double jackpot

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

It feels as though the rain arrives overnight. The parasol they'd been using to keep the sprout - their child, their twins, he should say - protected from the beaming sunshine has become a shield against the downpour almost immediately, and for that Ronin is grateful. He's grateful, too, for the distance between the garden and anywhere else in Caido, right now more than ever.

The Knight has fallen victim to his own nature enough times to know that no amount of preparation helps, and with the imminent addition of two newborns as well as his usual attentiveness (possessiveness, some would argue, and would be right) towards his husband, Ronin is... highly-strung this Leafchange, to say the least.

He stands watch over the plant and its twin buds - ready to bloom any second, it feels - with his own umbrella to protect him from the rain, a silent sentinel against any who might approach. The abrupt change in weather makes Meadowreach feel decidedly more gloomy than usual, so it's perhaps no surprise that Ronin has also opted to partially shift his crown of antlers to cast a warm glow over proceedings.

If he's cold or tired or hungry he doesn't show it, and when it looks as if one of the buds seems to move, even minutely, he merely squeezes his hand more tightly around the umbrella handle, blue eyes intent on the miracle beyond the picket fence.

RONIN

Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you

Rain settles into Meadowreach like something deliberate rather than incidental, a steady silver veil that blurs the rolling hills of King’s End into soft, indistinct shapes beyond the fence. It soaks into the earth with a patience that feels almost pointed, nothing like the warm, forgiving rains of Torchline that Remi has grown used to during Leafchange; this chill presses in under his collar, crawls down the back of his neck, and makes the air feel heavier than it has any right to be. He crouches low beside Ronin, partially shifted, one massive wing unfurled and angled carefully so its breadth shields the dampest stretch of ground near the fragile sprout and its twin buds, the feathers darkened at the tips where the rain persists in testing his coverage.

He'd normally mutter something about the ridiculousness of the rain, but Remi keeps the thought to himself, folding it instead into the quiet current of the Attuned bond where Ronin’s tension hums sharp and bright as drawn wire. He doesn’t need to look to know how tightly his husband is wound; he can feel it in the minute fluctuations of breath, in the way Ronin’s focus narrows until the world beyond the picket fence might as well not exist, in the rigid line of vigilance that has always been both his greatest strength and his most exhausting burden.

Remi shifts a fraction closer, careful not to jostle the umbrella or disturb the soil, and angles his wing a touch further so the worst of the rain is diverted from the tender stems. Then he nudges Ronin gently with his shoulder, the contact warm despite the damp, and turns his face just enough to catch those intent blue eyes with a crooked, fond smile. "You know," he murmurs, voice low and threaded with quiet amusement, "I can keep watch if you’d rather go and chase off another herd of Highland Cows."

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

Ronin huffs something that might want to be a laugh in another season, feeling the fond exasperation through the Attuned bond and lifting his free hand to rest it gently on Remi's shoulder, as if to inject some warmth into him where they keep their vigil. "I think," he says slowly, glancing to the fields beyond without fully turning his head, "I have chased off every cow between here and New Haven. And this time they haven't decided to try their luck and come back."

And he doesn't blame them either, deep down. He wouldn't want to encounter him in the rain, not as himself or as a stag or as the dragon that also sleeps in his bones. Instead, forcing in a deep breath and letting it out again, he squeezes the Bastion's shoulder and angles the umbrella away from them briefly to shake off the worst of the rain. "I'll stay," he decides, as if it was ever going to be a different decision, but he does offer the ghost of a smile to his husband.

"Do you want a break, though? Your feathers are soaked through."

RONIN

Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you

Remi’s answering chuckle is soft and low and he dips his head in agreement because yes, of course Ronin has chased everything with hooves and poor judgment clear past New Haven by now; there’s likely not a cow left in King’s End foolish enough to test him in this weather. He leans subtly into the squeeze at his shoulder, then shakes his head at the suggestion of a break, curls damp against his temple as rain continues its patient assault on his feathers. "I don’t have any nerves in the feathers themselves," he says lightly. "I can’t even feel it." That is true enough, though the wing beneath the plumage is another matter entirely; muscle and bone register the creeping cold where the downpour insists on seeping through, but the discomfort is distant and manageable, a small price for sheltering what matters.

