Gentle conviction

The Next Morning

The morning arrived with a soft chill clinging to the air—cold, but nothing compared to the merciless frost of Stygian. The hearth crackled faintly in the corner, casting a subtle glow across the stone walls. Luciana wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and adjusted Hades in her arms as he finished nursing, his tiny hands curling against her skin like ivy.

Peace. That was what this moment should have been.

But her chest was heavy with something else. A weight she couldn't name. As if the calm itself were too fragile to trust.

Across the room, Nemesis clung to Erebus's leg, face flushed with emotion.

"Dade, do you have to go?" he whimpered.

Luciana watched as Erebus paused mid-movement, his hand lingering over his old overcoat—freshly washed, carefully mended. Despite the newer ones tailored by her orders, he always returned to this one. Stubborn as ever, unwilling to accept anything that felt like comfort before war.

"Daddee~" Nemesis pouted harder, his voice wobbling.

"I wanna come too!"

Luciana's heart ached for them both. But then Erebus lifted the boy, and in the next breath, the sorrow cracked—replaced by laughter as he tickled him into squeals.

It made her smile. Briefly.

"Be a brave f***in' soldier," Erebus said, tousling the boy's hair.

"I'll f***in' protect them!" Nemesis replied proudly.

Luciana's smile vanished. "Nemesis! please mind your language."

"But Dadde said it first!"

Her eyes darted to Erebus, who looked caught somewhere between guilt and embarrassment.

"My bad," he coughed.

Of course. That language came easily to him now—years of war, surrounded by men who only spoke in commands and curses. But here? Around Nemesis and Hades?

"You shouldn't speak like that in front of them," she said quietly putting Hades in his crib after giving off a small burp. "Children imitate more than we know."

As if to emphasize her words, Hades stirred and whimpered.

"Mama! Look! Hades is trying to get up!"

Luciana turned sharply. Hades had flipped onto his belly and was attempting to raise himself, his tiny body trembling with effort.

"He's trying to crawl," she breathed, heart fluttering with pride.

She placed him gently on the bed. Nemesis ran to him, calling encouragement with childish excitement.

Luciana turned to find Erebus watching—awestruck.

"I didn't know... kids crawled," he said, as if the moment unveiled some cosmic truth.

His eyes held a soft wonder she hadn't seen in him in years. It caught her off guard—and then she let out a soft laughter. Genuinely.

He stared at her, visibly startled by the sound.

He noticed… Her laughter. Her warmth.

"Was that common knowledge?" he asked, slightly embarrassed.

"For parents, yes," she replied softly.

He looked away, and then back at Hades. The look in his eyes had shifted again—regret now settling there like dust on old armor.

"Have I missed… other important things too?"

Her teasing instinct flared—she could have made light of it, especially after what he did to her last night. But something held her back. There was honesty in his voice. A rare crack in the iron.

Instead, she reached for his coat and helped him into it. She'd known Erebus never took help of servants to help him get dressed.

The knock at the door interrupted their silence. She turned as the servant entered, parcel in hand.

"Your Highness, your order is here."

"Just in time," she said, ushering them in.

The servants placed it carefully on the rosewood table. Luciana inspected it, nodded, and dismissed them.

"Mama! Is it here?" Nemesis dashed forward—so fast he forgot about Hades, who began to tip dangerously toward the edge of the bed.

Her heart leapt, but Erebus caught the baby with one hand, calm and unbothered.

Hades giggled in delight, utterly unaware of the danger.

"Dadde will look great in it!" Nemesis sang as he bounced in place.

Relieved with Hades' safety, Luciana unfolded the cloak, the fine black fabric rippling with elegance. White fur lined the edges, soft as snow.

"Dade, wear it!"

Erebus approached with Hades nestled against him. When she took the baby from him and offered the cloak, he opened it slowly. And then he stilled.

The sigil of House Stygian gleamed in gold upon the back.

He put it on. And for a moment, he wasn't a general. He was simply Erebus, standing still beneath her gaze, humbled by something warm.

Nemesis clapped in joy before Augusta appeared and ushered him away.

Luciana watched them go, her arms tightening around Hades before she gently laid him back in his crib.

Now it was only the two of them.

She turned. In her hand was the brooch.

A gold ornament, bearing the merged sigil of House Stygian and House Mircéa—the wolf beneath the rising sun.

She stepped forward and offered it to him.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his head so she could fasten it at his collar.

Their faces were close.

Too close.

She felt his breath—steady, warm. And when she looked up, he was smiling.

"So, what's all this about?" he asked.

"About what?"

"My wife giving me gifts, even though I already have the one I wanted for life."

Her pulse fluttered.

"It was Nemesis," she said, deflecting. "He noticed how worn your clothes were. The cloak was his idea."

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her off the floor.

"E-Erebus!"

He rested his face against her chest, and everything else—the room, the silence, even her thoughts—melted.

"Put me down," she whispered, trying to steady herself.

"Not until you tell me what this means," he murmured, voice low and husky.

"I-It's a brooch. Soldiers' spouses gift them a custom brooch after victory... There wasn't time for a proper ceremony so I—" she faltered.

"So?" he pressed, teasing now buried his chin in her chest making her face flushed.

"You're teasing me!" she gasped.

"I've been found out."

Since when was he so… sly? Her heart pounded faster.

Then he asked it.

"Does this mean… you love me?"

The question hit her like cold water.

She didn't know how to answer. Her face betrayed her conflict. And when the silence stretched too long, he spoke again.

"Don't," he said gently. "Don't love me. Just… stay. Your presence is enough."

She looked at him—this man who had once frightened her, once stood so far beyond reach. Now clinging to her like a man starved of affection, burying his face in her warmth.

She laid her hands on his shoulders. The fur brushed against her fingers like snow, but beneath it, his body was solid. Real. And trembling slightly.

They were both fumbling toward something unspoken.

He, desperate to be accepted.

She, afraid to fall again.

And in that moment, time—so burdened by past wounds and uncertain futures—seemed to stand still.