Orianna fell backward, head hitting the pillows stacked behind her, arm falling over her eyes as she sighed in utter relief, the welcome cries of her newborn daughter filling the room beside her husband's prayers. Another sigh escaped her as he finished his petition to Torm, healing warmth spreading from his hand to her body, stemming the bleeding and helping alleviate the pain of childbirth she'd just endured. All the while he cradled their child in his free hand, never leaving her side. She removed her forearm from her eyes and, to her surprise and delight, she'd never seen him smiling wider. Gently he rocked the swaddled girl in his arms, calmly hushing her with whispers and coos until her crying stopped. When she was calm, he turned back to her, Orianna smiling just as vibrantly as he began wiping the sweat from her brow with a cold washcloth he'd readied beforehand. They sat in silence for some time, both happier than they'd ever known. Nomad because this feeling, this new sensation of knowing he was a father, but also a mortal one and everything that meant and how it seemed so much more profound to him for it. And Orianna, not just because she was a mother, but because her husband was just as elated as she.   She thought that the day they'd professed their love for one another was the best day of her life. She was wrong.   "Hello Zora," she heard her husband say. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you." He turned to Orianna. "Except your mother, maybe."   "Oh, careful now," she managed with a weak smile. "I just birthed your child."   "Our child. And that you did. You are truly a marvel. And I have more healing spells ready if you need, my love. Just say the word."   She waved him off, beckoning him to hand her their baby. "Later. For now, I just want to hold her. And have you sit with me."   He somehow managed to smile wider, doing just as she asked as he nestled onto the bed beside her, wrapping her in his powerful arms and holding her as tight as she held their baby. Again, they remained silent for some time, the three of them, family.   "What did you call her?" Orianna asked eventually, looking back to her husband.   "Zora."   "Does it mean anything?"   "It's the word angels use for 'sunrise.'"   "Sunrise?"   He nodded. "Every day, I treasure the sunrise. It's a new day. One I can spend with you. One I can spend free. The moment I looked at her, I felt more alive and free than I've ever known. And looking at you...at both of you...it only gets better."   Tears came to her eyes along with a warm smile. She pulled herself upright, leaning toward him and kissing him long and deep. When she could no longer manage their embrace, he was there to lower her gently back onto the bed, brushing the hair from her eyes and holding her close.   "I love you, Orianna."   "And I love you, Callum."   "This is the best day of my life. Even beyond those I spent in Celestia."   Her smile remained as she closed her eyes and rested against him. "I know."

Stop pretending you’re shy; just go dance, Atka thought to herself. Since meeting Ilanir and discovering the music scene, she had been seeking out every performance she could in the taverns around Waterdeep. None were quite as captivating—the liquor inhibited their musical spell-casting ability.   Atka unbraided her hair, swaying her hips to the music of the small troupe in this tavern. Their style was playful. “Here kitty, kitty, this kitten has a lion’s roar,” the young human woman sang softly. Okay, Atka thought and stepped onto the dance floor. She outlined half her dancing space with the toe of her boot, dragging it softly in a half-circle around her. But just as she was about start her rhythmic dance, a soft touch brushed up her arm and she turned,   She sighed. “Ilanir, you shouldn’t be here.”   “I shouldn’t be here? This is a public tavern, Ideal, and quite honestly, I have to talk to you.”   “You’re pregnant,” she joked, deadpan.   He sighed now. “Is this truly how you are? I’m usually fairly good at reading people just in how they react to my music, and this is not what I saw at all.” The look on Atka’s face must have revealed everything because he didn’t wait for a canned response. “Can we sit down and talk? For a moment?”   Atka slipped into the nearest set of two-person table so he could sit across from her and dropped her hands into her lap. She felt like Ilanir was going to do a bit of scolding of her. Thirty-something years old and this elf was going to lay down the law… Before he did, she wanted to admit something, “Ilanir, my name is Atka. Please call me Atka.”   “Why would you hide that? That’s a beautiful name.”   “I’m not ashamed of my name. I don’t know why I hide it, and I think that’s part of my problem. I don’t know when to put an Ideal front on and when not to,” she said, looking down at her cupped hands in her lap. She could feel him looking at her, his eyes not burrowing but instead softly nestled into her deepest chakras. The music around them had, for their purposes, finished, though she could see shadows of those dancing around her to indicate that for others the loud, playful night wore on.   “Well, Atka,” he said emphasizing the sweetness of the name on his own tongue, “I don’t think there’s any difference between Ideal and Atka. What do you think of that?”   “You don’t know me at all, Ilanir,” she smiled looking up at him now. “The things I do well, the people I associate with on a regular basis, and even my goals and ambitions are questionable.”   “And do you perceive those questionable things as Ideal or Atka?” he asked poignantly. The color didn’t have to drain from her face to make it known that she had not prepared to answer that question tonight—or ever. “Hey, hey…” he soothed and reached an open hand across the table for hers, “I’m not attacking here; I’m just trying to help you think through what I see is troubling you.”   “How do you know it troubles me?” Atka rejected his hand by not moving just yet, but her eyes never left the gesture.   “Have you ever… been so incredibly connected to something, whether right away or after years, where you just can tell feelings, sometimes thoughts?”   Atka’s memory snapped to that night that Mamnen and she were practicing, and they knew something was wrong at home, or when she knew Mamnen was missing her terribly… “Yes, I suppose I do have experience with that. I’ve never experienced it so strongly though as I have with family.” She looked up at him. “You’re experiencing that with me.”   “I have a keen sense of that with most people. But I admit, you’ve been harder to read, and I think that I know why. Atka, you’re living a dual life, aren’t you?” he asked softly, cautiously. “Maybe one that you project and one that you want?”   “Are you sure those are different?”   “They don’t have to be.” His eyes caught hers and they were silent for a while. She relaxed into his gaze and wondered how his voice was just as enchanting as his instrument playing, his lankiness and unkempt hair—so opposite of those she usually associated—did not bother her at all.   “Ilanir, I don’t know how to tell the difference.”   “You start by listening to what’s here,” he said pointing to her heart, “And here.” Then he pointed to her head. Her memory snapped again to another wise one’s advice to her. She shivered a bit.   “What if the projection is from within?”   “It’s always from within,” Ilanir stated in fact. “That’s how you know it’s a projection. You’re trying to project an ideal from within to match someone else’s perceived idea of you, but that’s not always what you want, is it?” He snapped his fingers into his palm, motioning her to give him her hand. She did, instantly, keeping the other in her lap.   Atka shook her head. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s hardly ever what I want.”   “Then the real question is this: why do you continue to hold up Ideal?”   “Repercussions,” she whispered and let out a slight sigh when Ilanir drew her hand in his to his mouth and breathed on it softly.   “There are no corollaries when to your own self you’re true,” he whispered back. Atka smiled widely at him. “What?” he couldn’t help himself and returned the smile.   “Hey,” she said leaning in and kissing him once on the nose. “Let’s get out of here.”   “Yes,” Ilanir laughed, stood, and the two of them exited the tavern. Atka had never felt so seen.