The next morning arrived wrapped in thick, pearl-gray mist that clung to the evergreens like wet silk. Frost had thickened overnight; every needle, every fallen cone, every spiderweb strung between branches glittered with tiny, brittle diamonds. The stream beside their camp had frozen at the edges, forming delicate lace collars of ice that cracked softly whenever the current tugged.
Alex woke to the quiet sounds of his mates already moving.
Naga was coiled near the rekindled fire, using the tip of his tail to carefully rotate several flat stones that had been heating in the coals. On each stone lay thin slices of pale root vegetable—something Leo had dug up yesterday and identified as "frost yam," apparently mild enough to settle an uneasy stomach. The air smelled faintly sweet and earthy, like parsnips roasted with honey.
Leo sat a little farther out, facing the mist-shrouded trail they would take today. His ears swiveled constantly; every few seconds his nostrils flared, tasting the wind. His tail lay still along the ground—not relaxed, but deliberately calm, the way large cats go when they're trying very hard not to look anxious.
Neither of them had woken Alex.
They had let him sleep.
The realization hit him harder than it should have.
He stayed quiet for a moment longer, simply watching them through half-lidded eyes.
Naga murmured something too low for human ears; Leo's head tilted in reply. Then the lion rose smoothly, padded back toward the nest, and lowered himself beside Alex without jostling him.
Golden eyes met blue.
"You're awake," Leo said softly. Not a question.
"Mm." Alex stretched—slow, careful—and felt the now- familiar plump low on his belly.
Leo rubbed his palm against Alex's tummy, his hand soft and slow as if fearing the six little existence inside might get hurt by his pressure.
" They are already a month old, " his eyes soften like a loving father, " so, you might give birth within two months."
Alex let Leo's broad, warm palm rest there a moment longer, the gentle circles he traced over the barely-there curve feeling more grounding than any words could manage.
The babies responded almost immediately—tiny, synchronized nudges against Leo's hand like six small hellos.
Leo's purr deepened until it vibrated through Alex's ribs.
Alex wasn't surprised when Leo said he might give birth in two months, he learned about some species of big snakes being ovoviviparous.
The only thing that surprised him was how quickly he's about to become a mom.
If it was back in his world, he couldn't even imagine being with a guy let alone getting pregnant and soon having children, but due to that system's mistake, he is here now.
He's here now, alive and breathing and living every moment of his existence.
Yet, It felt surreal.
"Two months," Alex echoed, voice still thick with sleep. He placed his own hand over Leo's, trapping the warmth there. "That… doesn't feel like very long."
"It isn't." Naga's voice came from the fire, quieter than usual. He slithered closer without hurry, one coil curving loosely behind Alex like an extra cushion. "Serpent young develop quickly once they quicken.
"The first month is mostly… preparation. The next two are growth. Then birth." He paused, tongue flicking once—thoughtful, almost hesitant.
"They will come live-born, small but strong. Already scaled. Already venomous, though the venom sacs won't fill for several weeks after hatching."
Alex blinked slowly.
"Venomous newborns," he repeated, flat. "Great. I'm going to need baby-proofed everything. And probably antivenin on tap."
Leo huffed a small laugh against Alex's hair.
"They will be perfect," he said simply, as though venomous infants were the most natural thing in the world. "And loud. And hungry. And amazing like their mother."
Naga reached over and brushed the backs of his knuckles along Alex's cheek—cool, careful, reverent.
"You will be magnificent," he murmured.
"Carrying them. Birthing them. Raising them. I have no doubt."
Alex swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat.
"I'm still scared," he admitted again—smaller this time, less raw. "Not like last night. Just… the normal kind of scared.
"About labor. About whether I'll be any good at this. About whether six is too many for a first try. About—" He laughed once, shaky. "—about whether I'll still fit through doors in two months."
Leo nosed gently under Alex's chin until their gazes met again.
"You will be extraordinary," he said. "And if the doors become a problem, we will widen them. Or carry you through sideways. Or build new ones."
Naga's lips curved—just the tiniest hint of fang showing.
"Or I will simply swallow the doorframe whole and be done with it."
Alex snorted—then winced as another small foot (or tail?) pressed sharply under his ribs.
"Okay, okay, message received, no more jokes about swallowing architecture." He rubbed the spot absently. "They're definitely awake now."
Leo's eyes went impossibly soft.
"May I…?"
Alex nodded.
The lion lowered his head again—this time pressing the flat plane of his brow directly to Alex's stomach and going very still. After a few seconds his purr stuttered, then deepened into something almost song-like—low, rolling, resonant.
The kicks changed rhythm.
They slowed.
Then—miraculously—they answered.
Tiny thumps in perfect time with Leo's purr.
Alex's breath caught.
Naga watched, eyes wide and unguarded, as though witnessing something sacred.
"They recognize you," he whispered. "They know your voice. Your rhythm."
Leo didn't move, didn't speak—just kept purring, letting the sound wrap around all seven of them like a blanket made of vibration and warmth.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were wet.
"I will sing to them every night," he said hoarsely. "Until they come. And after."
Alex reached up, brushed the dampness from under one golden eye with his thumb.
"You'd better," he managed. "They're going to need to know both their dads have embarrassingly sappy sides."
Naga huffed—half laugh, half offended hiss—but the corners of his eyes were suspiciously bright too.