The rhythms of the ruined monastery, once dictated by ancient winds and the mournful creak of crumbling stone, now pulsed to the unpredictable tempo of a baby. Augustus, perched on a slab of broken altar stone, watched Eleonoré attempt to decipher Aurené's latest whim. The Radiant Blade, whose conviction could shatter legions, now squinted at a tiny, gurgling face, her brow furrowed in a concentration she usually reserved for battle strategies.
Aurené, nestled in the blanket Eleonoré had laid down, kicked her tiny legs with surprising force, a high-pitched whine building in her throat. She wasn't wailing like a warhorn this time, but her discontent was undeniable, a persistent, unsettling hum that vibrated through the very air, grating on senses accustomed to the silence of cosmic void or the roar of angelic choirs. Eleonoré offered a soft, wet cloth, which Aurené rejected with a head shake. A small, smoothed pebble Eleonoré had found earlier was tossed aside with a frustrated gurgle.
"Is she… defective?" Augustus's voice, a gravelly whisper, startled Eleonoré. He rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary, and his pronouncements usually involved strategic withdrawals or existential threats. In this context, it was disarmingly absurd.
Eleonoré glared at him, a flash of righteous indignation in her luminous eyes. "She's a baby, Demon Lord. They're all 'defective' in their own way. And yours is particularly... discerning." She emphasized 'yours' with a pointed flick of her wrist towards Aurené.
Augustus's eyes narrowed, a barely perceptible tightening around the pupil. He'd never "owned" anything that required constant, inexplicable attention. Worlds, legions, cosmic fragments – those obeyed. This… small, soft creature merely demanded. It was an alien concept, utterly devoid of logic or strategic advantage. He felt the phantom throb of the voidscript on his chest plate, now free of actual vomit, but still bearing the indelible memory.
Aurené whimpered again, a pathetic, trembling sound that, despite himself, drew Augustus's attention. His gaze, usually cold and calculating, softened infinitesimally as he watched Eleonoré gently try to soothe the infant, her strong fingers surprisingly delicate as they stroked Aurené's forehead. A faint glow emanated from Eleonoré's hands, a natural byproduct of her divine essence, but it seemed to have no effect on Aurené's growing frustration.
"She needs a toy," she murmured, less to him and more to the echoing hall. A toy. He considered the concept. Void beasts played by devouring stars. His own 'toys' involved Greatswords and the fractured remains of realms. This was… utterly different. And this 'internal vibrating' Eleonoré mentioned – he could feel it too, a subtle resonance in his own void-attuned senses, a strange, low frequency that hinted at something more than just a baby's fussiness. "And more… variety. These roots won't last forever. And if she doesn't stop this... internal vibrating... soon, I'm fairly certain I'll snap."
He rose then, his massive frame unfolding with a quiet, powerful grace that seemed out of place in such a domestic crisis. Eleonoré watched him, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. "Where are you going?"
"Toy," Augustus grunted, his voice a gravelly rumble. The word sounded utterly alien in his mouth, like a cosmic entity attempting to mimic a common bird call.
He vanished. Not with a flash of light or a thunderous boom, but with a ripple in the very air, as if the space he occupied had simply folded in on itself. Eleonoré sighed, a mix of relief and renewed exasperation. "Don't bring back a piece of a shattered moon, Demon Lord!" she called out to the lingering echoes.
Aurené, surprisingly, quieted for a moment, her small head cocked, as if sensing the disruption of the void.
Hours passed. The dim light of the ruined hall faded further into twilight. Eleonoré had managed to coax Aurené into a fitful sleep, her own exhaustion palpable. The silence, however, was unnerving. Augustus had been gone too long for a simple "toy." She began to pace, her anxieties as a paladin replacing her recent parental frustrations. Had he abandoned them? Had he found a way to use Aurené's existence as a weapon and fled? The thought, cold and sharp, cut through her weariness.
Then, a subtle shiver ran through the very stone of the monastery. Not a collapse, but a deep, resonant hum, like a colossal bell struck from within the earth. It grew, becoming a low thrumming that vibrated through Eleonoré's bones. Augustus rematerialized in the center of the hall, the void around him swirling faintly.
In his immense, gauntleted hands, he held... a flower.
Not a shattered moon. Not a void-crystal. A single, perfect, vibrant bloom. Its petals, a deep, velvety indigo, pulsed with a faint, internal light, and its stem, though sturdy, was impossibly thin in his grasp. The air around it shimmered with residual void energy, as if it had been plucked from a garden at the edge of creation itself, painstakingly preserved through dimensions.
Eleonoré stared, utterly dumbfounded. Her mouth opened, then closed. Augustus, for his part, presented it with the gravity of offering a peace treaty to a warring star system.
"Toy," he rumbled, holding it out to Aurené's still-sleeping form.
The flower pulsed brighter, its faint glow casting dancing shadows on Augustus's armored face. It was the most absurd, most beautiful, and most utterly bewildering object he could have brought back. It radiated a strange energy, calming and unsettling at once. Eleonoré took it from him, her fingers brushing his void steel gauntlet. The contrast between his brutal armor and the fragile bloom was stark, yet somehow, perfectly fitting for the unlikely family now sheltered beneath the fractured arch.
Aurené, as if sensing its presence even in sleep, stirred, a soft, content sigh escaping her lips. The 'internal vibrating' from earlier seemed to have completely vanished. Eleonoré looked at the flower, then at Augustus, a complex mixture of exasperation, awe, and a flicker of something new—a shared, unspoken understanding of the bizarre reality they now inhabited.
The silence that followed was not empty, but filled with the soft pulse of an impossible flower, the steady breathing of a sleeping child, and the silent, growing question of what other inexplicable "gifts" parenthood would bring.