Scene: The Academy’s main training room. Sunlight filters through high windows, throwing beams across the blue-prints, potion bottles, training gear, and flight rigs scattered about. Jet-Vac is pacing near a large table covered with feeds, nap pads, flight-jacket prototypes; Pop Fizz is balancing test tubes and stirring glowing liquids; Stealth Elf leans against a pillar, silent, attentive; Eruptor is warming his hands by a lava lamp replica (because yes, he has one); Spyro is practicing small flame bursts in his palm, trying not to scorch anything important.

The sound of a gentle kick, muffled at first, then more pronounced, echoes. Jet-Vac stops. He glances down; the bump on his belly visibly ripples under his flight-uniform.

Pop Fizz (eyes wide): “Whoa! Did you feel that? I swear that wasn’t just the floor vibration—Jet-Vac, did your mid-section just… bounce on its own?”

Jet-Vac (hand going to belly, steadying himself, breath catching but his voice firm): “Yes. Yes, I felt it. Strong. Very strong. Must be… growth. Adaptation. Rhythm.” (A beat, then he exhales deeply.) “Right. That means we’re at week—” (He checks a chart pinned nearby.) “—six. That much more reason to make sure everything here is calibrated.”

Stealth Elf (moving forward, alert and soft-spoken): “If the baby kicked that hard, maybe the padding in your uniform needs extra reinforcement. I can work on stealthy flexible grafts—something quiet, snug, still allows full movement.”

Eruptor (concerned, enthusiastic protective): “Right! We can’t have kicks turning into chaos mid-flight! I can design a heat-regulated support frame — lava-tempered mesh or something — so that nothing overheats or chafes when you move.”

Spyro (smiling, a bit unsteady): “This is… incredible. I mean, I’ve seen you plan for storms, for Kaos’s traps, but this—this is something new. Jet-Vac, you’re doing amazing. If you want, I’ll test your flight-rig with the bump pad. I promise I won’t burn it down.”

Pop Fizz (pushing up goggles, excited): “And I’ll whip up a potion — gentle, restorative — that helps with swelling. Not something crazy. Just soothing. Maybe with cloudberry extract? Doctor-approved by Elfin stealth standards.”

Jet-Vac straightens, regaining instructor composure. He places one winged hand on the table, the other softly cradling his belly.

Jet-Vac: “Thank you, everyone. I trust you all. Today’s training isn’t just about wind currents or enemy drones — it’s about balance. It’s about preparation. Every flutter, every kick reminds me that some responsibilities can’t be planned for, but they can be prepared for.”

He glances around, meeting each of their eyes in turn.

Jet-Vac: “Spyro — run a diagnostic on the flight-rig. Eruptor — your support frame and temperature tolerances. Stealth Elf — covert padding modifications. Pop Fizz — your potion. And I… I’ll adjust my routine. Some drills, fewer dives, safer maneuvers.”

(He inhales deeply, a soft smile crossing his features.)

Jet-Vac: “Let’s move, team. Up to your feet — our mission just gained a new, very energetic member.”