"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" An inhumane, pained screech tore out of the throat of a beautiful lady lying on a large bed.
Her appearance was dishevelled and ragged. She was sweating heavily, and her face was contorted into a pained grimace.
Her hands clung tightly to the bedsheets below her, and her light green veins strained against her creamy white skin, showing clearly despite how unnatural that was.
Sweat slicked the woman's skin, beading along her temples, tracing down her neck and chest before vanishing into the twisted sheets beneath her.
Her breath came in heavy, ragged inhales and exhales, like she was trying to draw in more breath than her body allowed her, with the hope that maybe that would reduce the harrowing pain tearing through her body.
The bestial growls and screams coming out of her mouth could barely be distinguished from the cries of an injured beast.
But it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Despite the situation she was in, her blinding beauty shone through the gloomy environment.
Her beautiful platinum silver fell onto the bed, the strands scattered around her head in a circle.
"Please! Keep pushing, my lady. You are almost there!" A midwife pleaded with the beautiful lady lying on the bed. She was not doing much better herself.
She had said those words countless times. They no longer sounded like a promise, only a desperate plea to herself.
Dark circles were visible under her eyes, and her hands were trembling and sweaty. Her brow was matted with sweat; she was exhausted both mentally and physically.
Clearly, she had seen better days. But it was to be expected, the lady had gone into labour approximately seventy hours ago.
Outside, the sky convulsed. It had been. For three days and nights, thunder had rolled endlessly across the heavens, a ceaseless drumbeat that rattled the towers of the imperial citadel.
Lightning split the clouds like cracks in reality itself, turning the dark sky white for heartbeats at a time. The wind howled through the mountain peaks, battering the castle's walls and screaming through its battlements like a chorus of vengeful spirits.
The air was heavy, thick, charged, oppressive, as though the world itself held its breath, waiting.
Inside the grand birthing chamber, the storm's rage was muffled but ever-present, rumbling like some great beast beyond the walls.
It was like the world itself was reacting to the birth of the child coming into this world.
For seventy long hours.
That was how long the labor had lasted. Three days and nights of agony that would have broken even the strongest of women. But the Emperor's beloved consort, the most radiant jewel of the castle, still clung to life, defiant even as her body betrayed her.
The midwife was doing her best despite the situation. But the stress was starting to get to her, and she could not keep her hands steady.
She was tired.
But that was not even the worst of it. Because if either the mother or the child died here, the emperor would have her head.
She was scared.
It was never supposed to be this complicated. The baby should have been born by now. She had done everything right, even accounted for a breech birth.
But for some reason, the whole process ended up becoming lengthy and complicated anyway.
Experienced as she was, she had done everything she could, using all the tools available to her, all the knowledge she had, and yet, here they were.
Regardless, she was still trying her best.
"Bring more water!" She barked to the servant beside her.
A servant scrambled, tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. Another pressed a wet towel to the consort's forehead, murmuring soothing words that were lost to the howls.
There were half a dozen more people in the chamber. All of them were sweating profusely, their expressions somber.
They fidgeted endlessly, some cleaning the sheets and cloths they had been using, all of them, stained in crimson blood.
The floor was littered with discarded cloths, broken bowls, and shattered glass. The air was thick, heavy with heat, fear, and the copper tang of life and death intertwined.
Two more ladies were beside the bed, one with a bowl of water and a wet towel in her hands, which she passed to the servant who would occasionally dab the consort's sweaty forehead.
The other, a healer, worked tirelessly to replenish the consort's energy, but there was only so much she could do. And her mana reserves were dropping dangerously low.
Everyone else in the room kept their hands busy. That way, at least they would be assisting in some way.
Over the course of the three days, they had all realised how useless they were; they could do nothing but stand in there and watch as the midwife struggled to help the consort, and the consort struggled endlessly to give birth.
"Ahhhhh!!" The consort's screams were like a waking call for them all. Every time she screamed out in pain, the midwife's figure would tremble.
"Please, my lady!" the midwife's voice cracked. "Once more, push!"
The consort's jade-like fingers continuously clawed into the sheets, veins like glowing vines beneath her skin, as though some unnatural force resisted the birth from within.
The others close to the bed also encouraged her, but she could barely hear their reassuring words, all of it drowned away by the unbearable pain.
The midwife bit her lip until it bled, forcing her trembling hands to steady. 'Over seventy hours… gods above, how is she still alive?'
Regardless of her efforts, the hours stretched on, and the contractions grew incredibly slow and weak.
The chamber seemed to shrink with every passing hour, the stench of sweat and blood clinging to the air like a curse.
Every time the consort's voice tore through the silence, the servants flinched as if the very walls might collapse.
Eventually, the consort's screams grew strained and weak, which was not a good thing. No matter how much her screams and grunts of pain haunted their senses, the weak sounds that she was making now meant something much worse.
'She won't be able to hold on for much longer. ' The midwife thought. Her heart was beating thunderously in her chest.
