"What does 'soon' really mean? What is now was once tomorrow and will be yesterday. For a dreamer like you, it should be clear that time is perhaps the greatest lie ever conceived." — Fiorna Mageschstea in the Uncrowded King

The rain poured like a thousand needles piercing through the thick curtain of the Long Night. Orlo's breath misted in the cold air as he limped down the sidewalk, muttering curses and hexes. The rain had soaked through his clothes, plastering them to his skin like a clammy second layer. His red hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his face.

He squinted through the downpour, the faint outline of his building coming into view. Even drenched to the bone, even after all these moons, the building's eerie charm hadn't faded.

The jagged edges of broken windows glinted faintly under the occasional flicker of distant streetlights. The warped door hung slightly ajar, swinging lazily with a faint creak barely audible under this rain.

The chill seeped through Orlo's soaked clothes, making him haste his pace. Reaching the door, he shoved it open with his wet palm.

Stepping inside, he was greeted by the same silence he remembered from the time he'd been here with Muna. The stale air clung to his lungs, carrying faint traces of mildew and neglect. Cobwebs sprawled across the corners of the ceiling. Now, reminding him of Lolth.

He tilted his head, letting rainwater drip from his nose as he glanced toward the narrow staircase. Orlo adjusted his grip on his cane, its metal tip clicking against the cracked wood planks as he started his climb.

He gritted his teeth as he leaned heavily on his cane, his free hand gripping the railing for balance. Each ascent brought a horrific pang to his upper leg.

As he reached the third floor, a faint sound reached his ears. At first, he thought it was the echo of the wind whistling through the cracked windows. But as he ascended further, the noise grew more distinct—a shrill, repetitive ring that pierced the stillness like an alarm.

The phone.

His heart kicked up, curiosity propelling him despite the throbbing in his leg. His pace quickened as much as his body would allow.

Reaching his door, Orlo let out a frustrated sigh, lowering his bag to the floor with a dull thud. His fingers dove into his pockets, searching for the keys. The cold, damp fabric clung to his skin, making the task more infuriating. First, one pocket, then the other—empty.

He muttered a sequence of curses, his hands shaking as he patted down every possible hiding spot.

Finally, his fingers brushed against the familiar cold metal buried deep inside his coat. He pulled the keys out.

The ringing phone behind the door hadn't stopped—its shrill persistence slicing through the muffled quiet of the hallway. It was relentless, almost screaming now.

Orlo hesitated, a strange unease settling in his chest.

Nobody called him except Zora. And it was too early for her usual call.

His grip on the keys tightened as his mind raced. Did something happen?

He shoved the key into the lock and finally stumbled into the apartment, shaking off the rain like a drenched puppy. The door banged shut behind him as he hopped on one foot, holding tight his cane as he scrambled toward the telephone.

His wet clothes clung to him, slowing him down, but he finally reached the wall, snatching the receiver.

"Ollo, Dagurstea speaking."

"Hi, Mr. Dagurstea," came the calm, measured tone of the operator. "You have a pending call from Pollux. Would you like to accept it?"

"Yes, please."

Orlo balanced the receiver against his shoulder, his wet clothes clinging to him as he peeled off his drenched coat. The fabric slapped against the floor, droplets scattering like tiny marbles. He kicked off his shoes, grimacing at the squelch of his waterlogged socks.

"Where is Little Mouse?" he muttered while waiting, scanning the corners of the room. It had been days since he'd last seen her. His brow furrowed as a pang of guilt twisted in his chest. Was it the cheese again? She could be surprisingly vexed about it.

"Orlo?"

Her voice broke through the quiet hum of the line, soft yet unmistakable.

"Little Spider?"

Orlo adjusted the receiver against his ear, his free hand gripping his cane as if bracing himself for whatever was to come.

"Hey, love. Is everything alright?"

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He swallowed hard, his mind already racing. She'd used his name—Orlo—not Sterling, the alias they'd carefully agreed upon for their own safety. The deviation struck a chord, an unspoken signal that this wasn't a routine call.

Zora's breath hitched faintly on the other end, her voice trembling in a way that made Orlo's chest tighten. "I… I have something to tell you."

Orlo adjusted his stance, leaning slightly against the wall as if steadying himself. The anxiety that had begun as a slow hum now buzzed through his veins like static.

"Okay. I'm listening."

His mind raced, conjuring scenarios he didn't want to consider but couldn't stop from surfacing. His chest tightened, and heat crept up his neck, an uncomfortable warmth that had little to do with the chill of his drenched clothes. Was it cheating? Regret?

"I'm late."

Two words. Simple. And they landed like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through him, sending his thoughts scattering in every direction.

"You're late?" he repeated, a wave of relief washing over him. His grip on the phone loosened slightly, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Well, that's fine. I was just expecting you tomorrow. When can you come back home?"

There was a pause on the line, the faint crackle of static filling the silence before Zora's voice came through again, tinged with hesitation. "In a few days," she said. "I'll have to take the train. I don't know exactly when. I haven't told anyone—not even Jaer."

