The sun was only beginning to rise when Alaric and Ravenna returned to the palace. The air still carried the dew of dawn, cool and silent, but within the tall marble walls of the palace, the hum of life had already begun. Servants bustled about with urgent steps and hushed voices, polishing, preparing, placing flowers in crystal vases—responding swiftly to the King's command. A celebration was underway. The Vampire King's son had been born.
Alaric walked through the arched hallways in a composed silence, the weight of his newborn son, Riven, in his arms. The baby slept soundly against his chest, tiny and warm, his soft breathing barely audible over the click of Alaric's shoes on the floor.
Ravenna walked beside him, slower than usual, her expression tired but peaceful. She didn't speak much on the way to their chamber, just glanced toward the bundle in Alaric's arms every now and then with a faint, adoring smile.
