Jora didn’t mind at all. In fact, she cherished this—this slow, deliberate love they were making. It was rare for them to move this way: gentle, sacred, quiet. But tonight was different. They both felt it.

Her fingers threaded through his hair as she kissed him again, slower this time, mouths moving in a rhythm that was more about connection than heat. Her hands didn’t rush. They explored with care, mapping every inch of him like she was memorizing a prayer.

“You will,” she whispered between kisses, voice barely more than a breath. “You will believe it. I’ll keep reminding you until you do.”

And she would. In every kiss. In every touch. In every morning they woke up side by side with their daughter curled up at their feet and the sea humming outside their window. She would remind him. Because Sage was hers, and Jora didn’t leave her people behind.

Her lips brushed along his cheek, then his jaw, then down to his throat, lingering wherever he sighed the loudest. Her body stayed close, curled against him like she’d never get enough—and maybe she wouldn’t. He was her home. Her safe place. The one man she’d ever trusted with all of her.

When her voice came again, it was softer still, her eyes meeting his. “We’re ready for this. For them.” She smiled, hand pressed over his chest where his heart still raced. “Let’s bring them home.”

Jora could feel Sage’s heartbeat through his chest, strong and fast beneath her palm, echoing her own. His little sounds—those soft gasps and whispered breaths—were like a song only she got to hear. One she knew by heart. Her lips followed the curve of his throat, tasting salt and warmth and love.

When he said he’d keep trying, her heart squeezed. That was enough. More than enough. She didn’t need him to be perfect. She didn’t need him to have it all figured out. He tried, every single day, and he let her in—even when it scared him. That was what mattered most.

Her hands paused at the waistband of his pants, gaze lifting to his again, steady and certain. “They won’t,” she promised, voice low but firm. “They’ll never know what it’s like to survive the way we had to. They’ll be raised in love, not fear. With hands that protect them, not hurt them.”

She leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, as if she were pressing the vow into his skin—into his soul.

“And they’ll always have us,” she whispered against his lips. “A mother and father who chose each other. Who chose them. Who built this whole world for them.”

Then, her hands resumed their movement, slow and reverent, as if undressing him was as sacred as prayer. Because to her, it was. Every moment with him was sacred.

“We’re ready,” she breathed, moving with him now, letting their bodies speak where words had softened. “Let’s make them.”

(we can time skip if you'd like)

Jora lay curled into his chest afterward, the night wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Their skin still warm, breath steadying in the shared silence, filled only with the rhythmic sound of waves and the soft thrum of Sage’s heart beneath her ear. She could still feel the echo of him in her body, in the way her limbs trembled faintly—not from exhaustion, but from everything they’d poured into each other.

She smiled against his chest, brushing her fingertips lazily across his skin, tracing the familiar lines of his ribs, the small scars she knew by heart. Scars she loved.

“I think that was another miracle,” she murmured, voice husky and content. She lifted her gaze to him, the amber glow of moonlight softening the sharpness of her features. “No matter what comes of it… it felt like more than just love tonight. Like we were planting something. Something that’ll grow.”

Her hand slid up to his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “I hope it’s a girl,” she added with a soft grin. “Another wild little thing like Lyra. Someone who’ll boss you around from the moment she can walk.”

She leaned in and kissed him, slower this time, without the urgency from earlier. Just love. Pure and simple. “We did good, Sage,” she whispered. “And we’ll keep doing good. No matter what.”

She nestled closer again, resting her head beneath his chin, fingers lacing with his. “You still breathing?” she teased gently, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Or did I finally knock the wind out of you for good?”

Jora hummed softly, content in his arms, her heart thrumming with the quiet joy of their closeness. She felt his kiss in her hair and the warmth of his voice settle over her like the tide, drawing her deeper into the safety only he could offer.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It’s already growing… even if we don’t see it all yet. Just like roots under the ground.” Her fingers trailed gently along his chest, slow and absent as her thoughts drifted. “We fought for this place. For each other. Nothing’s ever going to shake it now.”

She smiled into his skin when he spoke of spoiling their children, shaking her head fondly. “You already do,” she teased. “You’ll be wrapped around their little fingers the second they open their eyes. I’m just going to stand back and watch you get absolutely destroyed by them.” There was pride in her voice though, laced with affection. She wanted them to know a soft kind of love—one that didn’t come with pain or conditions. The kind of love Sage had always been capable of, even when he didn’t believe it himself.

His hand brushing her hair back made her eyes flutter shut for a moment, the simple touch grounding. At his last words, she gave a soft laugh, low and tired and brimming with everything she felt. “Sappy,” she accused, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll allow it.”

Then, quieter, as her hand rested over his heart, “Sleep, love. I’ve got you.” Her thumb brushed slow, comforting circles. “Always.”

And she meant it. As they drifted together, surrounded by their quiet little world, she would keep watch. Just like she always had.

Jora smiled, the kind of smile that only bloomed in the quiet aftermath of love and laughter, soft and deeply rooted like the very things they'd just been speaking of. She let her fingers card slowly through Sage’s hair as he settled against her, his weight grounding, his presence familiar in a way that could never be replaced.

“I am terrible,” she whispered back with a quiet laugh, her voice warm with amusement. “But only in the best ways.”

She knew he was already in love with this baby—this tiny idea of a life they hadn’t even fully begun yet. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he softened when he talked about Lyra, and in the way he was holding her now. Sage would love this child with his whole heart, just as he did everything else that mattered. That was just who he was. He never gave anything halfway.

As his breath began to even out against her skin, she closed her eyes too, her hand still stroking idly through his hair. “Rest,” she murmured into the hush between them. “You’re safe. We both are.”

The sea outside whispered in the distance, and the walls of their home stood quiet and strong around them. Whatever storms had come, whatever storms would come still—they’d weather them together. Her body was already cradling something new. And her heart?

It was full. Completely. Unapologetically.

She whispered one last thing, so soft it was barely a breath.
“I love you, Sage. Always.”

And then she let sleep take her too.