He had returned today from Pegasus--the child still settled on his hip, sleeping now against his armor. The scrap of cloth he'd begged from the palace was nothing special--little more than a strip of old brown bedsheet or the like, but wrapped around Onyx-Two, it proved at least to warm him.

Then the Sentinel--after setting the child in so that he could hunt for them--had taken down a small cave deer, sharing it between them. The boy was... soft. Small. So much so that now, as he approached the distant voice with swift, purposeful steps, he clutched him almost unconsciously closer with a protective urge.

"Here," was his rasping call, a bark of response. He came in sight of Hunter moments later: nearing the chrysalis, touching it just as the Sentinel had touched them before. He'd leaned on them--each stone, leaning in to try and see past the Onyx, the Selenite farther down (which had not, for whatever reason, yet hatched). The last time he'd retracted it, he'd found a pale and pudgy hand where his had been, and Onyx-Two had hatched.

He came to stand alongside Hunter, studying him briefly as he did so, offering a nod. He then turned to show the other child at his hip. "There are... three. I had planned one, but..." He paused, staring, unblinking. Considering his words. "I am not... displeased. With my decision." For whatever reason, his speech patterns had shifted for the time being--but as he looked down at the boy at his hip (near-asleep against his black armor) he hesitated. Drew him closer, eyed Hunter. "It will be strong when it has grown," he swiftly assured, head rising a notch, as if he felt the need to defend the cloth-swathed toddler that he held.

He looked to the other Onyx, then, and back to Hunter. He went on with a briefly stammered attempt at politeness. "Is it... Does it require food, or drink? The Sentinel has left a leg of deer just beyond the tunnel." Admittedly, Hunter--living in a palace, and wearing clothes--was probably not the 'raw meat' sort. But that did not occur to him.

He was silent, listening, staring at Hunter--thinking over the child, conversation and response. But then--the thump.

The Sentinel's gaze snapped to the other Onyx, and he stepped swiftly forward (never shifting Onyx-Two's balance at his hip), kneeling carefully before the stone. He left enough space for Hunter; he did not monopolize this hatching. But he did set his halberd down and reach out with his now-free hand, pressing palm to stone.

"It must fight," he informed the stone, loudly. "Kick, claw, and break free." Then he leaned back, pulling his hand away. If the child needed help in hatching--as Onyx-Two had--he would do so. But he'd give this one a moment, first. There was not the frantic nature to the fighting, yet--no urgency to this birth.

The Sentinel, for his part, made no motion to claim the child in Hunter's stead; nor did he ignore it. Instead he waited, observing the hatching with held breath: and when at last they'd spilled past broken gem and into the world, he lowered himself again to a knee.

One hand reached out--not to make the child choose between himself and Hunter, no. But it aimed to gently trace and cup the child's cheek and jaw in an almost affectionate manner. Then he withdrew, albeit almost reluctantly. "It is good," he said, looping that arm over his bent knee.

The other child stayed on one hip, his other arm holding them carefully upright--neither neglected, and this one only welcomed, as yet. "It will be called V-Onyx-Three. And we," he added, with a glance at Hunter, "are your parents."

Whether they would understand was not the point; but the knowledge was now there for them.