Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Midas had never been afraid of his own strength.
Not in war. Not in hunger. Not when he roared loud enough to shake the snow from mountaintops or snapped an ancient oak with a swipe of his tail.
But now, the ancient, powerful beast that he was, trembled at the sound of his sons breathing.
They were so small. Frail and soft, with fluttering hearts and paper-thin cries. Their hands were barely bigger than the tip of his claw, their bones light as dry leaves. When they lay beside Elowen’s chest, curling into her warmth, they looked like nothing more than petals.
Petals he could crush without meaning to.
He stayed at the mouth of the cave. Watching. Waiting. Protecting. But never close enough to touch.
Elowen had asked him once, “Would you like to hold them?”
He had stared at her. Panicked. Then looked at his human-shaped hands. What if he dropped them? What if his talons snagged their skin? What if his fire, ancient and deep as magma, was too much for their delicate bodies?
So he had shaken his head, though the pain of that decision weighed on him every day.
Instead, he watched them sleep from the shadows. Watched as one curled his tiny hand around her finger. Watched the other stir and coo softly in dreams. Elowen sang to them in a voice so soft it felt like prayer. When she looked over at Midas, she smiled.
“You don’t have to be afraid of them,” she said one night, her voice gentle.
But she didn’t understand. It wasn’t them he feared. It was himself.
“You are their father, Midas,” she pressed. “I trust you. You won’t hurt them.”
Still, he could not bring himself to risk it yet.
He shifted back into his natural form to avoid the conversation, and kept a distance from the three of them until she fell asleep.
The twins were nestled between her arms, one resting just beneath her chin, the other splayed like a starfish across her stomach.
Midas crept closer, each step slow and deliberate. He folded his wings in tight. Tucked his claws beneath him. Lowered his head to the cool stone floor.
Close enough now that he could hear their breath, two soft rhythms that beat in sync. He watched the rise and fall of their chests. Watched the way they kicked in their dreams. One gave a soft snort and made a sound he’d never heard before—a laugh.
Something clutched at his chest. He lowered his snout just enough to feel the brush of warmth from their small bodies.
And then a tiny hand came reaching aimlessly, landing with a soft pat between his nostrils. Midas froze. His son didn’t even open his eyes before he giggled sleepily and went still again.
Elowen stirred.
“Midas?” she whispered groggily. He rumbled back a response, just loud enough for her to know he was there.
She fell still with sleep again in an instant, and it warmed his heart. She trusted him enough with their children to fall asleep so easily, knowing he was so close.
He lay there the rest of the night, head beside his greatest treasures, learning what it meant to be strong in a way that was reserved not for the world, but for his family.
Elowen sat on a blanket of fur, twin bundles nestled against her chest. One stirred, a tiny hand stretching open with a soundless yawn before curling again. The other smacked his lips in sleep, a droplet of drool collecting on Elowen’s shoulder.
Midas stood a few paces away. He had taken his human form, the shift leaving his body trembling from the strain. He said nothing. He only stared, eyes wide and molten as they fixed on his perfect sons.
Elowen reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her brow, her body still exhausted from the toll of birth, but radiant in the firelight. “Come here,” she said gently. “You need to hold them, my heart. Come embrace what we created together.”
Midas didn’t move at first.
“What if I hurt them?” he whispered painfully, as if it had already happened.
“No,” Elowen murmured. “You never could.”
With painstaking care, she lifted the larger of the twins—Kalen—and extended him out in her arms. Midas approached like one would step in a temple, every step heavy with awe. He knelt before her, eyes flicking between Elowen’s steady hands and the tiny creature she carried.
Kalen stirred as he was passed over, his small brow furrowing, lips pressing together in protest. Midas took him with hands that trembled, fingers curled protectively beneath his son’s back and head. The warmth of the boy’s body shocked him. The heartbeat, even more.
So fragile. So real.
Midas bowed his head over the small figure and inhaled deeply. Kalen smelled of his mother’s milk, of warmth, of something ancient and nearly forgotten.
Elowen watched from the nest with the other boy in her arms, quietly watching and forcing her expression to stay steady for him. Midas pressed a kiss to the top of Kalen’s head as she handed him Auric next.
This one stirred immediately in his father’s arms, letting out a squeaky whimper. Midas exhaled a shuddering breath and pulled both twins to his chest, one in each arm, cradled with care that was becoming of the most delicate treasures in his hoard.
He knelt there for a long time. The silence was thick with emotion. It stretched and shimmered around them like spun gold. When Midas finally looked up, tears streaked his cheeks.
“They are dragons,” he whispered, awed. He turned his head to look at Elowen, as if he were seeing her anew. “You gave them to me,” he said, almost in disbelief. “You gave me a future.”
Elowen reached forward and pressed her forehead to his, their sons between them. “You gave me a home first.”
He nodded once, fiercely, as if that meant more to him than anything else in the world.
It did.
It had taken weeks before the toll of birth had finally passed through Elowen’s body. She appeared brighter and had more energy than before, but she was still tired. So very tired. Her sons took up all of her attention and time.
Midas had done his best to tend to her while her body recovered. It had taken weeks—but now he knew in the soft exhale of sleep that true rest claimed her.
