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MidReal Story
The Dragon King's Baby Twins
Scenario:A wide, panoramic anime-style nursery bathed in soft, warm afternoon light, with walls painted in gentle pastels—blush pinks, sky blues, and mint greens blending in a dreamy haze. The room glows with cinematic depth of field and subtle halo lighting around each figure. Gentle mist lingers in the background, where softly illuminated medical monitors blink quietly. Along a curved, padded bench sit a diverse row of caring nurses—some human, others anthropomorphic dragons with finely textured scales in warm hues. Each nurse is seated comfortably, cradling a different child peacefully receiving anesthesia through a distinct, color-coded pediatric mask.
• Far left: A delicate young human nurse gently cups a soft lavender mask over the face of a swaddled newborn (0–3 months). The baby’s eyes are fully closed, brow neutral, with soft rhythmic breathing.
• Next: A silver-scaled dragon nurse cradles a 3–6-month-old infant in her curved forearms, fitting a sky blue translucent mask gently. The baby’s eyes are fluttering closed, lips parted with a light sigh, tiny twitch in one foot.
• Third: A gentle human nurse sits cross-legged, holding a 6–12-month-old child resting peacefully in her lap. A mint green mask with tiny heart patterns is placed over the baby’s nose; eyelids are lidded, blinking slowly before closing.
• Fourth: A cheerful auburn-haired human nurse holds a 1–2-year-old toddler sitting drowsily upright. She places a sunflower yellow mask with care, as the child yawns and nods forward.
• Fifth: A maternal dragon nurse supports a 2–3-year-old toddler curled on her soft coiled tail. A peach pink mask with floral print rests on the child’s sleepy face, one eye half-closed, fingers curling.
• Sixth: A calm nurse cradles a 3–4-year-old over one shoulder. The pale orange kitten-shaped mask is gently held in place; the child clutches a plush toy, smiling faintly with eyes slowly closing.
• Far right: A senior nurse with soft features holds a 4–5-year-old child stretched across her lap. She places an ocean teal mask, sleek and cartoon-friendly, as the child hugs a plushie tighter, blinking slowly.
Each mask is detailed with soft reflections, matte textures, and gentle elastic bands. Nurses wear pastel-toned uniforms—lavender, seafoam, rose—with soft fabrics and warm embroidery. Dragon nurses feature fine scales with natural gradients, warm-toned horns, and gentle claws. Maternal expressions vary: serene, smiling, lovingly focused. Soft shadows and highlights reinforce the dreamy softness. The nursery exudes warmth, safety, and gentle calm.
Create my version of this story
Kaito
He is a pediatric resident in a children's hospital. He is compassionate, gentle, and caring. Kaito cherishes his role in comforting and caring for infants and toddlers. His eyes light up with joy upon seeing a newborn, and he is deeply moved by the kindness of his colleagues. Despite his exhaustion, he remains focused on providing the best care possible. His connection with his friend Akane and their shared dream of opening an orphanage highlight his nurturing nature.
Akane
She is a fellow pediatric resident and Kaito's close friend. She is vibrant, optimistic, and nurturing. Akane shares a dream with Kaito to open an orphanage and is deeply invested in providing care for infants who need it most. Her warmth towards colleagues is evident, as she frequently offers support and encouragement. Her joyful demeanor upon reuniting with Kaito showcases her deep bond and mutual respect and understanding between her and Kaito.
Nurse
She is a caring pediatric nurse at the hospital where Kaito works. She is empathetic, gentle, and supportive. Her kindness towards the children is evident as she tenderly assists in administering anesthesia to various ages, from newborns to toddlers. Her warm interactions with colleagues and focus on providing comfort to the infants showcases her dedication and compassionate nature, creating a nurturing environment for the children.
The nursery glows in the soft, warm light of afternoon, the walls painted in gentle pastels—blush pinks, sky blues, and mint greens that all blend together in a dreamy haze.
My eyes travel over the room, taking in the sweet peacefulness that fills every corner.
The light catches the tiny wisps of mist that hang in the air, making it look as if the whole room is bathed in halo lighting.
In the background, I can just hear the quiet beep of medical monitors, softly blinking away.
They’re not loud enough to be distracting, or to pull any attention away from the main focus of this room: the children.
My eyes land on them next—the row of infants and toddlers who are lined up along a long, curved bench, each one swaddled snugly in their own little blanket.
