Idris Point of View

I don't remember much from day five onward.

At some point, the nurses stopped giving me updates and just gave me coffee - Black. No sugar.

I think one of them saluted me. I'm not sure. Could've been a hallucination.

Demon girl, on the other hand, was doing the most absurd thing imaginable after giving birth to eight human beings in eight consecutive days.

She was fine.

Okay, yes — she slipped into a coma for two days after Neven was born, but apparently that was just her body saying, 'Hey, I need to reboot. Be back soon.'

Two full days of absolutely nothing. I sat by her side, holding her hand, staring at the monitors like they were stock tickers. Every little beep made my soul twitch.

Then she woke up, blinked slowly, and the first thing out of her mouth?

"Did they mix up the socks again? Mercer was wearing Saturnino's pair yesterday." I mean, woman!

You just woke from a two day long sleeping vacation and the first thing you say is this?

Shouldn't you be asking, 'what year this is?' or 'How long was I sleeping' or 'How is she and the babies doing?'

"Are they? I cannot even tell them apart; you can even differentiate their socks?" I asked, looking between her and our eight sons in their identical, terrifyingly coordinated cribs lined up like a military inspection unit beside her hospital bed.

Demon girl didn't even look at me. She squinted at the nearest baby — I think it was Jovian — and said, "Teran has a crease on his right eyelid. Mercer twitches his left foot when he's sleeping. Saturnino grumbles in his sleep like a tiny retired grandpa. And I'm pretty sure Uraniel's already giving me side-eye."

I blinked. "They're four days old."

"Exactly," she said, like that proved her point. Then, without missing a beat, she closed her eyes and mumbled, "Also, Saturnino's socks are navy. Mercer's are charcoal. Entirely different energy."

I stared at her.

Demon girl — barely awake, fresh out of a two-day coma — was now casually listing sock energies and infant personality traits like she was giving a keynote speech at a Baby Conference.

"Different energy?" I repeated, deadpan. "They're socks. Tiny, cotton socks. The only energy they have is static cling."

"That's where you're wrong," she said, still not opening her eyes. "Mercer is a charcoal-sock baby. He's serious. He observes. He's going to grow up to own a library or a spaceship — probably both. Saturnino is navy. He's already the middle child in spirit. Loud. Opinionated. Kicks in his sleep."

"Hold on," I said, holding up a hand like I was at a council meeting. "They're not even chronologically middle yet. We have eight kids."

She cracked one eye open and gave me the look. That dry, royal, you-may-speak-but-you-will-regret-it look. "Middle child energy is a spiritual condition, Grrrgal."

Right. Of course. I forgot I was married to the goddess of celestial baby profiling.

She yawned and rolled her head slightly toward the babies, eyes fluttering as she scanned them like she was running facial recognition software. "Jovian makes those little cooing chirps when he's falling asleep. It's like a mini space dolphin. Very cute."

"Okay, that one I'll admit," I said. "It's weirdly soothing. I played a sound recording of it last night and accidentally fell asleep standing up."

She smiled, smug and half-asleep. "Told you."

"And which one is the angry one again?" I asked, leaning forward and squinting suspiciously at the lineup. "There's always one who's born mad at the world."

"That's Neven," she said instantly. "Lastborn. Carried the drama of everyone else's births. He came into this world fists first and eyebrows furrowed."

"Yeah, he scowled at me earlier when I tried to kiss his forehead," I muttered. "I think he's already filed a complaint with HR."

"And who's the one who always poops right after a diaper change? There's a pattern. I've been logging it."

"Marcellus," she said, eyes still closed, voice too calm. "He does it on purpose. He waits until you've cleaned him, and then as soon as you sigh in relief — bam. New mess. I respect it."

I groaned. "He's four days old and already has a revenge agenda."

"Valen genes," she mumbled.

"I'm going to pretend that's not a compliment."

She cracked both eyes open this time and gave me the most innocent look I'd ever seen on a woman who'd once threatened to name our child Captain Sparklebottom. "Grrrgal."

"Yes?"

"I need you to accept that your sons are already their own people."

"They look like bread rolls," I deadpanned.

"Bread rolls with personality," she shot back, propping herself up slightly with the air of someone about to present PowerPoint slides. "Teran grunts like a little engine when he stretches. Veniel likes being swaddled the tightest — he has a dramatic gasp if even one arm escapes. Uraniel always finds the warmest crib and somehow migrates toward it. I don't even know how, but he scoots."

