated.
Zenith looked away slightly.
Maybe... just maybe... she was already regretting having been so firm.