Chapter 132: The Baby Had An Arthion Blood?

Eiravelle was breastfeeding her baby, the small creature nestled against her chest with a contented sigh, tiny fingers curling and uncurling against the soft fabric of her gown. The room was warm and quiet, the fire in the hearth crackling softly, and the winter light filtering through the curtains cast a pale golden glow over everything.

Arielle, Ruthina, Dawn, and Yvaine were there, guarding and watching over Eiravelle, their presence a comforting blanket of love and protection. The afternoon had stretched into evening, the shadows growing longer and the fire burning brighter, and still they stayed, unwilling to leave the new mother and her child alone.

They were in the dragon wing, Qazaethel’s second master’s bedroom, a spacious chamber that had been prepared especially for Eiravelle and the baby. The walls were lined with rich tapestries depicting dragons in flight, their wings spread wide against skies of crimson and gold, and the furniture was dark wood, carved with intricate patterns that spoke of ancient craftsmanship.

The bed was large and soft, piled high with pillows and blankets, and a bassinet stood beside it, empty now because the baby was in Eiravelle’s arms. The room smelled of woodsmoke and lavender and the sweet, milky scent of the newborn, and the only sounds were the soft crackle of the fire and the gentle cooing of the child.

Dawn was so excited to hold the baby that she couldn’t help but touch its tiny fingers, her own hands trembling with a mixture of awe and longing. She had been hovering at Eiravelle’s side for the past hour, her eyes fixed on the baby’s face, her fingers reaching out again and again to brush against the soft skin.

"It’s so cute, I wish me and Liv will personally have our own little creature like this," Dawn said, and her voice was soft, almost wistful. She had been thinking about it more and more lately, about what it would be like to have a child of her own, to hold a baby in her arms and know that it was hers, that it was a part of her and Liv both. The thought filled her with a warmth that was both joyful and terrifying.

Eiravelle nodded in agreement, her eyes never leaving her daughter’s face. "You will, someday. And when you do, you’ll understand just how much love you can feel for someone so small." She said, and her voice was thick with emotion. She had never known that love could be like this—so overwhelming, so all-consuming, so absolutely terrifying.

She had spent her whole life being told that she was less than, that her purpose was to serve and obey, that her value lay only in her ability to bear children. But holding her daughter in her arms, feeling the weight of the tiny body against her chest, she knew that none of that was true. She was not less than. She was a mother. And her daughter was perfect.

"Your little creature is so cute, sister Eivy," Ruthina said, and she was like Dawn, hovering over the calm child, her golden eyes wide with wonder. She reached out a finger, and the baby’s tiny hand closed around it, gripping it with a strength that surprised her.

"Oh! She’s so strong!" Ruthina exclaimed, and the others laughed, the sound bright and warm in the quiet room.

"Haha, isn’t she so cute? Surely, Qazaevelle got our genes, Eivy," Arielle proudly said, her chest puffing with pride. She had been hovering too, though she tried to pretend she was above such things.

But the truth was, she could not stop looking at the baby, could not stop marveling at the tiny life that had come from her sister. "She has the Arthion stubbornness, I can tell. Look at that grip." She pointed at the baby’s hand, still wrapped around Ruthina’s finger, and shook her head with a fond smile. The claim that the child had an Arthion blood was just a tease and not entirely a claim.

"Haha, yeah, she will have your strength, sister," Eiravelle said, and she continued to hold her baby, her fingers gentle against the soft skin. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a sense of completeness that she had never known before. She had a daughter. She had a family.

She had everything she had ever wanted. The baby stirred, her tiny mouth moving against Eiravelle’s breast, and Eiravelle adjusted her hold, her movements instinctive and sure.

"She was so calm, I hope my future children are like her," Yvaine mentioned, and they all chuckled. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed, her chin resting on her hand as she watched the baby with a soft smile.

She had never thought much about children before, had never imagined herself as a mother, but watching Eiravelle with Qazaevelle made her wonder what it would be like. What would it be like to hold a child of her own, to feel that tiny weight in her arms, to know that she and Xelvyn had created something so perfect?

"Of course, Lordess Xelvyn is so nonchalant all the time," Arielle said, and they chuckled again. "Your child would probably inherit her calmness. Can you imagine a tiny Xelvyn, sitting in a corner and reading scrolls while all the other children run around and play?"

"But I am very chaotic, so I hope our child takes over her personality, haha," Yvaine said, and her smile was bright, infectious. "I want a child who will run around and cause trouble and make Xelvyn’s life interesting." She imagined it, a small child with Xelvyn’s dark hair and her own mischievous grin, running through the palace halls and causing havoc wherever they went. The thought made her laugh, and the others laughed with her.

Their conversation went on, filling the room with laughter and warmth and the easy camaraderie of people who loved each other. They talked about the future, about the children they might have, about the lives they might build.

They talked about silly things, about the funny faces the baby made, about the way her tiny nose scrunched up when she yawned, about the way her fingers curled and uncurled in her sleep. They talked about everything and nothing, the way people do when they are happy and safe and together.

