Hope was three weeks old and had already accidentally frozen ti twice, which according to Morgana was "unprecedented for an infant" but according to was just terrifying because what kind of baby could manipulate temporal magic before they could hold their own head up?
Our kind, apparently. The bond-hybrid kind. The impossible kind.
"She’s not crying." Riven’s observation ca at 2 AM during what I was generously calling a feeding even though Hope seed more interested in making the bottle hover than actually drinking from it. "That’s—is that normal?"
Normal. Right. Because we had so much data on what was normal for the first docunted bond-hybrid baby conceived through death-transcending mate bonds.
"Nothing about her is normal." I tried to guide the floating bottle back down before it hit the ceiling. "She’s three weeks old and can already access hybrid magic. Most hybrids don’t manifest until puberty. She’s—" The bottle froze mid-air because apparently Hope had opinions about my interference. "She’s doing whatever she wants and physics is just a suggestion."
Physics is just a suggestion. That was going to be my parenting moir title at this rate.
The bottle unfroze and dropped, and I caught it before Hope could decide gravity was also optional, and finally—finally—got her to actually eat instead of experinting with reality.
"Four fathers and she still won’t sleep through the night." Thorne’s rough voice ca from the doorway where he’d been standing watch because apparently our daughter needed a security detail at three weeks old.
To be fair, she kind of did. Word had spread about the bond-hybrid birth and we’d had seventeen requests for "observation visits" from various supernatural factions who wanted to study her like she was a science project instead of our daughter.
Hard pass on that. Nobody was studying Hope. Nobody was even getting close to Hope without all four fathers and vetting them first.
Paranoid? Maybe. Justified? Absolutely.
"She’s growing fast." Draven appeared with his tablet because of course he was docunting everything. "Three weeks but developntally closer to three months. The bond-fusion is accelerating her growth. At this rate she’ll be—" He did math I couldn’t follow at 2 AM. "Walking by two months. Talking by three. Manifesting conscious magic by four."
By four months our daughter would have conscious control over temporal magic. Most supernaturals took years to develop that. She’d have it before she could form complete sentences.
"We’re not prepared for this." The admission ca out before I could stop it. "None of us. There’s no manual for raising a bond-hybrid who can freeze ti. No precedent. No guidance. We’re just—" I couldn’t finish because my brain was too tired to form coherent thoughts.
"Making it up as we go." Kael finished for . "Sa as everything else."
Sa as everything else. Right. We’d survived demons and Root and Fae and dinsional threats by improvising. Apparently parenting was the sa.
Hope finally finished eating and imdiately her eyes cycled through all four colors—gold to silver to red to pale blue—which Morgana said indicated she was accessing the bond connections to all four fathers simultaneously.
Our daughter could sense the bonds. Could feel all four of them through . Could probably access their emotions and thoughts the way I could.
That was either going to be really useful or really invasive when she got older.
"There’s sothing else." Draven’s voice went clinical which ant concerning news. "The temporal freezes she’s been doing. They’re not random. I’ve been tracking the pattern. She freezes ti whenever she’s—" He pulled up data. "Overstimulated. Scared. Uncomfortable. It’s a defense chanism."
A defense chanism. Our three-week-old daughter’s stress response was to freeze ti.
"So she’s going to freeze everyone around her every ti she’s upset?" That sounded—sustainable. Very practical.
"Until she learns control." He made more notes. "Which at her developnt rate should be—" More math. "Six months. Maybe sooner."
Six months of Hope accidentally freezing ti when she cried. Six months of trying to parent around temporal anomalies.
No pressure.
I must have fallen asleep sitting up because the next thing I knew it was dawn and Hope was being passed between all four mates in rotation because apparently they’d decided to let sleep, and watching them coordinate baby duty with the sa precision they used for battle tactics was both heartwarming and slightly concerning.
"She smiled at ." Riven’s voice carried wonder. "Actual smile. Not gas. She recognized ."
Three weeks old and already showing recognition. Right. Because accelerated developnt ant she was hitting milestones at supernatural speed.
"The alliance wants to et her." Kael’s voice was carefully neutral. "Officially. They’ve been respectful about giving us space but—"
But one thousand fighters wanted to et their leaders’ impossible baby. That was—fair actually. They’d followed us through everything. They deserved to see Hope.
