Chapter 69 | Newborn | Leah
Ophelia is perfect.
Ten fingers, ten toes, a head of dark hair that's already showing hints of silver. Her eyes—when they're open—are ice-blue, just like her father's. But when she cries, the silver veins on her tiny arms glow faintly, marking her as the Progenitor's descendant.
"She has your bloodline," Kael says, his finger touching the baby's glowing wrist.
"She has yours too." I hold her closer, breathing in her newborn scent—sweet, clean, like blood roses after rain. "She's both of us. The best parts."
The first few days are a blur of feeding and diaper changes and catching sleep whenever we can. Kael turns out to be surprisingly good at being a dad—he changes diapers with military precision, rocks Ophelia to sleep with ancient lullabies, and watches over her crib with the protective intensity of a dragon guarding its treasure.
"You're completely smitten," I say during one of our rare quiet moments.
"Completely." He doesn't even try to deny it. "She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"She has your nose."
"Your eyes."
"Your stubbornness."
"Your strength."
We laugh quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping baby between us.
People come to visit. Ivy, crying tears of joy. Kieran, bringing gifts and congratulations. The healer, checking on Ophelia's progress. Even Judge Caos sends a formal message of welcome, acknowledging the birth of the Progenitor's great-granddaughter.
"The whole realm knows," Kieran says. "News of her birth has reached every corner. The heir to the Progenitor, born to the Prince who changed the world."
"No pressure," I mutter.
"She'll handle it." Kieran smiles at the baby, who gurgles back at him. "She's already got your attitude, Leah."
The weeks pass in a haze of love and exhaustion. Ophelia grows—faster than normal babies, the healer notes, her bloodline speeding up her development. She smiles at one month. Laughs at two. Crawls at three.
"Advanced," the healer says. "But healthy. The Progenitor's bloodline is strong in her."
"Too strong?" I ask, worried.
"Strong is good. She'll need it, considering who her parents are."
I get it. The world will have expectations for Ophelia. Pressure. Demands. She'll need every advantage we can give her.
Kael and I talk about it one night, watching our daughter sleep in her crib. The silver mobile above her casts dancing shadows on the walls, and her breathing is soft and steady.
"We'll give her a normal childhood," Kael says. "As normal as we can make it."
"She'll never be normal. She's a de Noct. The daughter of the Progenitor's heir."
"Then we'll give her what she needs to handle it. Strength. Wisdom. Love." He takes my hand. "The same things you gave me."
I lean into him, feeling the bond pulse between us—stronger now, deepened by the shared experience of being parents. "Together."
"Together."
Ophelia stirs in her sleep, making a small sound. We both freeze, ready to jump in. But she settles back down, her tiny face relaxing into a smile.
Maybe she's dreaming. Of the future waiting for her.
A future we'll build, day by day, choice by choice. A world of equality and justice and love. The world she deserves.
Our daughter. Our hope. Our forever.