"Lucien?" Alia called softly, her eyes settling on the little boy standing just a few steps away. She studied him without aning to, his deep black eyes, the dark hair framing his small, serious face, the quiet way he held himself as if he were already used to observing the world before stepping into it. He looked delicate, but there was sothing composed about him too, sothing that made her heart ache in a gentle, unfamiliar way.
"Hi..." Lucien replied after a second, his voice low and careful. He hesitated, then took a few small steps forward when Alia motioned him closer with an encouraging smile. The mont he was within reach, she instinctively picked him up, as naturally.
"Woah... easy, easy, l." Georgia laughed imdiately, half teasing, half concerned. "You’ve just recovered, and you’re already lifting babies. You’re bold."
Alia waved her off lightly, smiling as if the thought had not even crossed her mind. "I have a very powerful doctor by my side," she said cheerfully. "I’m not afraid of anything."
Alina could not help smiling at that. Georgia, on the other hand, froze for half a second before her cheeks flushed pink.
"Oh..." she muttered, suddenly very interested in the floor.
Alia did not notice. Her attention was entirely on Lucien now. She adjusted him carefully in her arms, making sure he was comfortable, then looked at him with open curiosity. "So," she said gently, "what’s your na, little one?"
"I’m Lucien," he answered, straightening slightly even while being held. "I am four years old."
Alia chuckled, the sound soft and full. "That’s a very beautiful na," she said sincerely. "Lucien." She glanced toward Sable, who was hovering nearby, watching anxiously, and added warmly, "And I must say, both you and your little brother have lovely nas."
She shook her head in quiet amazent, murmuring to herself, "Sable and Lucien. Lucien and Sable." Then, as if a new thought had just occurred to her, she looked up at Dante. "By the way," she asked, genuinely curious, "what does Sable an?"
Lucien listened too, his small hand gripping the edge of Alia’s sleeve, clearly interested in the answer, while Sable peeked from behind Georgia, waiting as if the aning of his own na might be sothing important.
Dante’s eyes flashed for a brief second as he rembered Sable’s parents, and the corner of his lips curved upward into a rare, softened smile. He looked at Sable first, not at Alia, as if the explanation belonged to the child more than anyone else.
"Sable," he said slowly, his voice low and deep, "ans black. But not the empty kind of black people fear." His gaze softened as he continued. "It is the black of fertile soil, where life begins. The black of night that protects sleep. The black of ink that holds stories. It represents depth, strength, and the kind of darkness that shelters rather than destroys."
Sable blinked. He did not fully understand every word, but he understood the way his dad was looking at him, the pride there, the gentleness. His chest felt warm.
"And Lucien," Dante went on, his eyes shifting to the little boy in Alia’s arms, "cos from light. It ans illumination, clarity, and guidance. A light that does not blind, but shows the way." His voice lowered even more. "Together, their nas balance each other. Darkness that protects, and light that leads."
The room went quiet.
Alia felt her throat tighten unexpectedly. She looked down at Lucien, then toward Sable, her heart swelling in a way she had not expected at all. "That’s... beautiful," she said softly, blinking once as emotion crept into her voice. "You nad them with so much care."
Lucien absorbed the words silently. He did not smile, but his grip on Alia’s sleeve tightened just a little, as if anchoring himself to the warmth of being held. Sable, on the other hand, stepped forward suddenly, his small face glowing with shy pride.
"I’m... the good black?" he asked quietly, tilting his head up at Dante.
Dante crouched without hesitation, bringing himself to Sable’s level, his large hand resting gently on the boy’s shoulder. "You are my strength," he said simply. "And you are very good."
Sable’s eyes shone as he nodded once, solemn and satisfied, as if he had just received an answer to sothing he had not known how to ask.
Alia smiled, holding Lucien a little closer. "You really are raising them beautifully," she said to Dante, her voice full of sincerity now. "Both of them."
Dante did not respond right away. He only nodded once, quietly, but his gaze flicked to Alina, who gave him a beautiful smile.
Alia smiled to herself, her fingers absently brushing the edge of the blanket. "I rember when Alina was born," she began, her voice warm with mory, her eyes becoming glassy. "Her father was completely lost. Absolutely confused." She let out a soft chuckle. "He didn’t know what to na her at all."
Alina’s heart felt heavy as she listened to the story about her dad.
Alia only smiled wider and continued.
"He had prepared a whole list of girl nas," she said, lifting her hand slightly as if counting invisible pages. "Pages and pages of them. Every na he had ever heard, every na he thought sounded beautiful, every na soone had once ntioned in passing. He even asked the nurse for suggestions," she added, laughing again. "The poor woman just stared at him."
Georgia snorted, covering her mouth, while Dante listened silently, his eyes resting on Alina with quiet curiosity.
"He would sit beside my bed, reading the list out loud," Alia went on, her tone softening. "He’d say one na, then shake his head. ’No, she’s too gentle for that.’ Then another. ’No, that one sounds too strong.’ He kept going back and forth like that, completely serious, as if he were choosing the fate of the world."
Alina’s eyes shimred as she listened, mories she did not rember but had heard about so many tis settling warmly in her chest.
"And then," Alia said, her voice dropping just a little, "he looked at her. She was so tiny, so quiet, just blinking up at us with those big eyes. And he suddenly said, ’Alina.’ Just like that. No list. No second thought." She smiled, her eyes glossy now. "He said it ant light, gentleness, and warmth. Sothing soft that stays. Sothing that makes a place feel like ho."
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