Sawtooth Spire I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child.

Exhaustion crept its way into her muscles, her bones, right to the heart of her. Yellow eyes half-lidded, she watched quietly as Mahler inspected their brood and noted, with much surprise, that his own lilac gaze brimmed with tears. Nyx, warmed by such an emotional display from the father of her daughters, drank deep the sight with budding pride.

"Thank you," the lioness murmured softly in Mahler's direction at last, having nosed among the cubs to settle them beside one another and guided them to willing teats. "For being here," she cast a lengthy glance to the sisters, "for making this possible."

This time around, there was peace. There was warmth, comfort, calm. She was not alone in the cold depths of Caiaphas' grotto, trying and failing to navigate motherhood. This time, she was happy, and knew she could succeed.

Nyx smiled brightly up at her dark companion. "You should choose a name," she offered, an encouraging glint in her tired eyes. It was not something she'd considered until then, having always been so certain that she would make such decisions alone. Mahler deserved the opportunity to have some say in what his offspring would be called, and she would respect any decision he made.