Hope started walking at exactly two months old which would have been impressive if she wasn’t also simultaneously learning to teleport short distances by freezing her position in one location and unfreezing in another, because apparently my daughter had decided conventional developnt milestones were for babies who weren’t bond-hybrids.
"Da." She pointed at Kael while standing—actually standing without support—in the middle of our quarters looking absurdly proud of herself.
"Did she just—" Kael’s voice cracked. "Was that a word?"
"That was a word." Riven confird from where he’d been trying to baby-proof the room which was pointless when the baby could literally manipulate spaceti. "She said Da. She’s two months old and talking."
Two months old and talking and walking and teleporting and I was running on approximately four hours of sleep total across the last week because apparently bond-hybrid babies didn’t need much sleep but their mothers definitely did.
"Mama." Hope turned to and my heart did this thing where it tried to escape through my throat because that was my daughter calling Mama at two months old.
I picked her up and she imdiately made us both hover three inches off the ground because gravity was still very much optional in Hope’s world.
"Down please." I tried to sound firm instead of exhausted. "We stay on the ground. Gravity is our friend."
She giggled and we dropped, and honestly the fact that she understood instructions at two months was almost scarier than the temporal magic.
"The Root echo is getting stronger." Draven appeared with readings that were probably important but my brain was too fried to fully process. "It’s been six weeks since we first detected it. It’s growing. Coalescing. Taking form."
Taking form. Right. The raw power from The Root’s death was organizing itself into sothing new.
"How long until it’s a threat?" Because I needed actual tilines not vague warnings.
"Three months. Maybe four." His clinical assessnt. "It’s not developing consciousness like The Root had. More like—" He struggled for the taphor. "Like a storm. A natural disaster. Destructive but not malicious."
A natural disaster made of ancient evil power. Fantastic. Very sustainable.
"Can we stop it before it fully forms?" Kael’s strategic thinking engaging.
"Potentially." Morgana appeared because apparently everyone had decided our quarters were the eting room now. "If we can disrupt the coalescing process. Scatter the power before it consolidates. But it would require—" She pulled up calculations. "Significant temporal manipulation. More than you’ve attempted since the prison."
More than I’d attempted since the prison. Right. Because killing The Root had taken everything and I hadn’t pushed my limits since then because I’d been pregnant and then recovering and then parenting.
"I can do it." The words ca out before I could overthink them. "Three months gives ti to train. To prepare. To—"
Hope teleported out of my arms and appeared on Thorne’s shoulders looking delighted with herself.
"To figure out childcare." I finished weakly. "Can’t exactly bring a two-month-old to fight a Root echo."
Can’t bring a two-month-old. Right. Except Hope was two months old chronologically but developntally closer to six months and at the rate she was growing she’d be what—toddler equivalent by the ti we had to fight?
"The alliance can watch her." Isabelle’s voice ca from the doorway because apparently privacy was dead. "We’ve got a thousand fighters. Pretty sure we can manage one baby for a few hours."
One baby who can freeze ti and teleport. Sure. Very manageable.
"She’s been good with groups." Riven’s observation. "Since the introduction incident. Hasn’t frozen anyone in four weeks."
Four weeks without freezing anyone. Right. That was progress. Probably.
"We’ll figure it out." Kael’s Alpha certainty. "We always do."
We always do. Right. By improvising and hoping things didn’t explode.
The next six weeks were chaos in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Hope hit three months and was talking in full sentences which Morgana said was "neurologically impossible" but clearly our daughter didn’t care about neurological limitations.
"Mama tired." She observed at 3 AM when I was trying to get her back to sleep after she’d woken up and decided the ceiling was more interesting than her crib. "Need sleep."
"Yes, Mama needs sleep." I agreed while lowering us both from where she’d floated us. "Which ans Hope needs to sleep too."
"Not tired." She teleported to the window. "Want see stars."
Want to see stars. My three-month-old daughter wanted to see stars at 3 AM and had the vocabulary to express it.
"Stars will be there tomorrow." I tried reasoning with a three-month-old who could manipulate reality. "Sleep now. Stars tomorrow."
"Promise?" Her eyes cycled through all four colors which I’d learned ant she was accessing the bonds to verify I was telling the truth.
Our daughter had built-in lie detection through supernatural bond connections. That was going to make parenting interesting when she got older.
"Promise." I confird and felt the bonds pulse with agreent from all four fathers who were apparently listening through the connection even while sleeping.
Privacy was absolutely dead in this family.
Hope finally agreed to sleep and I collapsed back into bed next to Kael who’d sohow managed to sleep through the ceiling conversation.
"She’s getting stronger." His voice was quiet. Concerned. "The temporal manipulation. The teleportation. It’s—she’s more powerful than you were at her age."