Remi glances back to the sprout and its twin buds, rain threading silver lines between them and the world beyond the fence, and draws a steady breath. "I suppose we can just wait and—" The rest dissolves before it properly forms, because one of the buds shifts in a way that is far too deliberate to be dismissed as the weather’s mischief.

Remi stills entirely, seaglass green eyes sharpening as the bond crackles with a sudden surge of adrenaline that tastes bright and metallic against the steady hum of Ronin’s vigilance. His wing tightens reflexively over the vulnerable ground, as though instinct alone might shield the moment from interruption, and he flicks a quick glance to his husband before returning his focus to the trembling bud. "Do you think that is just the wind," he murmurs under his breath, voice no louder than the rain itself, "or.."

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

Across the rolling hills, pale shapes move slowly through the grass, their forms catching the light as they lower their heads to graze. A herd of Unicorns spreads out over the slope, horns gleaming softly as they wander.

They move with quiet grace, unhurried and unafraid, occasionally lifting their heads to glance around before returning to the grass beneath their hooves. None approach, and none flee, content to remain where they are.

From this distance, they feel more like a living part of the landscape than something separate from it, a rare and peaceful sight that seems untouched by the rest of the world.

---

Unicorns Areas Found: King's End — Common Often seen in pairs, unicorns can come in a variety of different coat colours. Some have leonine tails, several horns, and cloven feet, but all are easily recognizable by their equine-appearance and their abilities to either heal or move with incredible speed. Challenge Rating: Moderate | Mythical HP: 1,294 | To Hit: +45 | Dmg: 32 Movement: Walk 50 ft.; Gallop 80 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Blessed Horn — channels restorative magic to mend wounds and purge poisons or curses; Swiftstride — unleashes sudden bursts of speed, crossing open ground in a blur; Pair Bond — when two unicorns travel together, they act in perfect harmony, one amplifying healing while the other screens threats and opens paths

TRAITS Forest Affinity: sure-footed strides that ignore undergrowth and soft ground; Keen Senses: alert ears and keen scent catch distant movement and intent; Elusive Grace: swift, fluid motion makes them difficult to corner or surround ACTIONS Horn Gore: a precise, driving thrust meant to deter rather than mutilate; Healing Touch: a gentle nudge of the horn that closes wounds and steadies the heart; Blinding Dash: a radiant sprint that startles onlookers and breaks pursuit

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

"I'll still make sure I dry you off properly when we next get the chance," Ronin says, lips twitching in a brief smile as his eyes flick from the tender shoots and full buds to the Bastion's sopping wet wing. It's that glance that makes him miss the shift in one of the buds - and it also lets him notice the movement of a herd of fucking unicorns in his periphery. "It isn't the wind," he mutters, voice low and dangerous; clearly Ronin doesn't think Remi is talking about the twins.

"If you'll excuse me," he continues, carefully setting the umbrella against one of the fence posts so it can still provide some cover before the Knight himself moves into the steady downpour. His coat and hair are instantly drenched, but he has time to lean in and press a quick kiss to Remi's curls before he sets off into the veil of rain.

And whilst Ronin is almost immediately swallowed up in it, the thunder of hoofbeats that rings out even over the hiss of water is evidence, clearly, of his success in finding the unicorns. Now it's just a matter of forced relocation, and they can all get back to their day.

RONIN

Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you

Remi’s brows lift, a slow, suggestive arch that manages to be indecent and entirely affectionate all at once, and he’s already opening his mouth to murmur something about looking forward to such dedicated service when the shift in the bud drags his attention back like a hook beneath the ribs. He sees the way Ronin’s focus veers outward and when his husband mutters that it isn’t the wind, Remi’s gaze flicks instinctively toward the hills just in time to register pale shapes moving with serene audacity through the rain. For a heartbeat he simply blinks at them, because unicorns are one thing, but unicorns now, of all moments, feels like cosmic comic timing.

