Dawn 1

It was with little gentleness that I wrenched the door open, toppling inside with a dry mouth and a heavy heart. The room was well-lit, warm, with the viridian green blankets of the midwife laid out across the end of the bed.

On the bed, her pale skin wracked with sweat and a weak, gentle smile upon her lips, was Lydia, my darling beautiful wife. In her arms, swaddled by emerald ruffles of cloth, were our children.

They were quiet. Sleeping?

I dared not utter a word as she looked up at me, a peaceful resignation in her eyes. The peace dug into me, into my heart, and even during this dire time, I felt relief.

A relief I cherished while my Lydia was still here to stoke it.

"They're beautiful."

You're beautiful, I wanted to say. There were a thousand things I wanted to say. Why now, did I have to be cursed with such a difficult tongue?

I walked over to the bedside, sitting down in the chair that I had spent vigil in for hours before she had truly gone into labor and my presence would have only been a detriment.

Lydia shifted the cloth, showing me the faces of the children, my children. The children that Lydia and I had dreamed about in our years together.

The first thing that stood out to me was the three sets of eyes staring back at me. I had thought they were sleeping, the quietness fooling me, but no. They were awake and aware.

More aware than children of such freshness should be, certainly. Something itched at the back of my head, but I ignored it. These were my children.

I swallowed, "They…They look so much like you."

My wife smiled, "I think they favor you more."

Perhaps, she had a point. Even now, I could tell that the three children favored the darker skin of the Ruskans, although nowhere near my own.

Perhaps it was the blue cerulean eyes of the infant held in Lydia's left hand, the way the next stood out amongst their siblings as being just a tad paler, or how the last one's soft, budding hints of silver hair glimmered in the candlelight.

"Names…"

I looked over to Lydia, who looked even weaker than she had before, and nodded, "Names."

Settling in beside my wife, I gently took the first child from her, a girl from the looks of it. The one with the dazzling blue eyes of her mother.

I looked to Lydia, "I'm…terrible with names. You should name her."

With a soft shake of her head, my wife was stalwart, "I'll name the others."

I looked down at the small child in my hands, my daughter, and…she was so small in my grip. I was scared of her, hurting her, more scared than I had ever been fighting the demons and monsters of my land.

To inspire such fear within me, to already have such a grip upon my heart within moments, this child was strong. So unimaginably strong.

I uttered the first name that came to mind, "Daka, a name for one who inspires fear and love."

Tentatively, I looked over to my wife, who gave an approving smile, and felt relief. It was similar to my own name, I knew, but…

"I think it's beautiful."

You're beautiful, I thought. How could I have been blessed with such a kind soul? For a moment, I felt the tragedy of the situation as my wife's breath stuttered, but her gaze calmed my heart.

'This is how it is,' the resolute gaze said.

I swallowed, meeting the eyes of Daka once more, before smiling as much as the bittersweet moment would allow, and placed her back alongside her siblings.

Lydia sighed, seemingly drawing strength from the return of her young, before she looked down at the paler child, "My daughter, your name is Natakia."

There was no way I would not recognize the name, "Lydia…"

She gave me a look, "You named for the future, Rakta, but I must respect our past. Perhaps our mistakes can be cleansed through them."

"They should not be laden with such a burden as mere infants."

Lydia smiled down at the eerily silent children, "I have faith."

I said nothing. Religion was one of the few subjects that I did not wish to linger on with my wife. The faith of the Ruskans was far different from Lydia's people, I knew.

Paying no heed to my silence, thankfully, my wife met the gaze of the last child, the small one with silver hair, "My son, you…shall be Dalton."

I said nothing, but the unsteady way she bequeathed the name gave away how uncertain she was about her own choice.

She had obviously been planning this, my wife the schemer, but…I would not take away her right as a mother. Not on this, her final day.

For as the minutes stretched on, I could see the strain on my wife worsening. I comforted her, laying one of my large hands upon the small of her back, the surface slick with her sweat from the hard labor.

She looked to me, apologetically, "...I should be here. How can I even think of myself as a mother after abandoning them this soon?"

Tears raced down her cheeks, her eyes practically shining with the magic she was burning to keep herself alive long enough to say goodbye.

I leant forward and felt her forehead touch against mine, feeling her ragged breath crash against my lips, "You will always be here with us. In the stories I tell, in the stories they weave."

"I love you, Rakta Velbrun."

"I love you too, Lydia Velbrun."

Her feathery light kiss tickled my lips, before she broke off, her shining eyes looking down at her children, our children.

My wife tenderly gave them each a kiss on the head, "The world is not always safe, it is not always easy, but know that I shall love each of you with all of my being from the Great Beyond."

She held them close to her, and I wrapped her up within our final embrace.

Moments later, I pulled away, taking the children from the cooling embrace of their mother. One of them, the pale one, began to cry and I was relieved when the others soon followed.

Emotion, my children had it. The gazes of confusion and curiosity were novel, but for them to express as I had seen so many other infants had…

The door to the room creaked open, breaking me from my thoughts. A man dressed in fine red clothing, dotted with the gold and green embroidery of the Velbrun House.

Lydia's brother, Markus Velbrun. His dark hair was nothing like Lydia's and his eyes were similarly darkened in hue and by emotion.

Markus looked at my children, "So there they are."

His voice was clipped with anger and a quick look into his eyes only saw pain and hatred. For the children? For me?

I nodded, "Daka, Natakia, and Dalton Velbrun."

As I spoke their names, I calmed them down, gently caressing the head of each mewling infant until they began to quiet.

Lydia's brother flinched at the last name, "You…cannot be serious, can you? My sister allowed you to name th-"

"It was her idea."

He stopped, instantly more respectful. It had always been like that. It probably always would be.

After a moment, his voice came again, more measured than last, "The heads of the Velbrun House have already decided. You won't be allowed to stay here."

I nodded, "Expulsion?"

Lydia and I had always thought it possible in the aftermath of something happening to her. It was only her influence within the family that had allowed me to use the House's name, much less their abode.

Surprisingly, Markus shook his head, "No, you'll be going to the border of the Velbrun's interests. There is a small town that you'll be given lordship over."

It was better than I had been preparing for. My things were already half-packed. If Lydia had survived, she had stated it was her desire for the children to grow up traveling on the road, like she had.

"The town's name?"

"Gelvurt."

I waited for more details, but with nothing forthcoming, I gave one last look to the body that once housed the love of my life, before I stepped past Markus and into the hallway with my children.

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It was hours later, the early morning sun rising, that I had finished preparing my faithful wagon, looking up to the large stone structure of the Velbrun House.

I would not miss the atmosphere of the place, the suffocating politics or the judging gazes upon my Ruskan skin, but I would miss the view that Lydia had me fall in love with.

Lydia…

A soft cooing noise broke me of my thoughts, my eyes drifting to Daka in her wagon seat, a small wooden fixture filled with soft hay to keep her and her siblings safe from bumps along the road.

Her eyes were…understanding. Murky, unfocused, like that of a child, but alight in a way they should not be.

"Three souls from beyond."

The ancient lisp of long forgotten words flitted through my mind, but I paid it no heed at the moment. I was no longer an adventurer, just a father. My only goal was to keep my children safe and guide them.

I could not have known at the time that such a goal would be the difference between a golden age marked down in history for ages to come or an apocalypse the world would never recover from.