Chapter 97: Names

Three days passed in a haze of exhausted, overwhelming joy, Ren settling slowly into the strange, wonderful new rhythm of caring for two infants while his own body continued recovering from the early, difficult delivery. Vance’s continued monitoring remained cautiously optimistic, both twins steadily gaining strength despite their early arrival, and by the fourth day, she finally pronounced them stable enough for the family to properly consider the question they’d been carefully avoiding amid the delivery’s chaos.

“We actually have to name them,” Ren said, settling into the nursery’s plush seating with his daughter cradled carefully against his chest, something wondering and slightly overwhelmed in his voice. “I can’t believe we haven’t properly decided yet.”

“We’ve had other priorities,” Reven said, something gently amused cutting through his own evident exhaustion as he settled beside Ren, his son sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“Finn’s still campaigning for Butterfly,” Yegard observed, something dry and fond in his tone.

“I’ve told him repeatedly that’s not a viable option,” Ren said, genuine laughter escaping him despite his exhaustion. “Though I appreciate his enthusiasm. He’s brought me a list of backup suggestions too. Cloud. Star. Something he called ‘Sparkle-wing’ that I genuinely could not get him to explain.”

“At least he’s thorough,” Reven said, something fond in his voice despite his obvious amusement.

They spent the better part of the evening working through possibilities, old names from Yegard’s family history considered alongside names carrying significance from Reven’s own royal lineage, and Ren found himself, despite his continued exhaustion, genuinely delighted by the careful, loving deliberation each suggestion received.

“My grandmother’s name was Seren,” Yegard offered at one point, something softer entering his usually composed voice. “She was the only person in my family who ever made me feel like being gentle wasn’t a weakness.”

“That’s beautiful,” Ren said, something warm settling into his chest at the rare glimpse into Yegard’s childhood. “Though I think our daughter might already have claimed her name tonight. Keep it in mind, though. For whoever comes after.”

Yegard’s expression flickered with something startled and pleased at the casual mention of future children, though he said nothing, simply pressing a gentle kiss to Ren’s temple instead.

“What about Liora,” Reven suggested finally, studying his daughter’s small, peaceful face with evident tenderness. “It means light, in the old court dialect. Given everything she’s already overcome, arriving early and strong despite it all, it feels fitting.”

Ren felt something warm settle into his chest at the suggestion, testing the name against his daughter’s small, perfect features. “Liora,” he repeated softly, something settled and certain in his tone. “I love it.”

Yegard studied his son with similar careful consideration. “Dorian,” he offered finally, something quietly proud in his suggestion. “After my own grandfather, a man who never once backed down from what he believed was right, regardless of the cost. He taught me that steadiness mattered more than strength, in the end.”

Ren felt fresh emotion well up at that, old memory of Yegard’s rare, careful stories about his family history resurfacing with new, tender significance. “Dorian,” he said, testing it against his son’s peaceful expression. “Perfect.”

“Liora and Dorian,” Reven said, something deeply satisfied in his voice as he properly tested the names together. “I think that suits them beautifully.”

“We should decide on their full names too,” Ren said, something thoughtful entering his tone. “Given there are two of you, and I genuinely don’t want to spend years refereeing an argument over whose family name takes precedence.”

Reven and Yegard exchanged a brief, considering glance, old rivalry long since settled into something warmer, more collaborative. “Both,” Reven said finally. “Hyphenated, properly, so neither of us gets to claim sole credit. Liora Astoria Valcrest-Vale, and Dorian Yegard Vale-Valcrest.”

“Switching the order for each,” Ren said, something amused and genuinely touched by the gesture. “That’s remarkably diplomatic of you both.”

“We’ve had considerable practice compromising,” Yegard said, something dry but fond in his observation.

They finalized the decision with genuine, overwhelming joy, and the formal naming ceremony, conducted two days later in the palace’s private chapel, carried considerably more significance than Ren had initially anticipated, the Emperor and Queen both presiding with evident, genuine delight, Milo and Finn standing proudly as the twins’ elder siblings, Alouis beaming with fierce, maternal pride throughout the entire, tender proceedings.

