Three days had passed since the Great Archmage Amber Nois retreated into her mysterious hibernation.
Three days since the loss of their emperor.
Three days since this hidden sanctuary became a cradle for both despair—and a fragile new hope.
Tonight, that hope trembled on the edge of life and death.
Empress Lola was in labor.
Her screams, though she tried desperately to stifle them, echoed through the protective halls of the concealed refuge. Sweat drenched her body. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Every muscle shivered violently as she tried to push the baby out.
But the child… was not coming.
He twisted inside her womb, writhed, turned, pressed—like some enormous beast entangled in chains. Every movement sent stabbing pain through Lola's abdomen.
Yet she pushed.
And pushed.
And pushed.
Around her stood over a dozen women—maids, healers, and midwives—but more importantly, warriors in disguise. Nymia, the wife of the blind swordsman Naze, stood closest to the Empress. Her daughters, Ouale and Ouake—barely adults themselves—hovered nearby, their eyes sharp and attentive.
They weren't just helping with childbirth.
They were guarding the future.
Ever since Aloysius' betrayal, the generals had received strict orders:
No one approaches the Empress without being verified twice.
Even the women serving as midwives had undergone three separate screenings.
Loyalty was a treasure—and a weapon.
Lola screamed again, her face contorting in agony as tears streamed down her cheeks. Nymia quickly dabbed the sweat from her forehead.
"Stay with us, Empress," Nymia whispered, steady but soothing. "Hold on a little longer. Just a little."
But the pain intensified.
Her breath became shallow—irregular. Her lips trembled as her strength faded.
Outside the birthing chamber, the chief midwife stepped out, her hands stained with blood, her expression grim. Naze, now acting as the pillar of the new resistance, turned his blindfolded face toward her. Though he could not see her, he sensed her dread before she even spoke.
The other generals gathered:
Joab, silent as a carved monument.
Adino, his fingers twitching as though already reaching for his daggers.
Shammah, whose giant frame trembled with a barely contained fury.
Relia Amia, already clutching her orb of memories, prepared for anything.
They formed a semicircle around the chief midwife.
"Speak," Naze said quietly.
The chief midwife swallowed hard. "At this rate… the Empress will not survive another hour." Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. "She is losing too much blood. The baby is lodged in a dangerous position—twisting violently. If we don't administer a strength-boosting draught soon, both mother and child may die."
Gasps broke among the younger guards. A few women clutched each other. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with fear.
The chief midwife went on, her words cold and merciless in their honesty:
"We cannot leave the baby inside her any longer. The womb can rupture at any moment. If we delay, even for minutes… we lose them both."
The words hit like arrows.
Despair rippled through the room—except among the generals.
Naze's face remained eerily calm. He folded his hands behind his back, the very picture of control.
Shammah exhaled long and slow, suppressing the urge to swing his axe at the walls.
Joab adjusted his sword hilt, jaw tightening.
Adino leaned forward. "There is always a path," he muttered.
And Relia Amia's orb glowed faintly—reacting to her rising emotion.
Josh had trained them well.
Never panic.
Panic blinds you more than any wound.
There is no crisis without a solution. Your job is simply to find it.
But even so… this was no ordinary crisis.
This was the Empress.
The last fragment of Josh's legacy.
The last hope for the future.
Naze finally tilted his head toward the chief midwife. His voice was steady, almost gentle:
"Tell us plainly. What must be done?"
The chief midwife bowed her head. "Choose, General… Do we save the mother? The child? Or attempt the improbable—and gamble on saving both?"
Her question pierced everyone like a blade.
Inside the chamber, Lola's scream tore through the silence once more.
Time was running out.
Relia Amia stepped forward, the faint silver glow of her memory orb pulsing at her side like a second heartbeat. Her voice was calm—too calm for the fear that everyone else carried in their eyes.
"Maybe I can help," she said, her tone steady, resolute. "My orb can channel vitality. If I pour some of my strength into her spirit and memory flow, it may stabilize her long enough for delivery."
For a full second, no one spoke.
It was not that they doubted Relia Amia—she was one of the thirteen Generals, and her mastery over the Memory Stream was legendary. But the idea of using it on a woman in childbirth… on the Empress… was unprecedented. Dangerous. Reckless.
Yet the situation was desperate.
Shammah blinked hard, as if unsure he heard her correctly. Joab raised an eyebrow. Adino leaned slightly forward, analyzing her expression for even a hint of hesitation.
There was none.
Generals did not joke in moments like this. Generals couldn't joke when an empire's hope lay bleeding on a bed.
Naze turned his blindfolded gaze toward Relia Amia. Even without eyes, his presence commanded the space—calm, firm, unshakable. "Relia," he said, voice even but heavy with determination, "if your strength can buy her a chance, then buy it."
He bowed his head slightly, a rare gesture of trust.
"Go. Save our Empress."
Relia Amia nodded once—sharp, decisive. She clasped her orb. It thrummed in response, releasing thin ribbons of light that curled gently around her wrists.
Without another word, she followed the chief midwife into the chamber.
As the door slid shut behind her, a quiet tension gripped the hallway. The generals waited, listening only to:
Lola's weakening cries.
The frantic instructions of the midwives.
And the soft hum of Relia Amia's growing power.
Inside, the scene was chaos.
The Empress lay drenched in sweat and pain. Her grip on the sheets was so tight her knuckles had turned ghostly white. The baby still twisted—not naturally, but like someone fighting to orient itself in an unfamiliar vessel.
Relia Amia stepped to Lola's side, her orb floating up from her hand, light expanding like a blooming flower. The women parted for her.
"Empress," she whispered, placing one glowing hand on Lola's forehead, "I am with you. Hold on."
The orb pulsed once.
The entire room brightened.
Naze and the others felt the surge even from outside.
"What was that?" Shammah muttered, standing straighter.
"A transfer of lifeforce," Joab replied under his breath.
"This better work," Adino whispered, fists clenching.
Inside the room, Relia Amia shuddered as the strain hit her—but she pushed through it, channeling deeper.
The orb's light flowed into Lola's body, stabilizing her dwindling strength, reinforcing her spirit, calming the internal chaos.
Lola gasped—air filling her lungs more evenly.
Her heartbeat steadied.
Her grip relaxed enough for her fingers to uncurl.
The midwives felt it immediately.
"She's stabilizing!" one shouted.
"Her pulse is stronger!"
"Her breathing is leveling!"
Relia Amia's face was pale, sweat forming on her brow. Still, she kept her hand on Lola's forehead, forcing more energy from herself into the Empress.
"Push," she whispered. "Your Majesty… now is the time. Push."
Lola inhaled sharply—
—her eyes opened—
—and she screamed with a force none imagined she still had.
The baby responded inside her—shifting, rotating, aligning itself.
This time, not like a beast in chains…
…but like something aware.
Something returning.
Outside, Naze felt the shift in energy and whispered:
"…Emperor, guide her."
And inside, the birth finally began to move forward in the right direction.