#asthra

One general had broached the subject of marriage once it became clear that Gordon would live—and tried offering one of his daughters for it. In light of the Princeling’s… unique circumstances and Hylurg’s less than stellar reaction to it, planning for the continuation of the Royal Bloodline had to start immediately.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the General had a point. But despite all the planning and Grigon’s growing willingness to break a few rules, things were not going well. So far, all the high-ranking Hylurgian families were outright disgusted by the ‘runty’ Princeling, only agreeing to offer their daughters for the promise of political power when marrying into the Royal Family. And Asthra hated it.

Not for the first time, Grigon wondered if they should rethink their strategy of trying to find a future fiancée for Glordon that he could grow comfortable with, and she with him. Asthra thought they could reach the girl before prejudice set in if they caught her young, and she would see their son as the sweet, kind boy he was. Just childhood friends—that’s all Asthra wanted. It would be something to build on.

That’s how it’d been with him and Asthra. They’d met at the hatchery and had been friends since childhood, long before entering their carapaces. Grigon recalled how eventually their feelings blossomed into love, and how he had to wipe the floor with her other suitors to earn the right to take her as his wife and consort. It helped that, as Prince of Hylurg and heir to the Blood Throne at the time, her family would still have handed her over to him even if he had lost. 

But with Glordon… it was different. The suitress in question always seemed to have absorbed too much of her parents’ and their people’s prejudice regarding him. Grigon knew he could simply force a union outright, but he didn’t want to put his son through that.

At last, Asthra and Glordon crawled out of the latter’s nest, though the princeling still looked uncertain.

“What if she’s mean, too?” asked Glordon. 

“Don't let her walk over you. Show her you're no weakling.” said Grigon sternly. Asthra frowned at him. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

...

As he watched Dreen and her parents leave a few hours later, Grigon couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of the bite marks on her back, proof that, for once, Glordon had stuck up for himself. The downside, the girl’s younger sister probably wouldn’t be a viable option anymore.

But that could wait. His only concern right now was his six-year-old son, who’d locked himself in his room and wouldn’t come out. With Asthra away to handle an incident with one of her younger sisters, it fell on him to offer comfort, even though it wasn’t his specialty. 

The Blood Emperor knocked on his son’s door. “Glordon, I’m coming in.” 

There was no reply, but he went in anyway. As expected, Glordon had hidden away in his sphere-shaped silk nest, adorned with crystals. Grigon approached gently, making sure not to step on his son’s toys—and made a mental note to give him a talk on keeping his room in order. 

“Glordon, come out. We need to talk,” said Grigon, standing in front of the nest, arms crossed. 

The surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to his usual commanding demeanor, prompted Glordon to crawl out of his nest, regretting it when he was met with his father’s stern frown. But he didn’t dare go back into hiding, instead lowering his gaze and ears.

“Glordon, you know the importance of this, don’t you?” asked Grigon. 

“Yes, Dad…” sniffled Glordon. 

“It doesn’t seem like it. Tell me, did it make sense to show such poor behavior when you still don’t have my approval to come aboard Karajor? ”

Glordon was fidgeting with his nubs, tears gathering in the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Dad… I don’t–I didn’t mean to fail you…”

Grigon’s frown softened, his heart tugging at the sight of his son crying. Sighing, he knelt in front of his son. 

Glordon flinched when his father reached out a metallic hand, but he simply rubbed his head.

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, my son. You’re too young, and the search for a partner is taking its toll on you,” said Grigon gently. “What did she do that drove you to react like that?”

He knew his gentle-natured boy wouldn’t have bitten another child, especially one that is bigger, unless that girl had driven him over the edge, said something that really got to him. Glordon becoming stiff confirmed his suspicions. 

“It’s alright, you can tell me.”

Glordon sniffled again. “… D-Do you love me, Dad?” 

Grigon’s digital eyes widened at the unexpected question. “Why would you ask such a thing, Glordon?” 

“… D-Dreen said her grandma said… You and Mom only kept me because… because you couldn’t have more babies.” sniffled Glordon, fidgeting with his nubs. “She said you would have thrown me in the Pit of Bones if you had a bigger child…”

Grigon stiffened, and he clenched his other fist, his expression hardening. The mention of the Pit of Bones struck a nerve in the Blood Emperor as uncomfortable memories flooded back into his mind.

