Early Morning - Victor POV

I woke to Mama's retching from the herb garden. Again.

At six, I understood more than I used to about what was happening. The baby growing inside her was making her body work harder. Master Elena had explained it during one of her visits, using words like "natural process" and "healthy development." But understanding didn't make it easier to hear Mama suffer every morning.

"She's getting worse," I whispered to Elira, who was already awake in the other bed. We'd been sharing my room since Aunt Seraphine moved into the alcove, and having her near made everything better.

"Mama says the stronger the sickness, the stronger the baby," Elira whispered back, though worry creased her forehead. "My mother had the same thing when she was carrying me."

I slipped from bed and padded to the window. Papa was in the garden with Mama, one large hand rubbing circles on her back while she bent over the mint patch. His face held that tight expression he got when he wanted to fix problems but couldn't.

"Come on," I said, sudden purpose filling me. "Let's make breakfast before they come in."

We crept downstairs. I'd grown tall enough to reach the eggs without climbing on the counter, and Elira had become an excellent cook over our three years of morning routines. She knew exactly how to manage the wood stove and could judge cooking temperatures better than most adults, while I could use my flame magic to help get fires started when needed.

"Scrambled?" Elira asked, already adjusting the heat under the pan.

"With herbs. The ones that help settle stomachs." I cracked eggs into a bowl, proud I rarely broke the yolks anymore. "Aunt Seraphine taught me which ones last week."

As if summoned by her name, Seraphine appeared in the doorway. Her staff leaned against the wall, the crystal catching morning light and pulsing gently.

"Good morning, little healers." Her smile was warm but tired. She'd been staying up late, preparing teas and tinctures for Mama. "I see great minds think alike."

"Is Mama worse today?" I asked, whisking eggs with steady strokes.

Seraphine's expression grew thoughtful. "Not worse. Different. The baby is active. Very active. Some children make their presence known early."

Her tone made me pause. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing concerning," she said quickly, but I caught the glance she shot toward my parents in the garden. "Just that this little one has strong opinions about timing. Rather like someone else I know."

Elira giggled. "She means you, Victor. You have very strong opinions about everything."

I flushed but didn't deny it. Papa always said having opinions was good, as long as you could listen to others too.

When we carried breakfast upstairs, Mama was propped against pillows, looking pale but grateful. Papa sat beside her, one hand resting protectively on her growing belly.

"Oh, my wonderful children," Mama breathed, accepting the tray. "This smells perfect."

I climbed onto the bed, mindful of elbows and knees. At six, I was getting big enough to need care with sudden movements.

"How much longer until the baby comes?" I asked.

"Still several months," Papa said, though he glanced at Seraphine as if seeking confirmation.

"Can I feel them move yet?"

Mama smiled, taking my hand and placing it on the roundest part of her belly. "Try staying very still. Sometimes in the morning, after all the fuss passes, they'll stretch."

I held my breath, palm flat against Mama's warmth. For long moments, nothing. Then, the tiniest flutter, like a butterfly wing.

"Oh!" I gasped. "I felt it!"

"That's your little brother or sister," Mama said softly, "saying good morning."

The flutter came again, stronger this time. Wonder and fierce protectiveness squeezed tight in my chest.

"I'll take such good care of them," I promised solemnly. "I'll teach them everything important."

"And I'll help," Elira added, leaning close. "We'll be the best big siblings ever."

The Waterfall Training - Three Weeks Later

"Focus on the connection," Aunt Seraphine instructed, her voice barely audible over the waterfall's song. "Don't force the flame. Invite it."

I sat cross-legged on the smooth rock, eyes closed, reaching for the warm place inside where my magic lived. After three years of training, I knew the feeling well, but today's lesson was different. Today, we were working on what Seraphine called "responsive magic."

"Instead of creating fire," she continued, "try asking it what it wants to become."

That seemed backward, but I'd learned to trust Seraphine's strange instructions. I breathed deeply, letting the sound of falling water calm my thoughts, and reached toward my magic with a question rather than a command.

The response was immediate. Warmth bloomed in my palms, but instead of the usual orange flames, deeper colors emerged. The fire pulsed with blues and whites, not hot enough to burn but warm enough to dry the mist from my skin.

