The Extra's Rise

After our discussion about the Second Calamity and Bahamut's heart, I had expected to return to my guest quarters to process the overwhelming revelations in private. The weight of what lay ahead—reaching demigod status in four years to prevent an apocalypse—seemed like something that required solitary contemplation.

However, that plan didn't survive contact with an eight-year-old's priorities.

Instead, I found myself sitting in an ornate chair in one of the palace's most luxurious meeting rooms, my daughter Luna clinging to my side with the desperate grip of a child who had woken up to find her father missing. Her dark hair was still mussed from sleep, and her butterfly pendant caught the room's soft lighting as she pressed against me like a particularly determined koala.

"Daddy, where did you go?" she had asked when the palace staff brought her to us, her voice carrying the accusatory tone of someone who had discovered a grave injustice. "I woke up and you weren't there, and Reika wasn't there, and even Princess Seraphina wasn't there! I thought everyone abandoned me!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I murmured, stroking her hair gently while trying not to laugh at her dramatic retelling. "I had to speak with someone very important. But I'm here now."

"You should have woken me up," she declared with the absolute certainty that only children possessed. "I'm very good at important meetings. I can sit quietly and everything."

Across from us, Tiamat sat with regal composure in her human form, though her attention was entirely focused on the small golden figure curled contentedly in her lap. Luna the qilin—my ancient, thousand-year-old partner—was allowing herself to be petted like an oversized house cat, her usual dignity completely abandoned in favor of basking in Tiamat's maternal attention.

'You know,' I said through our mental link, watching the qilin's blissful expression, 'for someone who's over a thousand years old, you're acting remarkably like a child seeking mommy's attention.'

'I am not a child,' Luna huffed in my mind, though she made no move to leave Tiamat's lap. 'I am simply... reconnecting with an old friend.'

'Uh-huh. Is that what we're calling it when you purr every time she scratches behind your ears?'

'Qilins do not purr,' Luna replied with wounded dignity, just as a distinctly purr-like sound escaped her throat when Tiamat found a particularly good spot.

'Right. Of course not. That was just... qilin rumbling.'

'Exactly. Qilin rumbling. A completely different and much more dignified sound.'

Reika and Seraphina flanked me on either side, both women maintaining polite alertness despite the late hour and unusual circumstances. Though I caught Reika hiding a smile as she observed the family dynamics playing out before us.

"Princess Seraphina," my daughter Luna announced suddenly, "you have really pretty hair. It's like moonlight!"

"Thank you, little one," Seraphina replied with one of her rare genuine smiles. "Your hair is quite lovely as well. Very shiny."

"Daddy brushes it every morning," Luna said proudly. "He's getting better at braids, but sometimes they're still lopsided."

"I'm learning," I protested mildly. "Braiding is more complicated than magical theory."

"That's because magical theory doesn't wiggle," Reika observed with amusement. "Or complain that you're pulling too tight."

"Or insist that the braid needs to be 'princess-perfect' for breakfast," I added, earning a giggle from my daughter.

The reason for this impromptu gathering was simple: when it had come time to leave Tiamat's lair, Luna the qilin had been visibly reluctant to part from the ancient dragon. After centuries of separation, being reunited with what was clearly a cherished maternal figure had awakened emotions she rarely displayed.

'I may have missed her a little,' Luna admitted in our mental link, her voice carrying unusual vulnerability.

'A little? You've been attached to her lap for two hours.'

'I have not been attached. I have been... strategically positioned for optimal conversation participation.'

'From someone's lap.'

'The lap is incidental to the positioning.'

Tiamat, for her part, had seemed equally reluctant to end their reunion. "The night is young," she had said with gentle authority that brooked no argument. "And it has been far too long since I've had the pleasure of Luna's company. Perhaps we might continue our conversation in more comfortable surroundings?"

The Viserions, naturally, had not dared to object. Prince Ian had personally overseen the preparation of one of the palace's grandest reception rooms, complete with comfortable seating, refreshments, and what appeared to be a carefully curated selection of Luna-appropriate snacks.

"Is that dragon really a thousand years old?" my daughter asked in a stage whisper that was absolutely audible to everyone in the room.

"Several thousand, actually," Tiamat replied with amusement. "Though it's impolite to ask a lady her age."

"Oh." Luna considered this seriously. "Sorry. Daddy says I'm still learning manners."