Remi turns back toward the fence just as the first bud convulses in a way that is unmistakably not botanical, his breath hitching sharply in his chest as the outer casing splits and peels back in damp, delicate folds. "Ronin—" The rest is lost to the sight of petals giving way to slick skin and tiny, furious motion, the bud collapsing entirely to reveal not some flower, but a whole ass baby who draws in his first breath and releases it in a sound that cuts clean through the rain. Remi’s eyes go impossibly wide, seaglass bright with disbelief, and adrenaline floods the Attuned bond in a blinding surge as the second bud begins to shudder in sympathetic urgency.

"RONIN!" he bellows now, dropping fully to his knees. His hands, enormous and scarred but absurdly gentle, slide beneath the first infant with a care that borders on reverence, lifting them free of the remnants of petals and damp soil as they fuss and wail against the cold.

He gathers the newborn against his chest without thinking, curling his body around them to lend warmth where his wing had once done the job, his heart hammering so hard he’s certain the baby will feel it. The second bud splits further with a soft, terrible inevitability, and Remi’s head snaps up again toward the hills, rain plastering his curls to his forehead as panic and wonder tangle in equal measure. "RONIN!" he shouts once more, half-laughing, half-breathless, because one is already here in his arms and the other is seconds behind.

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

There is something to be said for the White Knight's renowned dexterity (wink... wonk?) because the moment he hears his husband bellow his name in that way, the second he feels the adrenaline crackle through the Attuned bond, he's on the move. Nothing, not instinct, not temper, not even self-preservation could prevent him from that abrupt u-turn, and he reappears with alarming speed almost as quickly as he'd left, parting the rain with the fierce glow of a luxere's antlers.

"What happened? What did... oh." Skidding to a stop in the slick grass and all but crumpling to his knees beside Remi, his eyes are wide and blue and full of wonder as he takes in that first squalling infant, before they flick urgently to the second bud. Its outer layers are already peeling back to reveal another pink, furious newborn, all red cheeks and strong lungs, based on the cry that splits the air in harmony with their twin.

"Oh my gods," Ronin whispers, immediately reaching to rescue the second baby from the remnants of the flower bud. The sprout they'd cared for so fervently is already wilting, he realises, its work complete, and in its wake they are left with...

"Boys," he realises softly, having bundled the infant against his chest, his shirt and his coat. Thankful for the rain for the first time and the way it masks the wetness on his cheeks, he glances in awe between the two children, shifting in the wet grass closer to Remi. "They... gods I know they're only babies, but don't they look..." Identical, he wants to say, but how true can that really be at minutes old?

RONIN

Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you

Remi barely registers the violent grace of Ronin’s return, only the flare of luxere-light through the rain and the abrupt absence of distance in the bond where there had been too much of it a heartbeat ago. He is already lowering himself fully into the wet grass, sinking onto one hip as though his legs have forgotten their purpose, one broad wing drawn instinctively around the newborn in his arms to create a small, private hollow of warmth against the rain. The infant’s cries slice sharp and indignant into the air, fists pounding uselessly at the dark curve of feather before latching on with astonishing determination, and Remi lets out a soft, breathless sound that might be laughter if it weren’t so close to awe.

His seaglass eyes lift at Ronin’s whisper, catching the sheen in them despite the rain’s convenient camouflage, and through the bond he feels the shape of the thought before it is fully spoken—identical—an echo of wonder threaded with dawning panic. Remi swallows hard and nods once, slow and disbelieving, because yes, they do, and that realization settles over him with a weight both exquisite and terrifying.

"At least with Flora and Enzo they were.." he begins, voice roughened by too much feeling and not enough air, trailing off because he doesn’t need to finish the thought. A boy and a girl had given them a mercy in their difference, something obvious to anchor themselves to in those first bewildering moments; this, however, feels like the universe has handed them two mirrored stars and dared them to tell one constellation from the other.

