The sun had been above Drak'thar's horizon for nearly three hours when Gorvax entered the Palace chamber.
He moved quietly, with the careful restraint of someone who understood that recovery chambers belonged to healers, sleeping infants, and exhausted mothers—not ancient cosmic entities carrying enough power to bend lesser realities.
The room was already awake.
Yuki sat upright against a nest of cushions and blankets, Lord cradled securely in her arms. Morning light spilled through the Palace crystal windows, washing gold across her face and illuminating the child resting against her chest.
She was staring at him again.
Not casually.
Not absentmindedly.
With the fierce, almost disbelieving concentration of a mother who still had not fully accepted that this tiny, impossibly warm being had actually come from her.
Across the chamber, Owen was asleep in a chair beside the bed.