"You're doing wonderfully," Tiamat assured her. "Much better than most young humans I've met."

"Really? Even better than Daddy when he was little?"

"I never met your father when he was your age," Tiamat said carefully, "but I imagine he was quite... energetic."

"He probably was," Luna agreed sagely. "He still climbs on things he shouldn't. Reika has to stop him sometimes."

Reika's lips twitched. "Master does have a tendency toward... creative problem-solving."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Seraphina asked with dry amusement.

"I'm sitting right here," I pointed out.

"We know," all three women replied in unison, causing my daughter to dissolve into giggles.

'Even the child is ganging up on you,' Luna the qilin observed with obvious entertainment. 'How does it feel to be outnumbered by your own family?'

'Terrifying,' I replied honestly. 'And somehow wonderful at the same time.'

As the evening progressed, I found myself watching the easy camaraderie that had developed between everyone present. Seraphina had gradually relaxed from her usual composed reserve, actually laughing at my daughter's increasingly elaborate theories about dragon biology. Reika had appointed herself as the official snack distributor, ensuring everyone had tea and the small cakes the palace had provided.

"Daddy," Luna said suddenly, having worked her way through what appeared to be her third petit four, "are you really going to be busy?"

The innocent question hit like a physical blow, reminding me of the conversation that had started this whole evening. Four years to reach an impossible level of power, while trying to be a father to a little girl who needed stability and attention.

"I'll have to work very hard," I said carefully. "But I'll always make time for you, sweetheart. You're the most important thing in my life."

"More important than saving the world?"

'Children are terrifyingly perceptive,' Luna commented in my mind. 'No wonder humans find parenting so challenging.'

"You are my world," I replied, meaning every word. "Everything else I do is just to make sure you have a safe place to grow up in."

Luna beamed at this answer, apparently satisfied with the logic.

The night wore on with increasingly ridiculous conversations. My daughter regaled everyone with detailed explanations of her favorite games, her opinions on various palace decorations, and her theories about why dragons were probably better than horses ("They can fly AND breathe fire, which is much more useful").

Tiamat contributed stories about the early days of the beast bloodline families, carefully edited for young ears but still fascinating. Luna the qilin occasionally added commentary, usually contradicting Tiamat's more diplomatic versions of historical events.

"Actually," Luna would say, "that king was an absolute moron who nearly started three wars because he couldn't tell the difference between a trade agreement and a marriage proposal."

"Luna," Tiamat would chide gently, "we don't call historical figures morons in front of children."

"But he was," Luna protested. "He tried to marry a shipping manifest."

"You know," I said thoughtfully, watching my daughter giggle at the historical banter, "seeing you both together like this makes me realize something."

"What's that, Daddy?" Luna asked, tilting her head up to look at me with curious eyes.

"Having two Lunas is going to be confusing as you get older," I said with what I hoped was a gentle smile. "Maybe it's time for you to choose a different name that's just yours."

The effect was immediate and devastating.

My daughter's eyes went wide with shock, then filled with tears that began spilling down her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled as she processed what I'd just suggested.

"But... but Luna is my name," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You gave it to me. It's the first thing that was really mine."

'Oh no,' Luna the qilin said in my mind, her mental voice filled with sympathy. 'The little one is crying.'

"I don't want a different name," my daughter continued, now crying in earnest. "I chose Luna because I love the moon, and it's beautiful, and you said it was perfect for me!"

Reika immediately moved closer, offering a handkerchief while shooting me a look that clearly said 'fix this right now.' Seraphina's expression was sympathetic but helpless, while Tiamat watched with the patient understanding of someone who had witnessed countless family dramas over the millennia.

"Sweetheart," I started, feeling panic rise as my daughter's tears increased, "I didn't mean—"

"I don't want to be someone else!" Luna wailed, clinging to my shirt with desperate hands. "I want to be me! I want to be Luna!"

'Fatherhood,' I thought as I gathered my sobbing daughter closer and tried to figure out how to undo the emotional catastrophe I'd just created, 'is significantly harder than defeating ancient evils or running a guild or preventing apocalypses.'

Luna buried her face against my chest, her small body shaking with the force of her tears, while I sat there feeling like the worst father in existence and having absolutely no idea how to fix what I'd just broken.

This was definitely not how I'd expected the evening to end.