The baby in his arms gives a particularly fierce tug, nearly wrenching a feather free, and Remi huffs a startled laugh. The boy's face is flushed and furious and impossibly small against the breadth of his hand, and something in Remi’s chest caves inward in the most welcome way. He hesitates, then ventures, almost shyly, "Carlo?" The name leaves him like a fragile offering, and he looks up at Ronin as though seeking confirmation not just of the sound but of the future it suggests.

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

Distantly, Ronin knows they should get on their feet. He knows they planned for this, knows there are supplies and shelter and everything their children will immediately need just beyond the treeline. But he'd also assumed it would still be relatively sunny, that they'd have time to sit and come to terms with these initial introductions without the rain drumming overhead and the eerie, distant sound of what he swears is screaming. Screaming that doesn't come from the two newborns in their arms.

"I feel like they are going to be trouble," he says, almost whispering the words and grinning sheepishly towards Remi, like he might have accidentally made it so by speaking it. "Carlo," he agrees in a softer voice, gazing down at the furious infant trying his best to wrench a feather free from the Bastion's wing. "And Calan," he adds, gazing down at the still squalling baby in his own arms, the Knight rocking him instinctively and curling himself closer as if he might be a shield for the rain.

"...I never thought we'd have this again," he admits, blinking quickly and offering his little finger out for the boy to clutch onto, his own grip equally vice-like. "Gods, Remi." Ronin's laughter is almost a sob, and he shakes his head as if to make himself pull it together. "It felt real, but not like this, not until right now."

RONIN

Let's not get lost in the dark blue
But darling if we do, just find me and I'll find you

Carlo’s furious little fist has migrated from feather to the fabric at Remi’s collar, gripping with startling strength, and the Bastion adjusts him instinctively, cradling the newborn closer so the curve of his body and the sweep of his wing form a small bastion within the storm.

Ronin’s whisper about trouble draws something fragile and incandescent across the bond, and Remi’s answering breath catches halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, without question," he manages, voice unsteady but warm, glancing between Carlo and Calan as though already bracing himself for some future mischief they have not yet earned.

Ronin's admission land heavy and bright all at once, and Remi looks up sharply, seaglass eyes glassy in a way the rain cannot disguise. "I know what you mean," he exhales, the sentence nearly breaking apart under the weight of it. There is a flicker of guilt that passes through him, sharp and fleeting, because they had not had this with any of their other children, and it feels almost like a betrayal to savour it the way he wants to. And yet he does savour it, helplessly, fiercely, pressing a soft kiss into damp curls that are far too small to be called that, breathing in the scent of rain and newborn skin as if he might anchor the memory there forever.

His gaze drifts briefly to the wilting sprout, its leaves already bowing, purpose fulfilled, and something tender and grateful moves through him in response before lifting his gaze back to Ronin, brows gently raised. "Shall we?"

the bastion

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)

I shouldn't laugh, but I know I'm a failure in your eyes

"Don't you feel guilty," Ronin whispers, reaching across with his free hand to brush a thumb across Remi's wet cheek, before leaning in to press a kiss there. "I know it's easier said than done, but just because we didn't have this with any of the others, doesn't mean we didn't want it just as much." War, fate, tragedy and his own stupid pride had prevented them from enjoying all of this previously, and he's determined to make up for it by not missing a second this time.

"Let's," he agrees, carefully tucking Calan against him and leaning in to fuss over his brother briefly too before he rises to his feet. Around them the rain has reduced to fine, mist-like drizzle guaranteed to soak them to the bone before long, and no matter how vigilant he has been in his time at Meadowreach, it's safe to say that Ronin is very keen to get home again at last.

Still, as they make their way from the picket fence and the wilting plant, he can't help but smile over his shoulder. "Thank you," he murmurs - to the sprout for nurturing their children, to the soil for making it possible, to Frey and to Phoebe, somewhere out there, for creating something he'd never known he would need so badly or love so fiercely.

~FIN

RONIN