Later, when the study had emptied and the wards settled back into stillness, Gabriel sat alone. The fragments glimmered faintly where the lamplight touched them, blackened runes scorched into silence. Rowena's warmth had long since left his arms, but the ghost of her weight lingered, the faint press of tiny fingers curling against his collar.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand absently stroking the swell of his stomach, the other tapping idly against the desk. Alexandra's words clung like perfume.

Lucius.

He could almost picture it: his father in that too-tidy study, shelves immaculate, drawers catalogued with obsessive care, his fingers lingering on the ridges of half-forgotten ward-etchings. Once, the thought of asking him for help would have been intolerable, weakness sharpened into humiliation. Now… it wasn't the same.

Lucius had changed. He smiled now. Patiently. Warmly, even. Gabriel still found it strange, but no longer dangerous.

And yet, to bring him these shards? To admit that he, Gabriel, was at a wall? He pressed two fingers against his temple, the corner of his mouth twitching wryly.

'Would it be worth it?'

The runes waited, offering no answer.

The wards stirred again, breaking his reverie.

"Papa?"

Arik's voice carried into the study, curious and bright, his dark curls a little unruly from play. He hesitated at the threshold, golden eyes flicking toward the cluttered desk before darting back to Gabriel.

Gabriel sat up straighter at once, his sharpness smoothing into something warmer. "You're supposed to be with your tutors."

"I finished early," Arik announced, though the slight quirk at his mouth suggested otherwise. He crossed the room quickly, climbing onto the low stool beside Gabriel's chair without waiting for permission.

Behind him, the second presence entered, slower, the air shifting under the weight of authority and scent both. Damian closed the door with a quiet click, his gaze sweeping once across the shards, then settling on Gabriel with that unwavering focus.

The Emperor's golden eyes caught his, sharp and steady, as Arik leaned against Gabriel's arm with all the unbothered confidence of a child who knew he was safe.

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, the sharpness of his thoughts slipping aside as he shifted to make room for the boy. "You've come to rescue me from smoke and broken lines, have you?"

Arik peered at the scorched crystal sheets spread across the desk, nose wrinkling. "They look boring."

Gabriel's mouth curved faintly. "Correct, as always."

Arik beamed at the praise, tugging one of the notes closer, only for Gabriel to lay a steady hand over his wrist. "Not those," he said gently. "They'll crumble if you breathe too hard near them."

Arik frowned, clearly unconvinced, but turned instead toward the plate at Gabriel's elbow. "Can I have a fig?"

"Take two," Gabriel murmured, leaning back in his chair as the boy helped himself.

Damian crossed the room in silence, the weight of his presence filling it as easily as it had any war council. But here, there was no edge of command in his step, only a quiet patience. He stopped behind Gabriel's chair, his hand settling firm and steady on Gabriel's shoulder. The touch grounded him, pulling his attention away from fragments and shadows to the living warmth pressed at his side.

"Your mother said you slipped past your tutor again," Damian said, his voice low but carrying that tone Arik could never quite wriggle out of.

Arik froze mid-bite, cheeks full of fig. He chewed very quickly, swallowed, and then tried for innocence. "I finished the exercises."

Gabriel raised a brow, his smirk razor-thin. "All of them?"

Arik hesitated just a fraction too long. "Most of them."

Damian's hand squeezed Gabriel's shoulder, his golden eyes glinting as he looked down at their son. "You'll finish the rest after supper. Strength is built by finishing, not by stopping when it's inconvenient."

Arik wrinkled his nose at the echo of an earlier lecture about vegetables, but he nodded, lips pursed.

Gabriel's smirk softened, his hand sliding to ruffle Arik's curls. "You're very lucky," he murmured, brown eyes glinting with amusement, "that your father enjoys repeating himself. Otherwise, you'd be stuck listening to me."

Arik grinned, crumbs of fig clinging to his lip. "I'd like it."

"Dangerous answer," Gabriel drawled, though the corner of his mouth curved in something gentler.

Damian shifted behind them, his hand slipping from Gabriel's shoulder to the desk. With quiet calm, he drew the scattered notes and fragments together, closing them under one palm. "Enough work for today," he said, voice quiet but carrying the finality of command. "The Empire will survive one evening without you glaring at smoke."

Gabriel tipped his head back against the chair to look up at him, brown eyes narrowing. "You're staging a coup in my own study."

"Correction," Damian murmured, golden gaze steady, "I'm keeping my consort from burning himself out before the child arrives." His thumb brushed the edge of the papers once before he let them go, folding his hand back over Gabriel's shoulder. "Even Arik knows when to stop… eventually."

Arik puffed up indignantly. "I do stop! When it's boring."

Gabriel huffed a laugh, pulling his son closer into his side. His gaze drifted back to the dark fragments stacked under Damian's hand, and for a moment his smirk thinned into thought. "Lucius may have some answers regarding this. Should I ask?"

Damian's golden eyes cut to him at once, sharp and assessing. "You can order him."

Gabriel's mouth curved faintly, humor curling through the dryness of his tone. "Yes, because nothing strengthens a delicate peace like dragging my father into an interrogation over burned crystal."

Arik, oblivious to the weight in the air, licked fig juice from his fingers and announced, "Grandfather would like it. He always likes when I ask him questions."

That earned the faintest twitch at Gabriel's mouth. He ruffled Arik's curls again, though his eyes stayed locked on Damian's. "See? Our son has more faith in him than I do."

Damian's hand tightened on Gabriel's shoulder, grounding him as much as it was a silent claim. "If you think he knows something, you ask. Not because you need him, but because it may serve our child."

Gabriel's smirk flickered into something softer, almost reluctant. His hand pressed against the curve of his stomach, steady and absent all at once. "Practical as ever, Emperor."

Damian leaned closer, his voice low enough that only Gabriel caught it. "Practical, yes. But also certain. You're not carrying this alone."

Arik leaned into Gabriel's side, crumbs still clinging to his mouth, utterly unaware of the storm that lingered in his parents' silence.