Some are sleeping already; others are watching with wide eyes as they try to make sense of their surroundings.
And then there are the nurses—some human, others anthropomorphic dragons—who sit along that bench with them.
Each one holds a child gently in their arms, or on their lap, or against their chest—anthropomorphic dragon nurses have tails that can curl around and provide extra support when needed—and they’re all smiling at one another.
I approach the row of nurses, and my eyes land on a tiny bundle at the far end of the bench.
They’re wrapped up in a soft yellow blanket, and they look so small that I can’t help but be drawn to them.
The senior nurse notices me coming and gives me a nod, gently lifting the sleeping infant into my waiting arms.
They weigh almost nothing, like holding a warm loaf of bread.
I can feel their tiny chest rising and falling against my scrubs as they breathe, and I adjust my grip to make sure that I’m supporting their head properly while keeping them close to my body heat.
The infant stirs slightly in my arms, making a small sound, but they settle back down again as I gently rock back and forth.
"Do you feel it too?" the senior nurse asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from the infant.
"The prophecy," she continues, "it's starting with this one."
The infant shifts in my arms, their tiny fingers curling against the yellow blanket.
I adjust my hold again, keeping their head supported while I study their delicate features—dark lashes that fan out against their cheeks, rosebud lips that are pressed together in sleep, and the slight furrow between their brows that makes it look like they’re concentrating on something even in their dreams.
The senior nurse steps closer, her voice still barely audible above the soft beeping of the monitors.
"This child carries an ancient dragon bloodline," she explains.
"One that could bridge the gap between humans and dragons once and for all."
She pauses, glancing around the room as if she’s worried someone might overhear us.
"But there are those who fear such unity. They believe that if this child were to grow up and fulfill their destiny, it would mean the end of their power and influence over both communities."
The infant makes another small sound in their sleep, and I tighten my arms protectively around them.
The senior nurse nods solemnly, reaching out to place her weathered hand over mine where it supports the infant’s head.
She gently guides my palm to adjust my hold, sliding it so that I’m cradling their neck and keeping their head tilted slightly upwards.
"Like this," she says softly, her voice filled with a mix of wisdom and compassion.
"You’ll need to learn how to care for a dragon-blooded child. It’s not like caring for a human baby."
I watch as she demonstrates the proper technique, feeling the warmth of the infant’s body seep through the yellow blanket.
Their breathing has grown more even now, and I can see the gentle rise and fall of their chest against my scrubs.
The monitor beeps softly in the background, a steady heartbeat that fills the room with a sense of calm.
The senior nurse steps back, her eyes never leaving mine.
"There are special techniques you’ll need to learn," she explains in hushed tones.
"Techniques passed down through generations of dragon nurses. You’ll need to know how to soothe their cries, how to feed them properly, and how to protect them from those who would seek to harm them."
She pauses, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small leather-bound book.
"This will be your guide," she says, handing it to me with a gentle smile.
"It contains all the knowledge you’ll need to care for this precious child." The infant stirs again in my arms, their tiny fingers curling around one of mine with surprising strength.
Still cradling the sleeping infant, I settle into a rocking chair near the window.
The leather book rests on my knee, its cover worn and weathered from years of being passed down.
It still holds the warmth of the senior nurse's body, as if it had been nestled against her heart all this time.
With one hand steadying the baby against my chest, I carefully open the book to its first yellowed page.
The paper crackles softly as it yields to my touch, revealing lines of handwritten text in ink that has faded over time.
There are sketches too—detailed illustrations that show proper holding positions unique to dragon-blooded infants.
They depict how to support their spine differently, how to keep their head elevated at specific angles that allow for easier breathing.
The baby stirs against my chest once more, and instinctively I adjust my grip to match the technique illustrated in the book.
Almost immediately, their breathing deepens, becoming more steady and calm. Satisfied that I have found the right position, I continue reading through the pages of the ancient guide.
The afternoon light streams through the window, casting a warm glow over everything as I absorb every word and illustration within.
The words speak of ancient rituals and forgotten knowledge, passed down through generations of dragon nurses who have cared for these precious children.
I carefully balance the leather book against the arm of the rocking chair while keeping the infant secure in my other arm.
The pages reveal musical notes alongside dragon runes, showing a traditional dragon lullaby passed down through centuries.
I study the melody first, silently mouthing the foreign syllables written beneath each note.
