AN: Hello, dear reader! Happy Monday! Let's have an Amazonian baptism, okay?

18

Steve and I had trouble falling asleep. At some point though during the night, we decided to at least try. Steve managed to rest some, but I couldn't. I now sit by the balcony observing Maia's tiny chest rising and falling in a rhythm so peaceful it made my own breathing slow in unison. Steve stood by the window, his arms crossed as he watched me with that look of his — the one that said he knew I was running on fumes but wouldn't push unless he had to. This time, though, he did.

"Angel," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You need to rest. Even demigods have limits."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the weight of exhaustion settled over me like a heavy blanket. He was right. My body ached in ways I hadn't felt since my earliest days of training, and my mind was a whirlwind of emotions — joy, fear, wonder, and the lingering unease of Zeus's intervention. Still, the thought of closing my eyes, even for a moment, felt like a betrayal. What if Maia needed me? What if something happened while I slept?

Steve must have seen the hesitation in my eyes because he stepped closer, his hand brushing against my arm. "I'll watch her," he said. "I'll wake you the second she stirs. Promise."

I looked down at Maia, her face so serene it made my heart ache. She was safe here, in Themyscira, surrounded by warriors who would lay down their lives for her. And Steve — Steve would move mountains for her. For us. Reluctantly, I nodded. "Just for a little while."

But before I could rest, Steve surprised me. He walked over to the small table where Barbara Ann's gift — a manual breast pump — sat neatly arranged. He picked it up, holding it out to me with a determined expression. "Here. Use this before you sleep. That way, if she wakes up hungry, I can feed her without disturbing you."

I blinked at him, caught off guard by his suggestion. "Steve, I don't—"

"Diana," he interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. "You've been going nonstop since she was born. You need rest. And Maia needs to get used to the bottle eventually. The earlier she gets familiar with it the better. This is a win-win."

I hesitated, my gaze shifting between him and the pump. It was a thoughtful idea, one I hadn't even considered in my exhaustion. Barbara Ann had given it to me before we left for Themyscira, knowing that technology wouldn't work on the island. It was a practical and kind gift. And now, Steve was using it to give me the gift of sleep.

"Okay," I said finally, taking the pump from him. "But if she cries, if she needs me—"

"I'll wake you," he said, cutting me off with a smile. "But only if she really needs you. Deal?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Deal."

Once I'd expressed enough milk for Steve to feed Maia if she woke, I laid her in her cradle, brushing a finger over her cheek before sinking into the bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, the world blurred, and I was gone.

When I woke, the light streaming through the window had shifted, painting the room in the warm gold of late afternoon. For a moment, I lay there, disoriented, until the sound of Maia's soft coos brought me back to the present. I sat up, my body still heavy with sleep, and saw Steve sitting by the cradle, gently rocking it with one hand.

"Hey," he said, turning to me with a smile. "She's been out cold. You've been too. How do you feel?"

I stretched, feeling the stiffness in my muscles slowly ease. "Better," I admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded, his expression turning serious. "A servant came by while you were asleep. There's going to be a ceremony tonight in the great hall. Your mother wants to perform the Rite of Ascension for Maia."

The Rite of Ascension. The name alone sent a ripple of pride through me. It was an ancient Amazonian tradition, one I had only heard about in stories told to me. Of course, the ceremony has only ever been performed once before - for me. A child of royal blood would be introduced to the people, blessed with water from the sacred pools, and welcomed into the lineage of Themyscira. It was a moment of unity, of belonging. And now, it would be Maia's.

"Tonight?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve nodded. "Your mother will perform the ceremony. She said it's important — for Maia, for the Amazons, for all of us."

I stood, crossing the room to where Maia lay. She was awake now, her blue eyes blinking up at me with a curiosity that made my heart swell. I reached down to lift her into my arms, her warmth a comfort against my chest. "Then we'll be ready," I said.

Steve watched us for a moment before clearing his throat. "Oh, and the bottle worked like a charm. Maia took it just fine. Didn't even fuss."

I felt a rush of gratitude — for Barbara Ann, for Steve, for this small victory in the chaos of new motherhood. "Thank you," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Steve shrugged, his smile returning. "What else am I gonna do? Let you handle all this on your own? Not a chance."