"He scoots?" I raised a brow. "Already?"

"Yep. Stealth baby."

"Yep. Stealth baby," Demon girl repeated, voice smug with sleep.

Before I could ask what Neven's supervillain origin story was, the hospital room door burst open with the kind of energy reserved for party poppers or extremely over-invested relatives.

"Zephyra, darling!"

I didn't even get a "hello."

My mother swept into the room like royalty on a mission, trailing joy and scented hand sanitizer, followed closely by my father — carrying an unnecessarily large fruit basket — and my sister Kaiya, who looked like she'd just come from a baby boutique explosion.

Demon girl lit up like she'd just been told she could nap in peace forever. "Hi, Mom!"

I may as well have been one of the hospital plants.

My mom rushed to her side, cupping Demon girl's face with both hands like she was made of sunlight and silk. "You look radiant. Look at you. Glowing! And alive! And majestic! Honestly, Idris was looking paler than the hospital walls. We were all very worried about you."

"I was the one in the coma," Demon girl said, gently.

"Exactly," Kaiya chimed in, brushing back a loose curl from Demon girl's hair. "And even then, you still looked composed. Meanwhile, this one—" she jerked a thumb in my direction, "- I give up." She sighed, highly disappointed at me.

I seriously and truly want to ask her – does she have to be such a dramatic person?

"She's fine," I said, gesturing to Demon girl, who was now positively glowing under the love-bombing of my family.

Demon girl gave me a sleepy little wink. "Better than fine. I'm fantastic."

I rolled my eyes. "Fantastic. She just pushed out the entire House of Planets in under two weeks, slipped into a coma, and still has the nerve to be smug about it."

Mom ignored me completely — again — and brushed Demon girl's hair back like she was tucking in the Virgin Mary. "Sweetheart, the doctor says you and the babies can go home in three days."

Demon girl brightened. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Mom beamed. "And guess what? Kaiya and I completely redid the nursery. Cleaned, sanitized, decorated, and stocked. You don't have to lift a single finger when you get home."

"She even labeled the changing stations by moon phase," Dad chimed in, holding out a photo on his phone.

Mom clapped her hands. "Oh! And the boys were absolute angels while you were resting. Truly, the most considerate little gentlemen I've ever seen."

"They barely cried," Kaiya added, eyes dreamy with baby worship. "Veniel even burped himself. With manners. It was like watching a tiny diplomat finish tea."

"Mercer gave me a philosophical frown," Dad said, nodding with gravitas. "I felt deeply seen."

I stared at my own children. "Where was this energy when I was trying to feed, burp, and soothe all of them by myself?"

Demon girl gave me a sweet, smug shrug. "They take after their mother."

Kaiya leaned in close, conspiratorially. "We think they were trying not to disturb her. It's like they sensed she needed deep rest. I've never seen babies more emotionally attuned."

"They coordinated naps," Mom whispered, like it was sacred.

I looked to my father for support. He offered me a grape from the fruit basket. No words. Just... grape.

And I... just sighed.

Three days later, the discharge day arrived in a whirlwind of hospital papers, soft cooing, and a nurse team that looked vaguely heartbroken to let us go.

"The boys are all doing great," the pediatrician said with cheerful certainty. "All vitals are strong, reflexes are perfect, no signs of infection or hidden complications. Honestly? For eight premature deliveries, they're textbook miracles."

Demon girl just smiled like she'd expected that answer the whole time. I was halfway convinced she manifested those medical reports.

Each baby was packed into their color-coded coming-home outfits — complete with matching blankets and the sock hierarchy Demon girl had somehow enforced without ever physically getting out of bed.

The nurses lined up at the door like we were celebrities.

"Goodbye, little Saturnino!" one of them whispered tearfully.

"Bye, baby Jovian! Don't forget me!"

"Sweet Neven," another crooned, "keep being brave."

"Can someone explain why all my children have fan clubs?" I asked no one in particular.

Demon girl kissed my cheek, radiant and smug. "Because they're iconic."

Iconic... they are indeed!

I couldn't help but shiver in fear as we board our car and was driving to our home.

I couldn't help but wonder how my life would be from hereon. One demon girl was already too much handle and now we have eight little ones with shared features.

What will my life be from now on?

God, please save me!

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Hello Sweeties,

Next chapter is here. Enjoy!

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One Zephy is already handful; now eight more little ones added. What do you think?

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Lady Prim