More powerful than . Right. Because I’d been a normal hybrid struggling to survive and she was a bond-hybrid born from impossible conception with four fathers’ power running through her.
"She’s going to need training." The realization hit hard. "Real training. Not just ’please don’t freeze people’ training. Actual combat magic training."
Actual combat magic training for a three-month-old. That sounded insane but also necessary because Hope’s power was growing faster than her judgnt.
"When she’s older." Kael pulled closer. "Right now she’s still a baby. We let her be a baby."
Let her be a baby. Right. Except babies didn’t usually teleport or freeze ti or float to the ceiling.
But the sentint was good.
The Root echo continued growing and by week eight it had enough form that scouts could actually see it—a swirling mass of dark energy at the dinsional scar, pulling power from sowhere and getting bigger.
"Two months until it’s fully ford." Morgana’s updated estimate. "Maybe less. It’s accelerating."
Accelerating. Of course it was. Why would anything be simple?
I started training again—real training, pushing my temporal magic to limits I hadn’t tested since the prison. Freezing larger areas for longer periods. Aging things decades in seconds. Rewinding damage.
The power was still there. Thirty years of practice hadn’t faded. I could still manipulate ti with precision that made the alliance fighters nervous.
But pushing it while also parenting a bond-hybrid who needed constant supervision was exhausting in ways fighting The Root hadn’t been.
"You can’t do both." Riven’s observation ca after I’d accidentally frozen myself mid-diaper change because Hope had teleported and I’d reflexively tried to catch her. "Can’t train at full capacity and parent full-ti. You need to choose priorities."
Choose priorities. Right. Except both felt critical. Training to fight the Root echo. Parenting Hope.
"We handle Hope." Thorne’s rough voice was certain. "You train. We’ve got her."
We’ve got her. Right. Four fathers who were absolutely capable of managing one bond-hybrid toddler.
Probably.
I increased training to six hours a day while the four of them tag-tead Hope duty, and honestly watching them coordinate parenting with the sa tactical precision they used for battle was both hilarious and impressive.
Kael had schedules. Riven had contingency plans for every scenario. Draven docunted everything. Thorne just followed Hope around making sure she didn’t teleport into anything dangerous.
It was working. Mostly.
Until Hope hit four months and developed conscious control over her temporal magic which ant she could now freeze ti on purpose instead of just reflexively.
"Mama watch." She announced before freezing Kael mid-step. "I do it!"
She did it. Our four-month-old daughter had deliberately frozen her father in ti and was looking at for approval.
"That’s very good." I tried to sound encouraging instead of terrified. "Now unfreeze him please."
"Why?" She tilted her head. "He stay?"
He stay. She wanted to keep Kael frozen like a toy she could put down and pick up later.
"Because freezing people isn’t nice." I knelt down to her level. "Kael is your Da. We don’t freeze family. We only freeze bad things that try to hurt us."
Only freeze bad things. Right. Teaching moral frawork to a four-month-old with reality-warping powers.
Parenting was wild.
She considered this then unfroze Kael who stumbled and imdiately picked her up.
"No freezing Da." He kept his voice gentle but firm. "That’s the rule."
She nodded seriously then teleported to Riven and froze him instead.
"Hope." My voice ca out exasperated. "What did we just say?"
"No freeze Da." She agreed. "But can freeze Ren?"
Ren was her na for Riven because four-month-olds couldn’t pronounce full nas apparently.
"No freezing anyone in the family." I clarified. "Da, Ren, Dray, Thor, or Mama. No freezing any of us."
She pouted but unfroze Riven, and I just stood there wondering how I’d gotten to the point where negotiating temporal magic rules with a four-month-old was my actual life.
The alliance had expanded to fifteen hundred fighters by month four and managing that many people was becoming its own challenge. More factions wanted to join. More resources to coordinate. More politics to navigate.
"We need formal structure." One of the council representatives—we’d ford a council of twelve to help manage decisions—brought the concern to the leadership eting. "Rules. Hierarchy. We can’t keep operating on informal agreents when we’re fifteen hundred strong."
Formal structure. Right. We’d been running on crisis managent and personal relationships. That didn’t scale to fifteen hundred.
"We vote on structure next week." Kael’s decision. "Give everyone ti to prepare proposals. We build sothing sustainable."
Sothing sustainable. Right. Because apparently surviving everything ant we had to learn to govern properly.
The Root echo was one month from full formation and I was training eight hours a day pushing temporal magic to absolute limits, and Hope was four months old talking in complete paragraphs and occasionally freezing her fathers when they told her no.
Everything was chaos. Everything was growing. Everything was changing.
And sohow we were still surviving.
Together.
One impossible day at a ti.
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