I have a son.

I'm a father.

I have a son.

Anguish races through him. He is a fool. With his youth, his arrogance, he thought he could take his pleasure where it was offered, empty his balls whenever he felt like, and avoid the consequences. He thought himself blessed, invincible; he thought that he would never fall victim to the accidents that plague other, lesser horses.

You fucking idiot. He is barely out of boyhood himself, and now look. He is not ready for fatherhood, for responsibility. He has created a new life - he carelessly thrust his seed into the empty womb of a mare, and he dares be surprised when something comes from that? The black titan isn't blessed, he isn't special. He cocks up, he makes mistakes, and one god damn huge mistake is stood demurely next to its mother, all jet-black fur and bone-marked spine.

The goliath's mouth is strangely dry, and it's a struggle to lubricate it enough to speak. "I know where children come from, woman," he snaps, ears flattened and lost in the roiling storm of his mane. He stomps one massive hoof, scattering snow, and looks between mare and colt. "I just...I didn't think that....that he could be mine." It sounds stupid, even as he's saying it. No doubt she'll ask why, and he'll have no answer. How can he explain to someone that he thought he was immune from creating children until he decides he wants them?

She demands he look at his son - his son, that sounds so bizarre - and whilst he is not one to submit to the demands of a woman, he obeys. He steps closer, looks the boy up and down. He's small and weedy (was I ever that small and weedy? Surely not) but there's strength in those feathered limbs, in that stout body, in the blood that pounds through those veins. He has potential. He has nothing of me in him, she says. "He has your horns," he petulantly points out.

The red dragon circles overhead, getting lower and lower until he's directly over the colt. He drinks in the foal's body, and mentally reports back to Volterra. "Your hatchling? Bit small. Why so small?" The stallion's attention wanders momentarily upwards to his companion. Because he's only a child, Vérzés. I was that small once, remember? He feels the dragon hunting for the memories, finding them, reliving them, before helpfully chiming in again: "I eat hatchling, if Vol-ter not want it? Make it go away." The blood-dragon's voice is hopeful but, alarmed, Volterra sends a hard mental stab in the red's direction. Not a chance. He's my responsibility now - I don't intend to kill him.

The mare gives the boy's name as Zhu, and Volterra nods absently. A good, strong name, for a good, strong young colt. He will grow up into a fine stallion, if given the correct training. And, muses the brute, he will sire powerful children, when he's of age. He will spread my genes further than I ever could by myself. There's no doubt that the beast will want children one day, to spread his powerful blood around Helovia and raise an empire like his father did, and although it's happened sooner than intended, he is trying to think of the positives here. At least he now knows he can sire children, ready for when he so chooses - it seems he's the epitome of virility, for better or for worse.

The unicorn's question makes his pinned ears rocket forwards, then back again. "Do I want to be a father? No, I fucking well don't. I have so much I need to accomplish before I even begin to consider fatherhood, but it looks like I am one now, doesn't it? I'm going to have to deal with it, and I will." His words are sharper than intended, harsher, filled with bitterness and anxiety and venom. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, shuts his eyes for a moment, allows his muscular body to relax and smother the telltale signs of his temper about to explode.

When his eyes open again, he fixes his gaze on the mare. When he speaks, his voice is softer than it's been before, almost kind - or as kind as his gruff baritone can possibly be. "I helped create him, so he is my responsibility as much as yours. I am not the sort of man to take the easy option and run away from the consequences of my actions. I'm a lot of things, but I am not a coward." He looks to the boy again, then back to the mare. "I will be his father. I will help you raise him, to the best of my ability."

And, just like that, he's signed on for something he never wanted, but that he's morally obliged to see through to the end.