But then Eiravelle noticed something. Her daughter’s nails were getting sharper, the tiny tips growing into something that was not quite human, not quite normal. "Eh? Is this normal? Her nails are..." She kept checking, her brow furrowing with confusion. She turned the baby’s hand gently, examining the tiny claws, and a flicker of worry passed through her.

The tips were pointed, almost translucent, and they seemed to gleam in the firelight. They were not the soft, rounded nails of a newborn. They were something else entirely.

Arielle caught the attention when they became silent, her own conversation trailing off as she saw the expression on Eiravelle’s face. "What’s wrong?" Arielle asked, and her voice was sharp with concern. She moved closer, her eyes fixed on the baby’s hand.

"Is something wrong with the child?" Her heart was pounding in her chest, a sudden, irrational fear gripping her. She had seen that look on Eiravelle’s face before, had seen it when the baby was born, when the midwife had placed the tiny bundle in her sister’s arms. But this was different. This was something else entirely.

"Nothing... Her nails are just... Sharp..." Eiravelle said, and her voice was uncertain. She did not know what to make of it. She had never seen a baby with claws like this, had never heard of such a thing.

She had seen animals with nails, of course, had seen dragons and wolves and bears, but this was different. This was her daughter. This was a human child—or at least, she had thought it was.

Arielle approached and checked the child’s nails, her fingers gentle as she turned the tiny hand this way and that. She was a bit taken aback, her eyes widening as she examined the claws.

"This... This resembles Arisia and Ariphale’s nails back when they were born..." Arielle said, and her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She looked at Eiravelle, and there was something in her eyes—a flicker of recognition, of understanding, of something that might have been fear.

Eiravelle was a bit confused, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" She asked, and her voice was careful, hesitant. She did not know what Arielle was implying, but she could tell that it was important, that it was something that might change everything.

Arisia and Ariphale were her half-sisters, the daughters of Arthion and Elaria, the legitimate heirs of the Arthion bloodline. If Qazaevelle had the same claws as them, then there was something more going on than anyone had realized.

Arielle was a bit confused too, her thoughts racing. "I’m not sure... But... Your child may have the Arthion blood," she said, and her words hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water. Eiravelle gasped at first, her eyes widening with shock, before she chuckled at the uncertainty.

"How is that even possible? I am not father’s blood. I am mom’s daughter from another alpha, remember?" Eiravelle said, and her voice was light, almost dismissive. She was not Arthion’s daughter.

She had always known that. Her mother had told her the truth when she was old enough to understand, had explained that Eiravelle’s father was a different alpha, a man she had loved and lost before she had married Arthion. Eiravelle had never been an Arthion. She had never carried their blood.

But Arielle was processing everything in her thoughts, her mind working through the implications. She knew something that Eiravelle did not. She knew that the Arthion bloodline was not just a matter of genetics. It was a matter of magic, of destiny, of something that went deeper than blood.

The Arthion family had been blessed by the gods, had been given gifts that set them apart from other alphas. And if Qazaevelle had the Arthion nails, then there was more to this than anyone had realized. There was something in Eiravelle’s bloodline that no one had known about, something that had been hidden for generations, something that was only now beginning to surface.

"You guys stay here with Eiravelle. I just need to talk to someone," Arielle said, and she took her coat, her movements quick and purposeful. She did not explain. She did not have time to explain. She needed to find answers, needed to understand what was happening.

She needed to find their mother, or perhaps someone older, someone who remembered the old stories, the old legends, the old secrets that had been kept hidden for so long.

"Eh? Arielle, can you bring me some carrots on your way back?" Ruthina asked, her voice was bright and oblivious to the tension in the room. Arielle nodded, a small smile flickering across her face despite her worry.

"Oh! Of course! I’ll be right back," Arielle said, and she left in a hurry, the door closing behind her with a soft click. No one knew why she had left so suddenly. No one knew what she was thinking.

But Eiravelle thought about it, and now it was bothering her, a small, nagging worry that she could not shake. She looked down at her daughter, at the tiny sharp nails, at the golden eyes that were so like her own, and she felt a chill run down her spine. What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

The child started to cry, her tiny wails filling the room, and Eiravelle immediately rocked her baby in her arms to calm her. "Shhh~ it’s okay, it’s okay~" she soothed, and she gave the child another breastfeed, her movements automatic, her mind elsewhere.

The baby quieted, her cries are fading to soft, contented sounds, and Eiravelle looked down at her daughter, at the tiny face and the golden eyes and the sharp little claws, and she felt a chill run down her spine.

"Awww! She’s really so cute!" Dawn said, and Ruthina and Yvaine agreed, their voices bright and cheerful. They continued to hover over the child, their excitement undimmed, but Eiravelle’s mind was already far away. She was thinking about Arielle’s words, about the Arthion blood, about what it might mean for her daughter, for her family, for everything she thought she knew. And she was afraid.