Thunder rumbled across the darkened sky as lightning split the horizon in jagged streaks. Emily clutched her swollen belly, her face contorted in pain as she and Charles stumbled toward the rocky shoreline. Behind them, the distant shouts of their pursuers echoed through the storm.
"Charles," Emily gasped, doubling over as another contraction seized her. "It's time." With trembling hands, Charles helped his wife to the ground, his mind racing. He had no medical training, no proper tools, nothing but desperation and love. The baby was coming whether they were ready or not.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, removing his shirt and placing it between Emily's teeth. "I'm so sorry."
What followed was a crude, frantic procedure born of necessity. Charles grabbed his sword and cut right down the middle of her stomach with shaking hands. While Emily bit down on the fabric, her muffled cries lost in the storm. When their son finally emerged, Charles quickly tended to Emily's wounds as best he could manage.
Exhausted and pale, Emily spat out the shirt. "Charles," she whispered, "can I hold him? Just once before..." She reached out with one arm while the other disappeared behind her back.
Charles placed the newborn in his wife's arms, watching as she cradled their child with fierce tenderness. But their moment of peace was shattered by voices growing closer.
"They're over here, sir!"
Charles began frantically weaving together branches and leaves, creating a makeshift basket. As he worked, he noticed Emily slipping something into the baby's mouth—something she'd retrieved from her dress.
"What are you doing?" Charles hissed, then immediately covered his mouth, realizing he'd given away their position. Emily looked up at him with tears streaming down her face. "Insurance," she whispered. "For his future."
Charles understood that there was no time for explanations. He gently took their son from Emily's arms and placed him in the crude basket, along with a hastily written note: "Please care for this boy wherever he may land. His name is Danker D. Garso."
Together, they knelt by the water's edge. Charles pushed the basket into the current while Emily whispered a prayer to any deity who might be listening. The tiny vessel bobbed away into the darkness just as their pursuers emerged from the treeline.
Charles and Emily stood, hands raised in surrender. The last thing they shared was the shot that ended each other's lives. Carried on the wind, before silence claimed them both. The sound scared the baby and he started crying. Thankfully for Charles and Emily the wind, rain, and waves were enough to drown out the noise.
Hours later, as dawn broke over a distant shore, the basket came to rest on soft sand. Inside, the baby slept peacefully. A new life had begun, born from sacrifice and carried by hope across dark waters.