“That’s a bunch of kanraj manure, my son. Your mother and I loved you from the moment you were born. True, you’re smaller than other children, but that doesn’t make you less wanted.” said Grigon firmly, lowering his hand to Glordon’s back. “Don’t listen to Dreen or her grandmother. They know nothing.” 

Glordon couldn’t help but flinch a bit as his father stroked his back. Not out of fear, but unfamiliarity. Unlike Mom, Dad wasn’t the type to show affection, and he was never out of his armor, so his touch felt colder than Mom’s warm nubs.

“Why didn’t you and Mom have more babies…?” inquired Glordon. 

He’d thought about it before. Surely, his little brother or sister wouldn’t hate him. If they were small and new, they’d think there wasn’t anything wrong with him. They’d want to play, and make silk figurines or crystals with him.

Grigon held back a curse. Of all the times for him to touch that topic. Where's Asthra when you need her?!

“It’s… complicated, Glordon,” he said, his tone reflecting some regret as he sat down. “Your mother and I… We truly wanted more children, but…” Grigon took a deep breath. “We had complications. We tried many times to have another child, but we couldn’t conceive again.” 

Glordon tilted his head. “Why? Are you and Mom ill?” he inquired. 

The memories of those times—the sleepless nights, the many attempts at conceiving both naturally and artificially, Asthra’s tears at the prospect she might be the problem—shifted Grigon’s expression into sadness. He and Asthra had always talked about having a big family, even jokingly suggesting they name all their sons Grigon Jr. and their daughters Asthra Jr. But each failed attempt, each unfertilized egg, was like a severe blow. They’d almost lost hope by the time Asthra finally laid Glordon’s egg. 

“… In a way, I guess,” sighed Grigon. “Sometimes, even if both parents want to have a child, it just… doesn’t work. It’s something beyond our control.” 

To his surprise, Glordon approached and hugged his metallic leg. “I love you, Daddy.”

Grigon smiled lightly and patted his son’s head. “You left quite a big bite on that girl, you know. Good job for standing up to her, my son.”

Glordon’s ears picked up, his expression brightening up. “Does that mean I get to board the Karajor ?”

“We’ll see.” The warlord picked Glordon up in his hands and stood up. "For now, let's just get some sweet berry cake, but don't tell your mother or we'll both be in trouble." 

“Can’t I just take a peek? Just so he calms down!” Asthra tried, and failed again, to crawl out of bed as Grigon gently tucked her in for the twentieth time.

The Blood Emperor rubbed his temple. A steaming cup of ratkajino would be so good right now.

“You heard the medic, love. The more you rest, the sooner you’ll recover,” said Grigon. 

“Grigon, how do you expect me to rest when my baby is crying and I can’t do anything about it?” 

“You don’t want him to catch a cold again, do you?” 

Defeated, Asthra murmured and dropped her ears. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll go check on him,” offered Grigon. 

Asthra’s ears twitched. “…Make sure he’s warm enough.” 

“Got it.” 

As Grigon moved toward the door, Asthra called out. “Don’t forget to recheck his swaddle!” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“And remember he’s teething! Don’t let him chew on your armor; it’s too hard–!”

Grigon closed the door behind him, sighing at his wife’s stubbornness and over-attached tendencies. To be sure, he tasked Gronk with stationing himself outside while ensuring Asthra remained in bed. 

“MAMAAA!”

The Blood Emperor took a deep breath, preparing himself for the ordeal as he walked into the nursery, Glordon’s cries becoming louder as he stepped closer to the crib. His chest tugged as he saw the tears trickling down his wiggling son’s mouth, all twelve of his nubs twitching.

“There, there,” cooed Grigon, gently picking up the wailing larva in his hands. “It’s okay, Glordon. Daddy’s got you.” 

“MAMAAA!”

He tried every trick in the book. Rocking him, telling him a story, offering him food, stroking his head, but Glordon continued to cry for his mother. Thinking quickly, Grigon momentarily placed Glordon in his armor’s cupholder and used his silk to make a crude figurine barely resembling Asthra’s wormy form, feathery ears and all.