The baby shifts slightly, and I begin humming the tune very quietly, testing the resonance.
When the infant's breathing quickens, I transition into singing the actual words, my voice barely above a whisper.
The senior nurse returns, her eyes widening as she hears the lullaby.
"You've picked it up quickly," she remarks, a hint of admiration in her voice.
I pause my singing and look up at her, surprised by how natural it felt.
The ancient dragon lullaby flows from my lips with surprising ease, each foreign syllable carrying a warmth and power I didn't expect.
The infant's tiny fingers relax their grip on my scrubs as the melody fills our corner of the nursery.
I notice their breathing falling into rhythm with the song's gentle rise and fall.
When I reach the second verse, a soft golden glow begins to emanate from the sleeping child's skin, pulsing in time with my voice.
The senior nurse places her hand on my shoulder, signaling me to continue singing.
I continue the dragon lullaby, my voice growing more confident with each verse.
The infant's golden glow spreads outward like ripples on water, touching first the nearest sleeping child, then the next.
As the light reaches each infant and toddler, their breathing slows and deepens in perfect synchronization with the melody.
The human nurses watch in wonder while their dragon colleagues nod knowingly.
Even the medical monitors seem to beep more quietly.
When I reach the final refrain, every child in the nursery radiates the same peaceful golden light, their small faces completely relaxed.
I lower my voice to a whisper as the final notes fade away.
The golden light dims gradually from each child, like sunset reflecting off still water.
In the quiet aftermath, I notice the sleeping infant in my arms has kept hold of my finger, their tiny grip remaining firm even as the glow disappears completely.
The other children on the bench continue their synchronized breathing - a residual effect of the song.
I carefully place the ancient book beside me, keeping my movements minimal to avoid disturbing the deep peace that has settled over the nursery.
The senior nurse leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you realize what you've done?" she asks, her eyes searching mine for understanding.
I shake my head slightly, still processing the scene before us.
"I'm not entirely sure," I admit, my voice equally hushed.
"But it seems the lullaby had a profound effect."
She nods, her gaze shifting between the sleeping children and the book lying open beside me.
"More than you know," she murmurs.
I sit motionless in the rocking chair, absorbing the profound stillness that has settled over the nursery.
The infant's grip on my finger remains steady as I observe each sleeping child on the bench.
Their synchronized breathing creates a gentle rhythm that seems to pulse through the room.
When I shift slightly in the chair, the baby in my arms adjusts with me, their head tilting against my chest.
Their grip on my finger remains unwavering, a silent connection that transcends words.
A dragon nurse approaches us with a bottle, but stops short when she notices how the baby responds to my movements.
Her eyes widen slightly as she exchanges a knowing glance with the senior nurse.
The senior nurse begins documenting something in her medical charts, her expression filled with a mix of fascination and concern.
I lean back in the rocking chair, feeling the weight of the infant against my chest as their tiny fingers grip the fabric of my scrub top.
The peaceful rhythm of synchronized breathing from the row of sleeping children draws me in, and I find myself quietly humming the next verse of the dragon lullaby.
The melody flows from memory without effort, softer than before but just as natural.
Along the curved bench, I notice each child's chest rising and falling in perfect unison, their breaths matching the gentle cadence of my humming.
I pause my humming as the senior nurse approaches, her face tense with concern.
The synchronized breathing of the children falters slightly when my melody stops.
She kneels beside my rocking chair, her eyes fixed on the infant in my arms who still grips my scrubs.
In hushed tones, she begins to explain something about dragon lullabies traditionally affecting only one child at a time - never an entire nursery.
The baby stirs in my arms, and instinctively, I start to hum again.
But before I can continue, the senior nurse gently touches my arm, signaling me to stop.
The room holds its breath, suspended in the fragile balance between silence and song.
I carefully stand from the rocking chair, supporting the infant's head as they stir slightly in my arms.
The senior nurse hovers close, her hands ready to assist if needed.
As I walk towards the nearby crib, the baby's fingers remain tangled in my scrubs.
I have to work them free one by one, a delicate dance of release.
Once they are untangled, I gently lower them onto the soft yellow bedding of the crib.
Their face scrunches up in protest at the separation, but before they can cry, I find myself humming again - this time very softly.
The infant's expression immediately relaxes, their eyes drifting shut.
But then I notice something else unexpected.
I pause mid-hum as the first light flickers above my head.
