On a bitterly cold night in the human realm, the silence of the palace shattered beneath the cries of a woman in labor. Her voice rose and fell, raw and unrelenting, carrying through corridors and courtyards until every servant, maiden, and guard moved about in restless panic. Footsteps echoed against stone floors, orders were whispered and shouted, water fetched, cloths wrung, and still the cries grew sharper, more desperate.
Inside the chamber, the Empress lay drenched in sweat, her silken hair clinging to her temples. Her hands clenched the bedding as another wave of pain tore through her body.
"Your Highness," one of the imperial midwives urged, her voice trembling with both fear and duty. "Push… please, push."
Others pressed cool cloths to the Empress's brow, rubbed circles against her aching back, and whispered encouragements, though their own hands shook. All their focus, all their prayers, rested on this night—the safe delivery of the imperial children.
And yet, while their attention remained fixed upon her, none noticed the sudden stirring of the world outside. A gust of wind slipped through the palace walls, unseen and unbidden, carrying with it the twin flowers of purity and impurity. The blossoms, delicate and radiant, drifted like specks of starlight, settling upon the Empress's heaving belly as though guided by fate itself.
"Your Highness, once more, push harder!" the midwife cried.
Summoning every last ounce of strength, the Empress bore down, her cry piercing the night. In that breathless instant, her body gave way, and with it came the long-awaited miracle—two tiny infants, their wails breaking into the air like bells that rang not only through the palace, but across the vast expanse of the universe.