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. It felt good, like a release of all the tension I'd been carrying since Maia's birth. I settled into the chair by the window, Maia in my arms, and fed her. It was strange, this new rhythm of motherhood, but there was a beauty in it too — a connection that went beyond words.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room, I felt a sense of calm settle over me. Tonight, Maia would be introduced to the Amazons, her place among them sealed by the Rite of Ascension. And I would stand by her side, as her mother, her protector, and her guide.

For now, though, there was this moment — just me, Steve, and Maia. And I basked in it.

The great hall of Themyscira was alive with light and sound. Torches lined the walls, their flames casting a warm, golden glow over the gathered Amazons. The air was thick with the scent of olive oil and myrrh, and the low hum of voices filled the space, a steady undercurrent of anticipation. Every citizen of Themyscira was here, their presence a testament to the importance of this moment. Maia's moment.

I stood at the entrance of the hall, my heart pounding in my chest. Steve was beside me, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. He looked every bit the part of a royal consort, dressed in a modern interpretation of formal Greek attire — tailored trousers in a soft sand color, paired with a light grey shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows. Over it, he wore a jacket in a muted blue, the color of the Aegean at dawn, edged with subtle gold thread that caught the torchlight. A golden clasp shaped like the sigil of the Amazons held the jacket at his shoulder, and his expression was one of quiet pride, though I could see the emotion in his eyes. He was as moved by this as I was.

I, too, was dressed in formal attire — a flowing gown of gold, the color of Themyscira's royal house. The fabric shimmered as I moved, embroidered with intricate patterns of stars and vines, symbols of life and destiny. My tiara, a gift from my mother when I first took up the mantle of princess, rested lightly on my brow. It felt strange to wear it again after so long, but tonight was not about me. It was about Maia.

In my arms, Maia was swaddled in a soft, ivory-colored cloth, its edges embroidered with delicate golden threads. A tiny circlet of olive leaves rested on her head, a symbol of peace and divine favor. Her blue eyes, wide and curious, sparkled under the torchlight. She was awake, her tiny hands poking out from the swaddle, fingers curling and uncurling as if she were trying to grasp the energy of the room.

As we stepped into the hall, the hum of voices quieted, and all eyes turned to us. The weight of their gazes was immense, but I held my head high, my steps steady. This was Maia's introduction to her people, and I would not falter. Steve's hand on my back was a steadying presence, his quiet strength grounding me as we walked toward the dais where my mother and Antiope stood.

Mother was resplendent in her ceremonial armor, the polished bronze gleaming in the torchlight. Her cape, a deep shade of gold, flowed behind her as she stepped forward to greet us. At her side, Antiope stood tall and imposing, her expression one of fierce pride. She wore her general's armor, the sigil of Themyscira emblazoned on her chest, and her gaze was sharp as it swept over the crowd.

"Daughter," my mother said, her voice carrying through the hall. "Bring forth the child."

I stepped forward, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and nervousness. Carefully, I placed Maia into my mother's waiting arms. Mother cradled her with ease, her movements were practiced and sure, as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life. Maia's blue eyes blinked up at her, calm and trusting, as if she already understood the significance of this moment.

The ceremony began with a chant, the voices of the Amazons rising in unison. It was an ancient song, one I had heard only in fragments before, and the power of it sent a shiver down my spine. Antiope stepped forward, holding a golden bowl filled with water from the sacred pools. The water shimmered in the torchlight, its surface rippling as if alive.

Mother dipped her fingers into the bowl, then traced a gentle pattern on Maia's forehead. "By the waters of Themyscira, we bless you, Maia," she intoned, her voice strong and clear. "May you be guided by wisdom, protected by strength, and blessed with courage."

Antiope followed, her touch firm but gentle as she anointed Maia's tiny hands. "By the blood of the Amazons, we welcome you, Maia," she said. "May you grow to be a warrior, a leader, and a protector of our people."

The hall was silent now, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of us. Mother's gaze swept over the gathered Amazons, her voice rising like a storm. "Maia's path will not be an easy one. The Fates have woven challenges into her destiny, trials that will test her spirit and her strength. But she will not face them alone. As Amazons, we stand together. We fight together. And we will ensure that she has the support, the love, and the courage to overcome whatever lies ahead."