The infant stirs in their crib but doesn't wake.
More lights begin to pulse, creating moving shadows across the pastel walls that sway in time with the remnants of my melody.
The senior nurse grabs my arm, her grip tight with urgency.
I try to step back from the crib, but the baby's fingers find my scrubs again.
The shadows stretch longer, darker, following the cadence of my breathing.
"Do you see that?" the senior nurse whispers, her voice trembling slightly.
I nod, eyes wide as I watch the shadows dance to the rhythm of my breath.
"This isn't just a lullaby," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's awakening something in them."
I lean closer to the crib, drawn by an inexplicable urge to continue the melody.
The infant's grip on my scrubs tightens as I start humming again, this time with more volume and intensity.
Dark shapes ripple across the pastel walls like ink in water, growing deeper and more defined with each note.
The shadows begin to take form - serpentine shapes with unfurling wings and curling tails.
My heart races, but I can't stop humming.
The senior nurse backs away, pulling other staff with her.
I keep humming, my fingers gripping the railing of the crib as if it's my lifeline.
The shadows thicken, turning into dark fog that swirls around the room.
They grow more defined, taking on the forms of dragons - their horns curved, wings unfurled, and tails curling.
The shadow-dragons begin to circle the crib in a slow, deliberate dance.
Their movements match the rhythm of my humming perfectly.
One of them extends a clawed hand towards the infant.
I step between them instinctively, but the shadowy appendage passes through me as if I'm made of smoke.
It rests protectively over the baby's blanket.
The senior nurse gasps, her voice a mix of awe and fear.
"Are they... protecting the baby?" she asks, eyes wide with disbelief.
I nod slowly, feeling the truth of it resonate in my bones, "I think they're here because of the song... and maybe because of me."
I keep humming, the ancient melody echoing in the room.
The shadow-dragons continue their dance, their ethereal forms gliding effortlessly across the walls.
Each one takes its designated place around the crib, forming a deliberate pattern.
The circle tightens, with each dragon's position carefully chosen to create a protective barrier.
Their translucent wings overlap, forming a dome-like structure above the sleeping child.
The baby's tiny fingers still clutch my scrubs through the crib bars, and their grip tightens when one shadow-dragon lowers its horned head to hover directly over them.
The senior nurse steps closer, her voice barely a whisper, "What are they waiting for?"
I shake my head, feeling the weight of the moment, "I don't know, but it feels like they're waiting for something... or someone."
Just then, the infant opens their eyes, and a soft glow emanates from them, casting a warm light that mingles with the shadows.
I watch in awe as the glow grows brighter, pulsing with each breath the baby takes.
The shadow-dragons on the walls lower their serpentine heads one by one, their dark forms rippling like silk in water.
When the last dragon bows, their shadowy bodies begin to absorb the child's radiance.
Their pure darkness slowly transforms into a shimmering obsidian hue, as if they're being reborn before our eyes.
The baby releases my scrubs and reaches out with tiny fingers towards the nearest dragon.
A tendril of light stretches from their hand to the shadowy form, connecting them in an ethereal embrace.
The dragon's form solidifies further, gaining iridescent scales that shimmer in harmony with the child's glow.
I watch in awe as the baby's face breaks into a sudden smile, their tiny laugh echoing through the nursery.
The obsidian dragons immediately react, their massive forms gliding closer to encircle the crib.
Their wings overlap, creating an intricate lattice of shadow and light above us.
A deep resonant sound begins - the dragons are humming, matching the exact pitch of my lullaby from before.
The vibrations make the medical monitors flutter.
I reach toward the baby, but pause, my hand hovering as the dragons' humming grows stronger.
The senior nurse's eyes widen, her voice trembling, "It's like they're responding to the baby's laughter."
I nod, my voice barely audible over the harmonious hum, "I think the baby is guiding them... somehow."
Suddenly, a soft voice echoes from the shadows, surprising us both, "The child is the key to our awakening."
I grip the crib railing as the baby's giggles grow louder, echoing through the nursery.
The obsidian dragons respond instantly - their scales brightening from deep black to brilliant silver.
One by one, they begin to rise from the walls, their massive forms peeling away like sheets of light.
Their wings spread wide, casting intricate shadows across the floor.
The nearest dragon floats directly above the crib, its long neck arching down toward the infant.
The baby reaches up with both hands, still laughing, and the dragon's chest pulses with golden light in response.