A week had passed, and Medeia had completely forgotten just how exhausting it was to take care of a baby. No—perhaps she had never really known.
Her past experiences didn’t count. Most of her children had died too soon, and the few who survived a bit longer were raised by her minions, hidden away from their father before he eventually found them.
Now that she thought about it ... maybe she had never actually learned how to care for a child properly, especially a human one.
Demon children were easy. They could go days without food, endure harsh conditions, and still survive. The only way to kill them was to pierce their hearts or sever their heads.
But a human baby? That was an entirely different challenge.
Sierra never cried, which made things even harder. Babies were supposed to cry—it was how they let others know they were hungry, cold, or uncomfortable. But Sierra stayed eerily silent, forcing Medeia to check on her constantly, afraid something was wrong.
She had to feed Sierra every two hours. Luckily, the base had a handful of pregnant women and new mothers who generously d their milk, which was stored in sealed bags for her.
"Are you sure she’s drinking? She’s not choking, is she?" Medeia asked, her voice laced with worry.
Medeia crossed her arms, watching Lucian cradle Sierra in his arms, a baby bottle held to her lips. But the milk level in the bottle barely moved.
"Calm down, love" Lucian said, surprisingly composed. Medeia had already had multiple meltdowns from lack of sleep, but he handled the situation far better than she did. "She’s just drinking slower than other babies."
Medeia frowned, rubbing her temples. How was he so calm?
She let out a sigh. "You look like you enjoy taking care of her too much."
Lucian chuckled, rocking Sierra gently. "Maybe a little."
They had never officially discussed a schedule for taking care of the baby, yet somehow, a routine naturally fell into place—Lucian took the night shifts, while Medeia watched over Sierra during the day.
Of course, their arrangement wasn’t set in stone. If one of them had to go on a night patrol, the other would step in. Fortunately, Lucian’s cousins had been a huge help.
At first, Medeia insisted on handling everything alone. She knew Lucian had responsibilities, keeping the base running and ensuring everyone’s safety.
Since she had no interest in managing the base every single day like him, Medeia assumed that taking care of a baby would be the easier option.
Oh, how utterly wrong she was.
After three sleepless nights, she nearly collapsed into the snow. Not because she physically couldn’t sleep—she simply refused to.
Sierra never cried, and that made everything so much harder. Babies were supposed to cry when they needed something. But Sierra? She was silent. Too silent.
Medeia couldn’t bear the thought of dozing off and waking up to find that the child had slipped away in the night.
"She’s put on some weight since she got here, hasn’t she?" Lucian remarked, his emerald eyes soft as he gazed at the sleeping baby in his arms. "The first time I held her, she felt so fragile."
Like a little skeleton wrapped in skin.
Now, thanks to Medeia’s care, Sierra’s tiny frame had filled out. Her cheeks were rounder, her limbs not as frail as before.
But Medeia still wasn’t satisfied. She let out a weary sigh. "Joy said she’s still far from stable." Her fingers tightened slightly around her own arms. "Maybe I did something wrong ... A human child is so different from a demon child."
Lucian turned to her, his expression filled with quiet certainty. "No, love, you did nothing wrong." His voice was steady, warm. "If it weren’t for you, she might not have survived at all."
He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "So trust me on this—you’ve done more than well."
Medeia had told him about the deaths of her children before. She thought he’d be furious, that he’d want to find a way to see her ex-husband and beat him to a pulp—well, he did—but what she hadn’t expected was for Lucian to cry.
She still remembered that moment vividly. The way his hands clenched into fists, his emerald eyes dark with unspoken pain. His voice shook when he asked, "Why?"
He couldn’t comprehend it. How could a man kill his own children? Lucian would never—could never—do something like that. The mere thought made him sick. Forget his own child, he couldn’t even bear the idea of hurting any child.
Medeia let out a slow breath, her gaze drifting to the tiny bundle in Lucian’s arms.
"But she still hasn’t cried," she murmured, frustration clear in her voice. "Not even a single sound. At first, I thought maybe Joy was wrong, but I heard her cry when she was born. Do you think she’ll ever find her voice again?"
A voice meant survival. A voice meant she could call for help, express her needs, let the world know she existed.
And, of course, if Sierra regained her voice, Medeia would earn extra points and rewards.
That’s right. That was the only reason she was doing this.
Lucian glanced at her, as if he could see through her thinly veiled excuses, but he said nothing about them. Instead, he set the bottle down and gently rubbed Sierra’s back.
"I can’t predict the future," he said, his voice steady, reassuring. "But I do know that trauma takes time. No matter how long it takes, no matter how difficult it is, she will heal. Because Sierra is strong."
Stronger than most adults. She had survived two months in the hands of bandits, barely eating, constantly freezing—and yet, she was still here.
Medeia sighed. "You really look like a father." She smiled, tilting her head toward him. "Should I start calling you Daddy?"
His smile widened. "Haven’t you already?"
Medeia nearly choked on air. Heat rushed to her face as she shoved his shoulder. "That was different!" She scowled. "Ugh, forget it! I’m never calling you that in bed again!"