She turned to Steve and me, her expression softening. "Diana, Steve, as her parents, you are her first protectors, her guides, and her strength. Do you vow to stand by her, to teach her, to fight for her, and to love her, no matter what challenges may come?"

I felt Steve's hand tighten around mine, and I didn't hesitate. "I do," I said, my voice steady despite the tears welling in my eyes.

"I do," Steve echoed, his voice thick with emotion.

Mother nodded, her smile warm and approving. She raised Maia high, her voice ringing out like a clarion call. "Amazons! This is Maia, princess of Themyscira. May the gods protect her!"

"May the Gods protect her!" Echoed across the hall as all Amazons repeated the blessing.

She kissed Maia gently on the forehead, and the hall erupted in cheers. The sound was deafening, a wave of joy and pride that washed over me like a tide. Maia, far from being startled, let out a soft coo, her tiny voice somehow cutting through the noise. It was as if she knew this was her moment, her place in the world being sealed.

Steve leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the cheers. "Looks like she's already loving the spotlight. Guess shyness isn't in her future."

I couldn't help but smile, my heart swelling with affection for both of them. Maia's calm demeanor, her wide-eyed curiosity, and the way she seemed to bask in the attention made me think Steve might be right. Our daughter, it seemed, would not suffer from shyness.

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. Steve, however, made no such effort. I glanced at him and saw the glint of tears on his cheeks, though his smile was radiant. He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back, our silent communication saying more than words ever could.

As I looked out over the sea of Amazons, their faces alight with joy and pride, I felt a sense of belonging unlike anything I had ever known. Maia was not just my daughter. She was theirs. And together, we would protect her, guide her, and watch her grow into the woman she was destined to be.

The feast that followed the Rite of Ascension was a celebration unlike any I had seen in Themyscira. Long tables laden with food and drink filled the great hall, the air alive with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Amazons moved about freely, their voices raised in song and toast, their joy infectious. Maia, still swaddled in her ivory cloth, was passed from one pair of arms to another, her blue eyes wide and curious as she took in the faces of her people. She didn't cry, not even once. Instead, she seemed to bask in the attention, her tiny lips curling into what looked like a smile.

"She's a natural," Steve said, leaning close to me as we watched Athena coo over Maia. "Already charming everyone she meets."

I smiled, though my heart was still heavy with the weight of Zeus's message. It all lingered in the back of my mind, a shadow I couldn't quite shake. Steve must have sensed my unease because he squeezed my hand, his touch grounding me.

"Diana," he said softly, "she's going to be okay. We're going to make sure of it."

I nodded, but before I could respond, Antiope appeared at our side, her presence as commanding as ever. She carried a goblet of wine in one hand and a plate of food in the other, though her sharp eyes were fixed on us.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to a nearby bench. "You two look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And Diana, you've barely eaten."

We obeyed, settling onto the bench as Antiope took a seat across from us. She set her plate down and took a long sip of wine before speaking. "Your mother told me about the imprinting," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "And before you start worrying yourself into an early grave, let me remind you of something."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "And what's that?"

Antiope leaned forward, her gaze steady. "Years ago, your mother was in the same position you're in now. She was told her daughter — you — would face a great evil, one that nearly destroyed the most powerful of gods. And yet, here you are. Alive. Strong. A hero."

I blinked, caught off guard by her words. "That's different," I said slowly. "That particular battle was… typical. Gods against gods. Besides, you started training me when I turned seven years old."

"And Maia will have the same," Antiope said, her voice firm. "She will be trained, just as you were. But not yet. For now, she is a child. Your child. And you should both enjoy her just as that."

Steve chuckled, though there was a note of seriousness in his voice. "You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," Antiope said, her tone brooking no argument. "You cannot change what the Fates have already woven. But you can prepare for what's to come. And you will. When the time comes, Maia will be ready. But until then, let her be a baby. Let her be your daughter."

I looked down at my hands, her words sinking in. She was right, of course. Antiope always was. But it was hard to let go of the fear, the responsibility, the weight of knowing what might come.

"And," Antiope added, a sly smile tugging at her lips, "hopefully, we won't have to sneak around with her training the way we did with yours. I'm getting too old for all that running around in the dark."