"Controlled introduction." I heard my voice go into tactical mode which was probably weird for baby planning but whatever. "Small groups. Supervised. Anyone who makes her uncomfortable leaves imdiately."
Anyone who makes her uncomfortable leaves. Right. Because our daughter could freeze ti when stressed and I’d rather not have alliance mbers stuck in temporal stasis.
We spent the morning setting up the introduction—twenty fighters at a ti, five-minute windows, Morgana monitoring Hope’s stress levels, all four fathers on high alert for any sign of threat.
Paranoid parenting. But justified paranoid parenting.
The first group ca through and Hope was—perfect. Smiled at them with eyes that cycled colors. Didn’t freeze anyone. Didn’t break physics. Just existed as a really cute baby who happened to be supernatural.
The fifth group is when things got weird.
One of the visiting wolves—I think his na was Daniel but my sleep-deprived brain couldn’t confirm—got too close and Hope’s eyes locked on him with an intensity that made my hindbrain scream danger.
"Back up." The command ca out before I could think. "Now."
He backed up but not fast enough.
Hope froze ti in a perfect sphere around him. Just him. Everyone else could move. Daniel was stuck mid-step looking absolutely terrified.
"How long will it hold?" Kael’s voice was controlled panic.
"Don’t know." I was already reaching for Hope trying to figure out how to undo what she’d done. "She’s three weeks old. I don’t think she knows how to release it."
Doesn’t know how to release it. Right. So Daniel was going to be frozen until Hope either figured it out or got distracted.
I tried pushing hybrid magic at the freeze trying to counter it, and got absolutely nowhere because apparently my daughter’s temporal manipulation was stronger than mine.
At three weeks old.
That was—concerning on multiple levels.
Hope yawned. The freeze dropped. Daniel stumbled and nearly fell.
"What—" He looked around confused. "Did I just—was ti—"
"You got too close." I kept my voice gentle. "She froze you. Defense chanism. You’re fine. But maybe—" I gestured to the door. "Maybe that’s enough introduction for today."
He left quickly and I just sat there holding Hope trying to process that our daughter could freeze ti more effectively than I could and she was three weeks old.
"We need to teach her control." Draven’s clinical assessnt. "Soon. Before she accidentally freezes soone permanently."
Before she accidentally freezes soone permanently. Right. Because that was a real possibility now.
Parenting a bond-hybrid with temporal magic was going to be—complicated.
That night after Hope finally fell asleep—without freezing anything, small victories—Morgana appeared with an expression that ant bad news.
"What now?" I was too tired to be diplomatic.
"Scouts detected sothing." Her voice was grim. "At the eastern periter. Not a threat exactly. More like—" She pulled up readings. "More like an echo. Of The Root."
An echo of The Root. We’d killed it. Destroyed it completely. There shouldn’t be echoes.
"How?" One word because forming full sentences seed impossible.
"When you killed The Root from inside the prison, you destroyed its consciousness. Its will. Its essence." She explained like she was reading from a textbook. "But the power it had consud over centuries—that power had to go sowhere. And apparently—" She gestured to the readings. "Apparently it’s been seeping back into reality through the dinsional scar. Not sentient. Not organized. Just—raw power looking for form."
Raw power looking for form. That sounded like the beginning of another threat.
"How long until it finds form?" Kael’s question was direct.
"Unknown." Morgana’s voice carried frustration. "Could be months. Could be years. Could be never. We just—we need to monitor it. Make sure it doesn’t coalesce into sothing dangerous."
Make sure it doesn’t coalesce into sothing dangerous. Right. Because apparently killing ancient evil wasn’t permanent, it just delayed the next problem.
I looked at Hope sleeping peacefully in her crib, eyes cycling through colors even in sleep, and tried not to think about what kind of world she was growing up in.
A world where we’d killed The Root but its power was still out there. Where dinsional scars leaked reality. Where our daughter could freeze ti before she could talk.
But also a world where we were together. Where the alliance was strong. Where we’d survived everything.
And we’d keep surviving. For her. For us. For whatever ca next.
Together.
Always.
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