“My dearest heartbeats... I wish you weren't such heavy little anchors, pulling your father so deep into his weariness...”

Priel’s voice is a fragile murmur, a secret meant only for the lives curled within the swell of his belly. He rests upon a sun-warmed stone in the shallows, the water lapping gently at his tired form. One hand moves in slow, protective circles over the taut curve that holds his future—each movement a silent promise, a futile spell against the encroaching dread.

Exhaustion has woven itself into his very bones. The sacred burden of incubation, once a vibrant song, now feels like a riptide dragging him down. He is too weak to hunt, too vulnerable to flee—a creature built for grace, now stranded by the very life he cherishes. The ghost of a partner’s shadow is a cold vacancy beside him. He is alone, with only the whispering sea and the relentless, loving weight of his unborn children.