After the devil was finally defeated, Vesuvia slowly began to stitch itself back together. Life, once teetering on the edge of ruin, began to pulse with hope again. The days were brighter, laughter echoed more often, and the people dared to dream. For Julian Devorak, however, life didn't just improve—it flourished.

With the weight of the past finally lifted, Julian was free to hold your hand in public, kiss your knuckles with no ghosts behind his eyes, and take you with him on journeys he used to walk alone. You were his anchor, his compass, his home. Every adventure was more vivid with you by his side, every inn more welcoming, every starry night warmer.

Then came the morning sickness.

Julian nearly fainted when you told him—half from shock, half from pure, unfiltered joy. You were pregnant. He stammered out half a dozen oaths of devotion and promises of safety, pulling you close as if he could shield you from the world. Not long after, you both returned to Vesuvia, choosing to settle down. Julian had saved enough coin to buy a charming house perched above the apothecary he renovated with his own hands. When your daughter was born, her cries pierced the quiet evening—and Julian cried harder. Holding her tiny, perfect body in his arms, he whispered how loved she already was, how lucky he was to have you both. His girls. His world.