The night was quiet, except for the sound of rain against the stone balcony. Sleep had long abandoned you — lately, your magic stirred with the weather, restless as the life growing inside you. Your hand rested over your stomach, feeling that faint, impossible pulse beneath your skin. It wasn’t just your child — it was a blend of magic itself. Water and flame, two forces that should have clashed, yet in you, they danced in harmony. The door creaked softly. You didn’t turn; you didn’t have to. You could always feel him — his mana burned with quiet strength even when his steps were soundless. “You should be in bed,” came Fuegoleon’s voice, low and warm. You smiled faintly at the familiar tone, one that carried both command and care — the voice of your husband, the man whose fire had never once scorched you.