"Beautiful," Elira breathed from beside me. She'd been working on meditation exercises, preparing for when her own magic manifested.

"Very good," Seraphine said, though her tone held a note I couldn't quite name. "Now, can you ask it to change? Not force it, but suggest?"

Papa's forge came to mind, how he could coax fire from dull red to brilliant white just by understanding what it needed. I tried offering my flames that same kind of partnership.

The fire responded eagerly, cycling through temperatures and colors like it was showing off. Deep red for gentle warmth, bright orange for enthusiasm, white-hot for pure joy, then back to the peaceful blue-white that felt like contentment.

"Most mages your age can barely maintain consistent flames, let alone..." Seraphine trailed off, but I caught the worry in her voice. The same worry I'd been hearing from the adults lately when they assumed I wasn't listening.

"Am I doing it wrong?" I asked, letting the flames fade.

"No, sweetheart. You're doing everything beautifully. That's what worries me sometimes."

"Why would being good at magic be worrying?"

Seraphine settled beside me, her staff glowing softly. "Because magic like yours draws attention. And not all attention is kind."

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the waterfall mist. "What kind of attention?"

"The kind that sees power as a tool to control or use," she said gently. "There are people in the world who would want to take advantage of abilities like yours."

Elira shifted closer, her presence steadying. "But that's why we practice in secret, right? And why we don't talk about it in the village?"

"Exactly. Your parents and I, we're all working to keep you safe while you grow into your gifts."

I turned that over like one of Papa's metal puzzles. "Will I always have to hide?"

"Not always. Someday, when you're older and stronger, you'll be able to choose how much of yourself to share with the world. But for now, the hiding is protection, not shame."

That made sense, though it felt strange to have this huge part of myself that most people couldn't know about. "What if I don't want to hide forever?"

Seraphine smiled, stroking my hair with gentle fingers. "Then you won't have to. But that choice will be yours to make, when you're ready."

We practiced for another hour, working on control and subtlety rather than power. I learned to make flames so small they were barely visible, so cool they felt like warm breath, so steady they could burn for hours without wavering.

"Remember," Seraphine said as we prepared to leave, "magic is not about what you can do. It's about what you choose to do, and why."

Walking back through the forest, I felt the weight of secrets and possibilities settling on my shoulders like an invisible cloak. Heavy, but not unpleasant. Important.

The Birth - Two Months Later

The night Naelira was born, I learned what real fear felt like.

Mama's pains had been coming all day, getting stronger and closer together. By evening, she couldn't walk without Papa's support, and Aunt Seraphine sent me running to fetch Master Elena from the village.

"Tell her it's time," she said urgently. "And Victor? Run fast."

I'd never run so fast in my life, my magic sparking unconsciously as panic drove me through the darkening streets. Master Elena took one look at my face and grabbed her birthing kit without a word.

"How long between pains?" she asked as we hurried back.

"Maybe five minutes? They're getting stronger."

She nodded grimly and picked up her pace.

Back at the cottage, Mama was in the big chair by the fire, breathing hard through another contraction. Her face was flushed and damp with sweat, but when she saw me, she managed a smile.

"There's my brave boy," she said, reaching for my hand. "Everything's going to be fine."

But I could see the fear behind her smile, and that scared me more than anything.

"What can I do?" I asked Master Elena as she examined Mama.

"Keep the fire burning steady and the water hot," she said briskly. "And stay close. Your mama draws strength from having her family near."

The next few hours stretched like years. Elira and I took turns holding Mama's hands during contractions, Papa paced like a caged wolf, and Aunt Seraphine prepared herbs and teas with quiet efficiency.

"It's taking too long," Papa muttered during one of Mama's quiet moments.

"Every birth has its own rhythm," Master Elena replied calmly, though I caught the concern in her eyes. "The baby will come when they're ready."

Just before dawn, the air changed. Mama's breathing got different, more focused, and Master Elena's whole demeanor sharpened.

"This is it," she announced. "Gregor, I need you here. Children, step back but stay close."

The final stage was intense and frightening and wonderful all at once. Mama worked harder than I'd ever seen anyone work at anything, Papa held her up with hands that shook, and suddenly...

