The party was not at a hired hall or a penthouse, but at the restored
Thorne family home, the one Robert had tried to use as a weapon. Silas had seen
to its reclamation quietly, a final act of erasing the old man's stain. The
gardens, once Evelyn's pride and now meticulously revived, were in full,
riotous bloom. White tents dotted the lawn, not as shields from paparazzi, but
from the gentle spring sun. The air hummed not with tension, but with laughter,
clinking glasses, and the shrieks of a few older children chasing bubbles.
It was a "Welcome to the World" party, a declaration. After the shadows,
the light.
Everyone was there. Chloe, resplendent in a sunflower-yellow dress, held
court near the dessert table, her hand casually linked with Ben's. He was out
of his usual black, wearing a light grey shirt, looking vaguely discomfited but
content, his eyes constantly doing a relaxed, happy version of his old security
sweeps, always landing back on Chloe.
Near the rose arbor, a large screen was set up for a video call. Claire
and Bianca's faces beamed from Tuscany, the golden afternoon light there
mirroring the party's own. They held up glasses of local wine in toast, their
smiles easy and unburdened. "Tell Leo and Maya their Aunt Bianca is painting
them something monstrously colourful!" Bianca called out, and everyone laughed.
Fiona, Cordelia's nanny, was a welcome guest, holding a content,
wide-eyed Cordelia, who was fascinated by a mobile of painted wooden stars. The
baby was just another beloved infant here, her extraordinary origins known only
to a silent, protective few in the crowd. She was safe, she was loved, and that
was all that mattered today.
The twins were the stars, of course. They were passed from careful arms
to adoring ones, marvelled over. Leo observed the festivities from the perch of
Silas's shoulder with a look of philosophical bemusement. Maya, in Elara's
arms, cooed and grabbed at the beads on a friend's necklace, her voice adding
to the happy cacophony.
Elara moved through the crowd, a deep, humbling gratitude swelling in
her chest. These people—lawyers who had fought for them, engineers who had
stayed loyal, friends who had never wavered—were not just guests. They were the
community that had formed in the rubble of the two fallen empires. They were
the new foundation.
She found Silas by the old stone fountain, currently the domain of a
trio of toddlers splashing under parental supervision. He was watching the
scene, a softness in his eyes she still found breathtaking.
"Penny for your thoughts," she said, slipping her hand into his.
He looked down at her, then at Leo on his shoulder. "I was thinking
about vantage points," he said, his voice low. "For years, mine was about
assessing threats. Looking for angles of attack, weak points, exits." He nodded
towards the laughing children, the chatting groups, the screen showing Claire's
peaceful face. "This is a better view."
He leaned in and kissed her, a sweet, lingering kiss that tasted of
champagne and sun-warmed skin.
As the afternoon mellowed, Silas clinked a spoon against his glass. The
crowd quieted, turning towards him with expectant, smiling faces.
"I'm not one for speeches," he began, which got a few knowing chuckles.
"And I think we've all had enough of drama to last several lifetimes." A murmur
of warm agreement. "So I'll keep this simple. Thank you. To every single person
here, for standing with us. For believing in light when there was a lot of
dark."
His gaze found Elara, holding Maya. His voice deepened, lost its address
to the crowd and spoke only to her, though everyone heard. "And to you. For
being the torch. For being the heart. For giving me…" He looked at the babies,
and for a second, the formidable Silas Thorne seemed to struggle for words.
"For giving me this."
He raised his glass. "To Leo and Maya. Welcome to the world. May your
lives be as full of this…" he gestured around at the garden, the friends, the
joy, "…this ordinary, extraordinary noise, as your first party."
The toast was echoed, a chorus of "To Leo and Maya!" that rang through
the garden.
But Silas wasn't done. He nodded to Ben, who brought over a large, flat
package wrapped in simple brown paper.
"This," Silas said, taking it and bringing it to Elara, "is for you."
Puzzled, smiling, she handed Maya to Chloe. She untied the string and
peeled back the paper.
It was a photo album. But not a digital frame, not a cloud gallery. A
physical, leather-bound album. She opened it.
On the first page was a photograph she'd never seen: her mother, Evelyn,
very young and very pregnant, laughing as Alistair Thorne pretended to listen
to her belly with a stethoscope. The next page held a picture of Elara herself
as a toddler, covered in paint, held in Evelyn's arms. Then her graduation.
Then the first, tentative photo of her and Silas, taken by Ben on a rare quiet
night during the war with Robert.
The album unfolded their story. Not the headlines, not the scandals.
Their story. The quiet moments in the penthouse kitchen. Elara asleep on the
couch, research spread around her. Silas, his guard down, smiling at something
she'd said. The grainy ultrasound images of the twins. The fierce, triumphant,
exhausted photo from the delivery room. And then, page after page, the present.
Leo's first yawn. Maya's furious, red-faced cry. Both of them swaddled and
peaceful on Silas's chest as he slept in a chair. The four of them, a messy,
happy tangle on their bed that morning.
He had documented it all. The soldier had put down his weapons and
picked up a camera, capturing the life they were building.
Tears streamed down Elara's face, but they were the sweet, cleansing
kind. She looked up at him, wordless.
"I wanted us to have a history we could hold," he said simply. "One that
starts with joy."
It was the most lavish gift of the lavish party. The true celebration
wasn't in the champagne or the flowers. It was in the evidence, carefully
compiled, that after the storm, there was not just calm, but an abundance of
love, noisy, messy, and real.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in Evelyn's favourite shades
of peach and rose, Elara held the album to her chest. She looked around at her
family, her chosen family, all together, alive, and laughing. The symphony of
ordinary joy was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. The war was over.
The celebration had just begun.