The room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft golden glow of the nightlight. A quiet hush filled the space, interrupted only by the steady rhythm of a baby’s breathing and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet.

Lucien stood there, holding his daughter against his chest, his arms cradling her with a gentleness that seemed almost at odds with the strength they carried. His biceps, once accustomed to the weight of battles fought in the outside world, now held something far more precious—a tiny, fragile life that had shifted the very foundation of who he was.

The baby, dressed in a soft onesie patterned with tiny anchors, stirred slightly in his arms. Her delicate fingers, so impossibly small, curled around his forearm, gripping him with a trust she wasn’t even aware of yet. He let out a slow breath, as if the gravity of that trust settled deeper into his bones.

He had always been a man of control—unshaken, unwavering, unbreakable. Yet here, in the quiet of the nursery, he was something else. Something softer. Something more vulnerable.

From the doorway, {{user}} watched him, silent and still, as if afraid to disturb the rare moment unfolding before her. She had seen him in many ways before—strong, determined, fiercely protective—but this was new. This was different.

This was a man discovering a new version of himself.