A cry. Thin and indignant and absolutely perfect.

"She's here," Master Elena said, lifting a tiny, red, squirming person. "You have a daughter."

Mama sobbed with relief and joy, Papa's face crumpled with emotion, and I felt a shift permanently in my chest. This tiny person, covered in birth fluid and crying her displeasure at the cold world, was mine to protect.

"Can we see her?" I asked softly.

"Come meet your sister," Mama whispered.

Master Elena had cleaned her and wrapped her in soft blankets. She was incredibly small, with dark hair and perfect miniature features. When she opened her eyes, they were the most beautiful pale storm-blue I'd ever seen.

"Hello, little one," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm Victor. I'm your big brother."

Her cries quieted, and she turned toward my voice with surprising focus.

"She knows you," Papa said wonderingly.

"What will you call her?" Elira asked.

"Naelira," Mama said softly. "Naelira Hearthborn."

"Can I hold her?"

Mama nodded, and Master Elena helped me settle in the chair with Naelira in my arms. She was so light, so fragile, but when her tiny hand wrapped around my finger, the grip was surprisingly strong.

"I promise I'll always keep you safe," I whispered to her. "No matter what."

And in that moment, surrounded by family and love, with my baby sister trusting me completely, I knew that some promises were worth building a whole life around.

Six Weeks Later - Gregor POV

Watching Victor with Naelira was like witnessing magic of the most profound kind.

Every morning, he would greet her with a soft "Good morning, little star," and she would turn toward his voice like a flower seeking sunlight. When she cried, his wordless humming could settle her faster than any lullaby. When she was fussy, nothing worked better than Victor's gentle stories about chickens and butterflies and the magic hiding in ordinary things.

"She's going to be spoiled rotten," Lyra observed, watching Victor demonstrate proper butterfly-watching technique to his six-week-old sister.

"Can you blame him?" I replied, not bothering to hide my smile. "Look at her watching him. She's already got him wrapped around her tiny finger."

Naelira's dark eyes tracked Victor's every movement when he was in the room, and she made happy gurgling sounds whenever he spoke.

"Victor's going to be a wonderful big brother," Seraphine said from her spot by the window. "He has such a protective instinct."

"Both our children do," Lyra corrected gently, watching Elira help Victor show Naelira a particularly interesting leaf.

Elira had adapted to her new role as honorary big sister with characteristic grace, treating Naelira with the same careful attention she gave to everything important in her life.

"She's musical," Elira announced. "Listen to how she responds to Victor's humming."

Sure enough, Naelira was making soft cooing sounds in response to Victor's wordless melodies, as if trying to harmonize.

"Maybe she'll be a bard," Victor said hopefully. "Then she can travel everywhere and see everything wonderful in the world."

"Or maybe she'll be a mage," Elira added. "Then you can practice magic together."

"We'll see what gifts she develops," Lyra said diplomatically. "Right now, she's perfect exactly as she is."

As evening settled over our cottage, I found myself marveling at how complete our family felt. Victor and Elira curled together with books by the fire, Naelira sleeping peacefully in her cradle, Lyra working on a new embroidery project, and Seraphine gazing out at the village lights with thoughtful eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, settling beside Seraphine.

"How much I want this moment to last forever," she replied softly. "How desperately I want to protect all of this."

"Change is inevitable," I said. "But some things are worth fighting for."

"The children are growing so fast. Soon they'll need more than we can teach them here."

Victor looked up from his book. "Need more of what?"

Trust him to catch the important parts of adult conversations.

"Just more advanced lessons," Seraphine said with care. "As your abilities develop, you'll eventually need teachers with specialized knowledge."

"But not yet?" Vulnerability flickered in Victor's eyes.

"Not yet," I said firmly. "We're exactly where we need to be for now."

Victor relaxed visibly, returning to his book. But I caught the look Seraphine and I exchanged over his head. We were borrowing time, and we all knew it. Someday, the outside world would come calling.

For now, though, we had this: a cottage full of love and laughter, children who felt safe and cherished, and the most perfect baby girl in the world sleeping peacefully in her brother's protective shadow.

Sometimes, borrowed time is the most precious gift of all