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. Steve joined in, his hand resting on my knee. "I think we can agree on that," he said. "No sneaking around. When the time comes, Maia will train. She will learn. She will have no shortage of help."

Antiope nodded, her expression softening. "Good. Then for now, forget about Zeus's message. Forget about the challenges to come. There's nothing you can do until she's old enough to hold a sword — or at least walk."

Her words were a balm to my frayed nerves, and for the first time since Maia's birth, I felt a flicker of peace. Antiope was right. Maia was my daughter, yes, but she was also a child. And she deserved to be one.

As if on cue, Maia was returned to my arms, her tiny body warm and content against my chest. She looked up at me with those wide blue eyes, thumb in her mouth and I felt my heart swell with love.

Two weeks had passed since the Rite of Ascension, and life in Themyscira had settled into a new rhythm. Maia, our tiny beacon of light, was already changing in ways that left me in awe. Her blue eyes, so wide and unfocused a couple of weeks ago, now seemed to follow Steve and me as we moved about the room. She had started to recognize our voices, her little head turning toward the sound of my singing or Steve's gentle murmurs. It was a small thing, but it filled me with a pride I hadn't known was possible.

She had also begun to make more sounds — soft coos and gurgles that seemed to bubble up from deep within her. Steve called it her "royal commentary," joking that she was already holding court with her tiny audience of Amazons. And in a way, she was. The women of Themyscira adored her, their visits to our chambers a constant stream of laughter and gifts. Maia, for her part, seemed to thrive under the attention, her little face lighting up whenever someone new held her.

One of the most surprising milestones came just a few days ago, when Maia first smiled at me — a real smile, not just the reflexive twitches of her early days. I had been singing to her, a lullaby my mother used to sing to me, when her lips curled into the sweetest, most deliberate grin. My heart had swelled so much I thought it might burst. Steve, of course, had teased me about it. "She's got you wrapped around her little finger already," he'd said, his own smile betraying his pride.

But not all the changes were easy. Maia had started to fuss more, her cries sharper and more insistent. At first, it had worried me — was she in pain? Was something wrong? But Antiope, ever practical, had reassured me. "She's finding her voice," she'd said. "And her lungs. Trust me, Diana, this is normal."

Normal. The word still felt strange when applied to my daughter. There was nothing normal about her, not really. She was a demigod, a princess, a child bound by destiny. And yet, in these quiet moments, she was just Maia. Our Maia.

Steve and I had fallen into a rhythm, our days and nights revolving around her needs. We took turns feeding her, rocking her to sleep, and soothing her when she cried. It was exhausting, but it was also… beautiful. There was a simplicity to it, a purity that I hadn't expected. For the first time in my life, I wasn't a warrior or a princess or a demigod. I was just a mother.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Steve and I sat on the balcony with Maia cradled between us. She was awake, her tiny hands batting at the air as if trying to catch the fading light. Steve reached out, letting her wrap her fingers around his thumb. "Look at that grip," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "She's going to be strong."

I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder. "She already is."

We sat in silence for a while, the three of us wrapped in the peace of the moment. But as much as I tried to focus on the present, my thoughts inevitably drifted to the future. Antiope's words echoed in my mind: "For now, let her be a baby. Let her be your daughter." It was good advice, but it wasn't easy to follow. How could I forget about Zeus's message, about the challenges Maia would one day face?

As if sensing my unease, Steve squeezed my hand. "Hey," he said softly. "We'll figure it out. One day at a time."

I nodded, forcing myself to push the worries aside. He was right. Maia was here, now, and she was perfect. That was all that mattered.

Later that night, as I rocked Maia to sleep, I found myself humming the same lullaby my mother had sung to me. Maia's eyes fluttered closed, her breathing slow and steady. In that moment, I felt a surge of gratitude — for Steve, for my mother, for the Amazons who had welcomed Maia so completely. And for Maia herself.

As I laid her in her cradle, I whispered a silent prayer to the gods. Not for strength or protection, but for time. Time to enjoy these moments, to watch her grow, to be her mother. Because no matter what the future held, these days were ours. And I intended to cherish every single one.

AN: See you next Monday :)