The chapel itself had been decorated simply but beautifully, soft light filtering through high windows, a scattering of pale flowers arranged along the altar, and Ren felt his throat tighten with overwhelming emotion as he stood at the center of it, Liora held carefully against his chest, Yegard beside him cradling Dorian with the same careful reverence.

“Liora Astoria Valcrest-Vale,” the Emperor announced formally, something warm cutting through his typically measured royal bearing, “and Dorian Yegard Vale-Valcrest. Welcome, both of you, to this family, and to this Empire.”

The Queen stepped forward next, something softer and more personal in his own blessing, gently touching each infant’s forehead with evident, genuine tenderness. “May you both know, from this very first day, exactly how deeply you are loved,” he said quietly, something private passing between himself and Ren in the moment, old memory of their first conversation in the garden resurfacing with fresh warmth.

Ren felt overwhelming emotion crash through him at the formal, loving acknowledgment, watching his children properly, officially welcomed into the family he’d built against every impossible odd. Finn, predictably, couldn’t contain his excitement throughout the ceremony, practically vibrating with delight once the formal blessing concluded, while Milo watched with quiet, evident pride, old protective instinct settling firmly into place now that his new siblings carried proper names alongside their place in the family.

“Can I hold them now,” Finn whispered loudly enough that several nearby guests laughed softly.

“Carefully,” Ren said, something fond and amused cutting through his lingering emotion, “and only while sitting down.”

The celebration that followed carried genuine, hard-won joy, palace staff and close family gathering for a simple, warm reception, and Ren found himself, by evening’s end, settled comfortably in the nursery with both twins finally sleeping peacefully, Yegard and Reven both close beside him, exhausted but profoundly content.

“We should properly discuss security going forward,” Reven said eventually, something careful entering his tone despite the evening’s lingering warmth. “Given everything we now understand about the hidden threat still circling us, I want to ensure the twins have every possible protection from the very beginning. Not just physical security either. I want to understand more about how their own classifications might develop, so we’re never caught unprepared the way we were with Milo’s own awakening.”

Ren felt old worry resurface alongside his exhaustion, though fierce, protective determination tempered the anxiety considerably. “Whatever’s necessary,” he said firmly. “I won’t risk either of them, not after everything we’ve already survived to bring them safely into this world.”

Yegard’s hand found his, steady and warm despite his own evident exhaustion. “We’ll properly discuss it tomorrow,” he said gently. “Tonight, I think we’ve genuinely earned a little peace.”

Ren nodded, old worry easing just slightly at the gentle reminder, and allowed himself, finally, to simply exist in the evening’s hard-won, precious calm, watching both his children sleep peacefully, Milo and Finn’s happy voices drifting faintly from elsewhere in the private wing, the entire, extraordinary family he’d built finally, properly whole.

The peace lasted exactly as long as it took for Alouis’s urgent comm to interrupt it.

“I’m sorry to disturb you this late,” she said, something tight and careful in her voice the moment the connection opened, “but intelligence just flagged something you need to see immediately. A transmission, intercepted an hour ago, apparently originating from deep within Remnant communications.”

Ren felt old dread resurface sharply despite the evening’s earlier warmth. “What does it say.”

Alouis hesitated briefly before continuing, something grim entering her careful delivery. “It references the birth directly,” she said. “They already know the twins have arrived. And the message makes clear they consider this… an acceleration of their own timeline.”

Reven’s expression hardened instantly, old protective fury replacing his earlier contentment. “They’re planning something,” he said, voice flat and dangerous. “Soon.”

Ren felt fierce, protective determination settle hard into his chest, old exhaustion fading beneath immediate, urgent resolve as he glanced toward his sleeping children, toward Yegard and Reven both already shifting into focused, strategic readiness beside him.

“Then we prepare,” he said firmly, old fear giving way to fierce, unwavering protectiveness. “Whatever they’re planning, whatever this acceleration actually means, we face it exactly like we’ve faced everything else. Together, and properly ready.”