The stars were low and scattered like salt across dark velvet. A soft wind stirred the tall grasses, carrying the scent of rain-soaked soil and the faint perfume of crushed lavender. Charlisa sat curled beside Kael beneath the goddess tree, their cloaks wrapped around their shoulders, the fire nearby burning low.
The hush between them was not empty.
It was full—of thought, of feeling, of the weight of what was to come.
Kael shifted beside her, then reached out to tuck a damp curl behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek and lingered.
"Can I tell you something I've never said aloud?" he asked.
She turned to him, heart already open. "Yes."
He exhaled slowly, like it took effort to loosen the thought from his chest.
"When I was younger… before I ever imagined a mate, I used to dream of a little girl with honey-colored eyes. Brave, quiet, always climbing trees she wasn't supposed to. She'd bring me feathers and bruises and say, 'I saw a sky creature today, Papa.'" A soft smile tugged his lips. "I didn't know what that dream meant back then. But lately… I wonder if she's waiting for us."
Charlisa's eyes burned gently with unshed tears.
"I've seen someone too," she whispered. "Not clearly, but… a child with your hands. Curious eyes. Always asking questions. Digging in the dirt. Talking to plants like they're people." She gave a soft laugh. "Maybe we're dreaming the same soul."
They sat in silence, letting the idea settle between them like dew.
"Do you want a girl first?" Kael asked after a moment.
Charlisa smiled. "I want a child who feels safe. Who knows that even in a world full of danger and noise, they'll have a place that is still, and warm, and kind."
He turned to her, gaze intense in its gentleness.
"They will. With you… they will have a mother who listens to the world as if it's alive. Who teaches them to grow food, and speak to trees, and name the stars. And with me—" he chuckled, "—they'll have someone who never lets them fall without catching them first."
Her hand found his, threading their fingers together. The fire crackled softly beside them.
"If they come, Kael," she said, voice trembling just slightly, "let's promise not to shape them into what we want. Let's discover who they are, and grow alongside them."
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, deliberate, full of warmth. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't want to create a child to fill a space in me," he murmured. "I want to give the world someone who carries a piece of our love forward. Someone who carries both your fire and my roots."
The wind whispered through the leaves above them, and somewhere in the village, a baby cried—a soft, distant reminder that life never waited for perfection.
Charlisa closed her eyes and placed his hand gently over her womb.
"Whenever they're ready," she whispered.
"And not a moment sooner," he agreed.