The room still smelled like heat and lavender and new life.
Malvoria couldn't stop staring at her daughter.
Kaelith.
The name felt right, tasted right like it had always existed, waiting patiently in the void of destiny until this precise moment. Until now.
Wrapped in a pale silk blanket embroidered with silver runes, Kaelith lay nestled against Elysia's chest, her tiny hands curling instinctively, her miniature red horns barely more than nubs, nestled beneath a halo of white hair streaked with crimson.
Purple flames circled the child lazily, harmless and majestic. They didn't burn the bed linens. They didn't start fires. They simply existed like an extension of the child's breath.
Malvoria felt something uncoil in her chest, something ancient and primal. It wasn't just love. It was the instinct to guard, to destroy, to protect with the kind of violence only a mother and a queen could manifest.
