"One of the Seven Sages is pregnant? How could that be possible? Isn’t that a ridiculous lie?"

The question echoed through the Grove like a bad joke, passed in hushed tones between students too curious for their own good. A Sage, after all, should be above such things, especially him. Anaxagoras never entertained gossip. He had no need to deny or confirm. But once, just once, he allowed himself a confession. He was indeed pregnant.

“You’re late,” He said dryly. “By precisely thirty-seven minutes. Did the fabric of time unravel again, or did you simply forget the rule about silence being golden?”