“Glordon, look! Here’s a mini-Mommy!” 

Thankfully, his son quieted down and reached out for the mini-Asthra. Grigon sighed in relief as Glordon clung to the figurine, curling up around it in his cupholder. That should suffice, he took Glordon along to his study to keep an eye on him. 

The familiar aroma of ratkajino sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. As usual, his ratkajino pot awaited on his desk; he poured himself a good, steaming portion into his favorite mug and took a gulp. The hot, bitter taste made his quills shiver with delight inside his carapace.

“Wan!” Glordon’s little voice called out.

Looking down, Grigon saw his son peeking out of the cupholder, reaching out his four nubs toward his ratkajino.

“That’s not for you, son,” said Grigon, putting the mug aside.

“Wan! Wan!”

Glordon proved to be just as stubborn as Grigon himself. He would crawl from the cupholder periodically, attempting to reach the ratkajino mug, only to be caught and returned. Then, the cycle repeated just as Grigon tried to focus on the paperwork. At his patience’s limit, the Blood Emperor handed placed him aside and gave him one of his empty pens to play with… Or at least, he thought it was empty, until a squirt of ink flew straight at his chest plate.

“Damn it, Glordon!” cursed Grigon. He went to fetch a napkin to wipe the ink off his carapace, but as he turned around, he saw his son dropping into the ratkajino pot. “GLORDON!”

He lunged forward, knocking over the desk, piles of papers and all, but he grabbed the pot and poured its contents—and Glordon—onto his gauntlet.

“You little–!” Grigon growled, but stopped as Glordon giggled, his twelve nubs flailing while rolling on his gauntlet. The Blood Emperor sighed and rubbed his temple.

“Your Bloodness!” the soldiers posted outside burst into the room, hand cannons at the ready. They froze when they saw Grigon on the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and his giggling son in his hand.

“Not. A word,” hissed Grigon.

…

Grigon watched utterly dismayed as Glordon rolled all around his nursery, giggling every time he bumped into stuff, praying to Shaak’vi that the effect would wear off soon. He’d tried swaddling him a few times, but Glordon wiggled out of it in his ratkajino-induced zoomies.

“You’re so lucky that you’re my only son, kid…” murmured Grigon when Glordon bumped into his leg and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Dada!”

The corners of his mouth tugged into a small smile. He had to give his son credit for going after the ratkajino while he was distracted with the ink stain. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Glordon squirted him with ink as a distraction.

On the bright side, Glordon wasn’t crying for Asthra anymore. If she found out what happened—

“Glordon!”

Grigon and Glordon jumped—the former in fright, the latter in delight—as Asthra strode into the nursery, back inside her carapace.

“A-Asthra, what are you doing?! You should be in bed!” yelled Grigon.

“The medic said I was well enough to check on Glordon for a little while.” said Asthra, kneeling and reaching out her gauntlets as her baby rolled toward her. “Hi, sweetie!”

“Mama!” giggled Glordon, waving his twelve nubs as Asthra picked him up.

Asthra’s digital eyes frowned, and she took a sniff. “Grigon, why does my son smell of ratkajino?” she asked.

“…Your parents and Askja have been asking for you. They want to know if you’re okay…” He tried, but got no response. Asthra didn’t even shift. Grigon quietly moved closer, considering his next words carefully. “You can’t keep going like this, love.” 

Grigon flinched when Asthra tensed, and her quills shivered wildly. He mentally prepared himself for a verbal lash-out, but his wife simply sniffled. Sighing, he walked to the other side to meet her face to face, but regretted it when he saw the state she was in: Asthra’s cheeks and the corners of her mouth were stained with long-dried tears; her nubs were clutching a small silk figure shaped like Shaak’vi, one of the many toys she’d woven with her own silk for their first—

Grigon squeezed his digital eyes shut and took a deep breath, pushing the thought aside. Then, he knelt and tentatively placed a hand on Asthra’s body.

“It pains me to see you cry, my love,” said Grigon, his own voice shaking. “I’d do anything to see you smile again.” 