She needed sleep. She deserved sleep. And this morning, at last, she had found it, and he would not be the one to take it from her.
The twins were already stirring, wriggling in their woven basket beside the hearth, their soft cries just beginning to rise.
Midas moved quietly. He quickly learned to cradle them in his human arms, though the awkwardness still lingered in his joints and fingers. His claws followed him in this form, and the fear of their sharpness haunted his grip, making him overly cautious.
He gathered the boys to his chest and padded barefoot across the cave’s smooth stone to the small copper basin Elowen used for washing. He had filled it earlier, fetching water from the river and warming it with stones heated with his own breath.
He placed them gently into the shallow water. The boys kicked their legs, one smacking the water with an eager splash.
Midas flinched. But they laughed. The sound was music. Something he was not expecting to hear so soon after their birth. He chuckled softly under his breath, ears twitching as he reached for the washcloth.
You are loud, he murmured to them in dragon tongue, voice gravel-thick and low. Louder than thunder.
One of them hiccupped and gurgled in reply as if they understood him.
Yes, you, he teased.
He worked slowly, carefully wiping between the creases of their tiny limbs, washing behind their ears the way Elowen always did. He whispered nonsense in the language of dragons, stringing together old tales, half-remembered legends from before the fall.
There was once a dragon who could speak to the moon, he told them, dipping the cloth again. She sang silver songs, soft as snow, into the beauty of the night...
He rinsed them gently, using his cupped hand to pour water over their bellies. One kicked again, this time catching Midas’ forearm with more force than expected, causing a smile to creep to his face.
Good. You will be strong, he growled affectionately. Like your mother.
Elowen stirred. From the bed of furs and moss they shared, she blinked against the morning light, her eyes searching instinctively for her children. But the sight that greeted her instead stilled her breath.
There, by the fire, Midas sat human-shaped—his long, unkempt hair falling in strands around his face, wings curled loosely behind him.
He was hunched over the copper basin, the twins nestled safely in his lap, both freshly clean and blinking at their father as he spoke softly in a tongue she could not understand.
For the first time since the twins were born, her body felt light. Her heart felt quiet. She wasn’t needed in that moment—not as a healer, or a protector, or a mother scrambling to stay ahead of exhaustion.
Midas had the boys, and they were safe.
I think the moon dragon was very lonely, he murmured to the twins, cupping a hand around the back of one small neck. I think she sang because she was waiting for something. Midas lowered his head, brushing his brow against the tops of their hair. His breath caught in his throat as he whispered:
I understood that sorrow. But no longer.
Elowen sat propped against the wall of furs, a thick blanket draped around her shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before snapping open again.
Midas had brought the boys to her side after turning to find her awake.
They were nestled beside her, swaddled and content after nursing, their small hands curled into fists like budding flower petals.
She was always watching them. Always reaching for them, checking their warmth, smoothing their hair, whispering soft assurances even when they could barely hear.
Though he admired her devotion, it troubled Midas how quickly she forgot herself. How often she forgot to eat. To rest. So today, he brought the food to her.
Roasted root vegetables mixed with soft greens and the meat he’d hunted the day before, carefully shredded and cooked to her liking.
It wasn’t perfect—he still didn’t fully grasp the balance of flavors—but it was warm.
He presented it to her on a carved wooden bowl, waiting with unblinking patience until she looked up.
“Eat,” he said softly, still learning how to shape the words in her tongue with confidence.
Elowen smiled sleepily, but obediently took the dish. “Thank you.”
Midas didn’t sit far. He hovered like a shadow, just within reach, eyes flicking between her and the twins as she ate. He relaxed only when he saw her take the second bite without hesitation.
“Always looking at them,” he said after a moment, his tone more observation than complaint. She glanced down at the boys, who slept curled together. “You are everything to them. Warmth. Safety. Nourishment. But they need you strong.”
He watched her chew slowly, her fingers trembling just slightly from fatigue she hadn’t admitted aloud. Then her gaze lifted, softer now. Thoughtful.
“Midas…” she began, her voice hesitant, “do you think they’ll always look like this? Like me?” He tilted his head curiously. “They have your eyes,” she murmured, “but sometimes I wonder...will they grow wings? Horns? Tails? Will they shift?”
Midas looked to the boys again. “I do not know,” he said carefully. “But I have imagined it.”
Her brow lifted gently. “Imagined?”
His golden eyes flickered like embers. “To fly with them,” he said. “To hear them roar. Teach them the path of the sky. Teach them fire. The hunt. To be dragon.”
There was something wistful in his tone, aching deeply in his chest. Elowen placed the bowl aside, food half-finished now, and reached over to touch his hand. Her fingers laced with his—rough palm to soft skin.
“What if they don’t?” she asked, eyes searching his face. “What if they are human like me?”
“They are mine. I love them as they are.”
The boys stirred in their sleep, one yawning so wide it made Midas laugh under his breath. He reached out to tuck the fur more securely around them, careful not to wake them.
Elowen leaned against his shoulder, the tension leaving her body inch by inch.
And for a moment there was no pain, no fear, and no suffering. Only a human girl, a dragon, and the two lives they created together, deep in the heart of the mountain.