Chapter 179 The Life I Waited For
Epilogue Part Four
Gilfred
Time moves strangely during birth. It becomes a line too thin, then suddenly snaps forward. Jackson and I wait patiently. His wings keep trying to come out, but he keeps forcing them back in. His little hands are cold on the wooden dragon now, ice leaking in small, nervous puffs every time a cry carries down the hall. “Is mummy hurting?” he asks. I chirp, low and steady. He frowns. “She's loud.” I blink slowly. Jackson shifts his toy to the floor and crawls closer to me on his knees, as if proximity will make the noise less real. He looks down at my tail and then back at the door again. “I don’t like screaming,” he says. I understand. The screaming is not danger the way it used to be. It is work. It is a body splitting itself open to make space for life. But children do not yet know the difference. They only know sound. They only know that their mother is usually the steady one, and today her steadiness is hidden behind stone. Jackson’s lower lip trembles once. He blinks fast and swallows it back like he has watched Bella do a hundred times. I chirp again, and he exhales, a shaky little breath that fogs the air. Then, in the middle of the noise, a new sound enters the castle. It's small at first, thin, then stronger, filling the space with the most beautiful sound. A baby’s cry. It slices down the hall and hits the sitting room. Jackson goes perfectly still. His wings flare out without permission, lifting as if they’re trying to catch the sound and hold it. His eyes widen. “That,” he whispers, voice cracking, “that baby.” I feel it too... Not just the sound but the power. It blooms outward in a pulse that lifts my belly. It makes the air taste suddenly of heat and ash and something bright that does not belong to ice. The stone beneath the floor warms. The lantern flame in the corner flutters high, as if answering a call older than the wick. Jackson’s mouth falls open. “Hot,” he says, startled. The cry comes again, louder and with it, a spark. A sharp flare of heat snaps down the corridor and ripples into the sitting room, catching the edge of a cloth draped over the back of a chair. The cloth blackens, then curls, then ignites in a small, sudden flame. Jackson yelps. He scrambles backward, wings flapping. I do not move; the flame is small, hungry, but contained. It burns like a newborn thing, confused about its own shape. A servant rushes in, sees the fire, and throws a pitcher of water with too much force. The flame dies with a hiss, smoke rising thin and bitter. The servant stands there for a beat, panting, staring at the damp chair as if the castle itself has betrayed them. Jackson’s eyes are huge. He points with a shaking finger. “Baby did fire.” I blink slowly. Yes.
The pull in my bones becomes certainty so clean it feels like a door closing. This is why I stayed. Because this child called to me before she was even formed. Even from the womb, she reached into the world and touched it. She is not only ice or fire or dragon or human. She is something woven from both, and she will not fit quietly into any box the world tries to build for her. Jackson crawls forward again, eyes still on the hallway, voice small. “Can I see?” he asks. I chirp softly, then tilt my head toward him. Not yet. Jackson nods, accepting the boundary in a way that makes my old eyes narrow with approval. He sits back on his heels and presses his palms to his knees, copying the way Damien stands when he’s waiting for news. The door down the corridor opens, and voices spill out, brighter now. Layered with relief, exhaustion and laughter that sounds like someone trying not to cry. Footsteps approach fast. Marius appears first, his face drawn but smiling, as if he has just witnessed a new law of nature. He sees Jackson and crouches, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have a sister,” he says. Jackson’s face changes all at once. Joy hits him so hard he sways. His wings flare again, and a burst of frost pops from his mouth and dusts the rug. “I do?” he breathes. “Yes,” Marius says, still smiling. “And your mother is safe.”
Jackson launches off the floor and runs straight toward the corridor, bare feet slapping stone. “NO RUNNING,” someone calls reflexively. Jackson runs anyway. I patter after him at my own pace, tail curled, claws steady on stone. I reach the threshold of the room just as Damien steps out, shirt half unbuttoned, hair damp, eyes bright with something fierce and shaken. He looks down, sees me, and for a moment his expression stills. He inclines his head once, acknowledging and respecting. Then he turns his gaze toward the small bundle in his arms. Jackson is already there, bouncing on his toes, hands held out and not touching, because someone taught him that rule well. “Hi,” Jackson whispers in awe. The baby’s face scrunches, her mouth opens, and she cries again, smaller now, and the air warms faintly. Damien laughs under his breath, exhausted and proud, and Bella’s voice carries from inside the room, rough and triumphant. “Damien,” she warns, and it’s the tone that means do not get carried away. Damien’s smile widens anyway. I sit at the edge of the doorway, settling myself into shadow, watching. The new life’s cry fades into a softer sound. The baby’s tiny fist lifts, then relaxes again and a curl of warmth rolls through the air like a sigh. Jackson stares at her like she is the entire sky. I blink slowly. Yes. This is it. This is the life I was waiting for.
Authors Note
Thank you for reading. For every late night you stayed up with these characters, for every chapter you trusted me with, for every laugh, gasp, and quiet moment you carried with you, I appreciate you more than I can say. This world has been written in real time, one heartbeat at a time, and you choosing to be here made it matter. If you’d like to keep up with updates, new releases, and whatever world I’m building next, you can find me here: @author_hartin
See you in the next story. 🖤