Asthra stiffened, her ears pressed against her head. “…There’s nothing you can do…” she whispered.

“I know it hurts, Asthra, but… it’s been months. You have to—”

“You think I haven’t tried?” growled Asthra, her volume rising briefly—a faint remnant of the strong-willed woman he loved so much. But the fire extinguished as soon as it’d appeared. “I miss it…I miss them all so much…” she sobbed, clutching the little silk figure tighter. “I see them in every egg at the baptisms… In every larva I spot in the Colosseum… In my sister’s healthy egg… I feel like I’m going mad, Grigon! Mad!”

“I know, I know—”

“Do you?! Because you’re just going on about your day like nothing happened!”

This time, it was his own temper that flared. “They were my children too, Asthra! You think it doesn’t pain me?! But unlike you, I don’t have the luxury to lie down and mope all day!” 

Grigon regretted the harshness in his voice when Asthra broke down into sobs again. He rubbed his temple, and carefully picked her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest as she cried. 

—*O*—

“Your Wrath, Lady Asthra is back… and she wants to see you.”

Grigon lifted his gaze from his desk. “Why?” he asked Gronk.

“She wouldn’t say, but… It’s about the Aoki ship that crash-landed in the badlands.” 

Intrigued, Grigon left his study and headed toward the main hall, before Gronk told him Asthra was waiting for him in their bedchambers. On the way there, he noticed the guards seemed tense but tried their best to hide it as he passed by them. Something must’ve happened at the crash site.

He found Asthra near the balcony door. She was looking down at her hands, cradling something against her chest plate. 

“Did something happen? Are you alright?” asked Grigon, approaching his wife. 

Then he saw it: a round, pale blue object carefully cupped in Asthra’s metallic hands. An egg. But it wasn’t a Hylurgian egg. 

“… Where did you find it?” inquired Grigon, digital eyes fixed on it. Then he remembered Gronk’s words. “The Aoki ship?”

Asthra nodded. “Its parents didn’t make it. The mother, she… She was dying, and yet the only thing she cared about was her unhatched baby…” she paused. “She asked me to keep it safe.”

“Okay… Then what? Should I send a messenger to Cryos so someone can pick it up?”

“I promised its mother I would keep her child safe, Grigon.”

His eyes widened, realizing what his wife was asking of him. Then he frowned. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?”

“It’s an Aoki, Asthra. Hylurg is no place for a species that thrives in polar climates.” 

“We can adjust a room with the right temperature.” 

“Then what? What will you do if it tries to take a bath in the lava baths?” insisted Grigon. “You cannot expect to raise it as a Hylurgian! It is not!” 

“Who says an Aoki can’t learn our ways?”

Grigon rubbed his temple at his wife’s stubbornness. “Do you know what the Noble Houses will say if they see you babying a foreign child?”

“Since when do you care about what they say?” retorted Asthra.

“When they have a point. You know why outsiders are not allowed in Hylurg. Our enemies must never know of our true forms, and yet the Royal Family keeps an Aoki, a species with mental abilities that could very well disclose that information, in the very heart of Hylurg? How do you think that sounds?”

“You’re saying I should have just abandoned an unborn child to its luck?!” 

“Yes, because it’s not yours! It’s not even a Hylurgian!” 

Asthra stepped back, her ears flattened against her head, eyes narrowing dangerously as she tucked the egg protectively against her chest, growling dangerously. Grigon met her gaze with a stern look of his own, his fists clenched.

 “… It won’t replace the ones we lost, Asthra.” 

There. He said it. He nearly regretted it when he saw Asthra flinch, but he didn’t retract. As much as it hurt them both, she had to hear it. 

“… I know that,” whispered Asthra, her mouth briefly welling up with tears. “But it needs me. And I want it.”

Grigon wanted to keep arguing, but something about the tone in her voice… and the way she held that egg. For the hate of Shaak’vi, just the fact that she’d left bed and entered her carapace after two years.

“…Fine. Keep it.” 

Asthra relaxed. “I’m sure he’ll be a great son—”

“I said you may keep it.” Grigon interrupted, voice and expression hard. “That doesn’t make it my son.”

He didn’t wait for his wife to reply as headed to the door and left the room.