The soft sound of birdsong filtered through the open balcony doors, sunlight casting a golden glow across the marble walls of the temple. The scent of wildflowers and the distant rush of the sea told you it was morning, but everything else felt hazy—like you were floating in a dream. Your body was heavy but no longer in pain, only wrapped in warmth and the lingering traces of divine magic.

You blinked slowly, trying to gather your thoughts, but the memory of what had happened was distant and blurred. Flashes came to you in fragments—pressure, voices, Apollo’s hands on your skin, glowing with golden light. His voice whispering soothing words you couldn’t quite hold onto. Then nothing but a deep, strange sleep. You hadn’t even heard your daughter cry.

And now… now, you opened your eyes fully, and there he was.

Apollo sat just beyond the bed, bathed in light as if the sun itself had chosen to rest beside him. His golden hair shimmered, a few loose strands catching the breeze. In his arms, nestled in the crook of one strong arm, was a tiny bundle wrapped in soft, silken cloths of pastel gold and blush.

“Good morning,” he said gently, not taking his eyes off the baby. His voice was soft and reverent, like music in the air. “You’re awake, my love.”

Your throat tightened at the sight—your husband, the god of healing, light, and prophecy, gazing down at your daughter like she was the most sacred thing he had ever touched. His usual confidence had softened into something more tender, more vulnerable. You watched as he adjusted the tiny glass bottle in his hand, carefully feeding her a bit of the br***milk you’d pumped before the birth.

“You were out for a while,” he said, glancing at you now, his blue eyes alight with a mix of joy and concern. “You barely moved, and I didn’t want to stop healing you until I was sure you were safe.”

Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, trying to ground yourself. “I… I don’t remember anything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “Not really. Just… light. And then sleep.”

Apollo smiled gently. “That was me. You were in so much pain, and I couldn’t bear it. I took it all away. Maybe I overdid it—” he gave a soft laugh, “—but I wanted you to rest. You’ve already given us the greatest gift.”

He stood, moving closer to the bed, and carefully sat beside you, still cradling Celestia. Your heart swelled as you finally got a clear look at her.

Her skin was soft and glowing, the palest rose. Her hair, light pink like the first blush of dawn, shimmered with hidden streaks of color—silver, lavender, hints of gold and sky blue. But it was her eyes that stole your breath away: bright, clear, light blue like her father’s, like the sky over Delphi on the clearest day.

“She looks like you,” you murmured, reaching out a trembling hand.

Apollo let you touch her tiny fingers, and Celestia grasped yours instinctively. “She’s both of us,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “But when she opened her eyes for the first time… I saw eternity in them.”

You leaned against him, tears slipping down your cheeks, overwhelmed by love, by awe, by the soft weight of everything that had changed in just a single sunrise.

“She’s beautiful,” you breathed.

“She’s perfect,” Apollo said. “Like her mother.”