Orlo frowned, the warmth of relief cooling into something more uncertain. His fingers idly brushed against the receiver, his brows knitting together. "Train?" he asked. "What happened… with the usual transportation?"

The question hung as though Zora was weighing how much to say. Her silence only deepened the furrow in Orlo's brow. "Little Spider?"

"I can't risk it. It's too dangerous. Don't you agree?"

Orlo frowned, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His fingers tapped against the phone's base as he tried to make sense of her words. "It's always been dangerous," he said. "What happened?"

There was a pause, a soft exhale on the other end of the line. "Oh…You didn't… Oh, are you sitting down?"

Orlo straightened slightly, the question catching him off guard. "No, I'm standing!"

"Sit," she commanded.

"I don't have a chair here, and Little Mouse isn't around," Orlo said, his worry deepening as he glanced around the empty room. "Little Spider, what is going on?"

"Well, sit on the ground then," Zora instructed.

Orlo sighed, letting his back slide down the wall. His shirt clung damply to his frame as he lowered himself onto the floor, the cold water pooling beneath him and soaking through his trousers. "I'm sitting on the ground, in a puddle, no less," he said, half pleading. "Please, just tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, we'll work it out. I promise I'm not going to be mad."

"Orlo…"

"I truly love you," Orlo said quickly, his words spilling out like a lifeline he was trying to throw at her. "Just trust me, we'll figure this out, I—"

"Orlo…" she interrupted again. Then, after a pause that seemed to stretch forever, she said it:

"I'm pregnant."

All Orlo could hear was the faint drip of water from his drenched hair and the distant hum of the phone line.

His lips twitched, curling upward for a fleeting moment, a glimmer of joy sparking inside him as he processed her words.

Then his expression faltered, dipping downward as the gravity of the situation sank in—a life-changing reality. But before long, the curve returned, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face as the seed of their love took root in his thoughts.

A life. A little piece of them. The thought warmed him, spreading through his chest like the first light of dawn breaking over the Long Night.

Suddenly, the soaked clothing clinging to his body didn't matter. The puddle of water drenching his socks faded into irrelevance. All the cold, discomfort, and worry dissolved into the background.

"You're late…" Orlo murmured, almost awestruck as the true meaning of her words sank in. "You're really late."

"I took a test... it's positive," she said. "They'll process the paperwork so I can go home, and then I'll have to repay all the days I've missed… but that's a problem for tomorrow. Or better after the baby is here."

Orlo could almost hear the way she was pacing, her words tumbling out in a rushed rhythm that betrayed her usual calm. She paused for a moment, exhaling before continuing.

"And I'll take the train," she added.

Orlo leaned his head back against the wall. "Oh yeah, yeah," his voice picked up with nervous enthusiasm, tripping over itself as his thoughts spilt out faster than he could organize them. "You're definitely taking the train, no arguments there. We're not risking anything. I'll pick you up when you arrive."

He didn't pause for breath, his excitement carrying him forward. "Oh, there's so much to do! We'll need to build her a faerie bed and a room and—"

"Could be a boy," Zora interrupted, her tone half-amused.

Orlo barely missed a beat. "Is it okay if we call her Zonnestra? Like my mum?"

Zora sighed, the sound soft but teasing. "What if it's a boy?"

"I think Zonnestra is beautiful," Orlo replied firmly as if the decision was already made.

"But—" she began, only to be cut off again.

"No buts!" he said, a grin stretching across his face even though she couldn't see it. His words tumbled out with an almost childlike glee. "Zonnestra suits her. Trust me, it's perfect!"

Orlo's lips curled into a smile, a soft chuckle escaping him as he leaned further, his head back against the wall, still sitting in the growing puddle of water. "We're going to be such young parents," he said warmly and in disbelief. "My mum waited six hundred Falls to have me. We went on a sprint!"

"… I'm scared to death."

His smile softened, her fear grounding his excitement. "It's going to be alright," he said as if willing the words to reach her and wrap around her like a shield.

"Orlo…" Her voice broke slightly. "I don't want the baby to be born here. If it's a girl... they'll hurt her. Or worse..."

"Just come home," Orlo said firmly, his hand gripping the receiver as though his strength could pass through the connection. "You'll be safe here. Both of you."

"I'm scared," Zora admitted.

Orlo didn't have the heart to tell her he was scared, too.

I have mentioned this before—each Menschen, whether male or female, can only reproduce once. This biological certainty is what gave rise to the significance of the Dois Trae festivities, a tradition designed to tip the scales of chance in favour of life. To conceive was rare; to succeed in bringing a child into the world was even rarer.

Becoming a father at twenty-two was considered almost unheard of, an anomaly in a world where most spent centuries preparing for their single opportunity. My mother took six hundred falls to have me. But words fail me when I try to describe the joy that filled me. Yes, I was terrified—who wouldn't be?—but beneath that fear was something far greater. A happiness so profound, so consuming, that for the first time in my life,for that brief, shining moment, I was simply happy. — by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

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