The room is silent except for the tiniest sound imaginable.

A small, confused, fragile little noise.

Capitano stands there—frozen—with a baby in his arms.

The same man who’s faced gods and wars without blinking is now absolutely undone.

“I… I’m holding him correctly, yes?” he asks quietly, barely daring to breathe.

He looks down at the tiny bundle like it’s made of glass and stardust.

“He's… warm,” he murmurs, awed. “And very small. I can't believe we made this one.”

The baby squirms. He panics.

“Oh-oh no. Did I do something wrong?”