Nova Peak my arms are open

he lives. lorcan breathes it more than speaks it. his chest caves as the sound of his son cuts through the silence—thin, broken, but enough.
he does not cry, but his eyes glint wet as he leans, brushing elowen’s temple with his nose. he is strong, he says, voice tight with something deeper than fear. just like his mother.
then, he feels her seize again beneath him. she’s not done. lorcan tenses, eyes flashing once to ayovi, before resettling on elowen. breathe, dove. just breathe.