"Raika... how are you?" The Patriarch stepped through the door.
The temperature in the room instantly rose.
Steam rose from the basin of water, the moisture in the air evaporating.
He walked in with gentle, deliberate steps, his upright posture one of nobility.
Coupled with his diamond-shaped face, flowing reddish-brown hair, and gentle eyebrows, he looked like a benevolent angel, yet his aura said otherwise.
Searing heat from his every step, visible heat waves dancing around his body.
From his worried and gentle expression, it was evident he was not deliberately oozing such energy, yet it was something completely part of his being.
The midwives wanted to speak out. Such heat was dangerous for a newborn, but before they could voice their worries.
"Keep your mana in check, Aiden. The baby has sensitive skin," the Thunder Princess hissed, glaring daggers at her husband.
"Oh, sorry..." The Patriarch said under his breath, noticing his blunder.
He always had this aura around, a passive skill of some sort and thus didn't even notice it.
He quickly reined in his mana, the temperature in the room falling, even lower than it had been earlier.
"Is this okay..." The Patriarch turned to the midwives, who nodded in acknowledgement.
"We will leave you two alone..." The two midwives bowed, leaving the three to themselves.
A mother, a father, and an infant who looked curiously at them.
His little mind trying to comprehend what had happened a few moments ago.
He felt the temperature in the room rise, then suddenly fall to a comfortable degree.
"Is their air-conditioning faulty or something?" Alaric thought to himself, looking around for the air-conditioning, and that is when he noticed.
He has failed to notice earlier entranced by the magic display of the midwives.
The room he was in wasn't modern.
The bed had intricate carvings on its frame, the thick, deep crimson curtains uncommon in the era he knew, not to mention the interior closely mirrored an era he had seen in movies.
The medieval era, and if that wasn't enough, the attire the woman wore, and the attire of the man approaching them, though expensive-looking, was something out of the medieval era, with a tinge of fantasy.
"..."
He didn't comment, watching intently at his surroundings, mind racing to figure out where he truly was.
"Why are you glaring, my little boy?" Aiden sat beside the bed, a smile on his face as he went in to touch his son's cheeks.
Slap!
"Don't touch him, he has sensitive skin..." The Thunder Princess slapped his hand away, Aiden turning to her with a look of injustice.
"I have held many babies before, I know how it is done," Aiden explained, his eyes pleading to hold his son.
"Yeah, of course you have..." She frowned, remembering that her husband was also the husband of two others.
She was the last to give him a child.
"Sigh!" Aiden took the infant from her, holding him skillfully.
He knew his first wife didn't like the others.
Well, none of the three liked each other, but as the Patriarch, it was imperative he ensured the continuation of the bloodline.
"My little boy." Aiden turned his attention to the infant, the latter frowning profusely, annoyed by the turn of events.
To Aiden, he had gotten another son. To the son, he was being man-held by a stranger, even if it was the devil, no man wanted to be held in such a way by another.
"You might have come last, but you have the fierceness of your mother." He raised the infant toward the ceiling, a joyful smile on his face, the infant squirming to get out of his hands, babbling incoherent words.
Alaric was enraged to be manhandled like that.
He was a grown man after all, probably older than the man who was holding him up.
"Put me down," he cried out, yet it only came out as babbles.
"I will call you Alaric, for you were born to rule," Aiden proclaimed, gently bringing the child down.
"Alaric Vulcan..." The Thunder Princess echoed.
"I like it." She smiled.
"Alaric Vulcan, welcome to the Vulcan Clan," Aiden said as he gently kissed his forehead.
Alaric, who couldn't understand a word, screamed in frustration, getting kissed by a grown man.
If his mother had done it, he might have been quiet, but no, a man.
"Kill me, Jesus, Buddha, Allah... please kill me," he cried out loud, no one able to hear his words, his bitterness going unheard.
. . .
Later that evening, a large banquet was held.
The ballroom filled with numerous people dressed to impress, each with an imposing aura of their own.
They held their wine glasses and chatted away.
"The Thunder Princess has finally given birth," one of the attendees commented, swirling a glass of wine.
A noblewoman with light crimson hair.
"I can't believe it, I thought she was infertile,"said another, her fan covering her lips, voice lowered as she feared the wind might carry her words.
A plump, deep orange-haired woman, her appearance that of an average busybody auntie.
"Hey, do you want to die?" her friend reprimanded.
" I know that's what you are thinking too. First of three wives, married for fourteen years, yet bearing no children..." Her friend didn't back down, not that she wasn't afraid, but because the noisy atmosphere was perfect.
"Shush." The crimson-haired noble pulled closer to the busybody auntie. "Be caref..."
Cling! Cling! Cling!
The sound of glass tapping silenced the chatty hall.
Its source the sharp-looking man at the base of the large staircase.
The herald.
"Hear ye all.
We welcome the hosts of these gathering,
the Patriarch of the Vulcan Clan, the ever-consuming, never-extinguishing clan of the central continent.
His hellflames raging in the midst of battle, harmless to friend but deadly to foe.
His Grace, Duke Aiden Vulcan,
and her Grace, Raika Vulcan, the Thunder Princess,
the battle mage with the instincts of a dragon but the grace of a phoenix," the herald announced, his voice echoing throughout the hall.
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A/N
2/2