This whole ordeal was bordering on the edge of the worst-case scenarios. They had to do something; otherwise, they were going to lose both the mother and the child. They had to save one of the two at least.
But that was not her choice to make.
Moving quickly, she rushed to the bedside table, pulling a piece of paper to write on and a quill. She wrote something quickly and called over one of the servants, and handed her the paper.
"Take this to his majesty!" The urgency in her voice sent the servant running out of the chamber.
She moved back to the consort.
"Please keep pushing, my lady! You are almost there!" She urged. But that was all a lie; they were nowhere near done.
Three days had passed, yet she could barely see the infant's head. Or was it a leg? or a hand? She was not sure.
There was barely any sign of the infant. And her vision was getting blurry.
Yes, she could feel the infant moving, slowly, excruciatingly slow. At this rate, the consort would die before the infant was born.
The consort's situation was only getting worse.
The Midwife moved to check her temperature on her forehead.
She is heating up, a bit too much. But then, the healer's magic should be alleviating some of the pain and damage.
She looked at the healer, asking angrily, "Have you been healing the lady?"
The court healer, pale and shaking, knelt at the bedside, her hands glowing faintly with exhausted magic. Blue light flickered weakly between her fingers, sinking into the consort's belly and fading almost instantly.
"I'm trying," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm trying, but my mana's nearly gone-"
The midwife rounded on her. "Then why isn't it working?! She should have delivered hours ago!"
The healer's face twisted with dread. "It's like something is… holding it back. From the inside." The stress was starting to get to her as well."I'm doing my best, I swear! I never stopped, even though my mana reserves are running low, but I can still go on for now!"
The midwife gritted her teeth restlessly. "But then, why is she only getting worse?"
The healer's trembling hands pressed against the consort's stomach, her face paling. "This is… not right. It feels as if… something is holding it back." Her voice cracked, and she quickly bit her tongue, terrified of saying more.
It was unnatural, like the world itself was resisting the birth of this child, as if trying to prevent bringing a calamity upon the world.
The midwife shot her a glare, but she could not deny it. She had delivered dozens of births, endured complications, and even breech labors where the infant came out feet first.
But this… this was different. Something unseen resisted every contraction, every push, as though the womb itself had become a prison of steel.
"Push!" the midwife begged again, though despair had already gripped her heart.
"Aaaaaakkkh!" Suddenly, the consort's cries, which had eased up due to fatigue, intensified. And, before any of the people in the chamber could grasp what was happening and what had changed, the consort's upper body moved forward sharply and then fell back onto the bed immediately after.
The pain became so unbearable that she started moving back and forth.
The healer's eyes widened in terror. The servants froze. Even the midwife's hands went cold.
The consort arched her back, the veins on her forehead glowing like molten threads beneath her pale skin, and with a strangled cry, her nails tearing into the sheets. She spat out words that no human tongue should have spoken.
"Ahhhhhh!" Her scream lasted longer this time, like a final wail.
And then-
Another, sharp, piercing wail split the chamber. The cry of a newborn. It was fragile, desperate, but alive.
For the briefest moment, relief washed over them all. The midwife's tears sprang to her tired eyes, her trembling hands reached instinctively toward the swaddled life.
But the relief lasted only a breath.
The consort's breathing slowed. Her head turned weakly toward the sound of her child, her eyes glassy, lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came.
The consort's breath fell silent. Her straining hand, once clawing at the sheets, slipped limply to her side. Her chest heaved once, twice, then no more.
Her platinum hair clung to her sweat-soaked skin as her eyelids fluttered shut, closing not in rest, but in finality.
"My lady—!" the midwife's voice cracked, her trembling fingers pressing desperately against her throat, searching for a pulse that would never return.
Her voice faltered. "No… no, no, please…"
The chamber froze. The baby's cries rang out, sharp and unrelenting, echoing against the cold walls. Yet to all who stood there, it was no longer the sound of life.
It was the cruel tolling of death.
The emperor's newborn had entered the world. But the empire's most beautiful flower had withered in the birthing.
Immediately after, the heavy doors creaked open. All heads turned, and silence fell over the chamber as the emperor stepped inside.
His golden robes shimmered faintly in the lamplight, but his expression was carved from stone. Somber. Unyielding. His face betrayed little, but those who dared meet his eyes caught a glimpse of the truth. The quiet, crushing pain he fought to bury beneath his composure.
The midwife stumbled forward, falling to her knees. Her voice shook as she spoke. "Y-Your Majesty… the child lives. But… her ladyship… she… she could not…"
She broke off, trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks. The emperor said nothing, but his eyes spoke more loudly than any words could have. He moved past her and approached the bedside.
For a long moment, he stood still, looking down at the pale, lifeless figure of his consort. Her platinum silver hair lay scattered across the pillow like strands of moonlight. Slowly, with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his imposing frame, he reached down and brushed his fingers through her hair.
He leaned close and whispered something... words so soft no one in the chamber could hear. Then he closed his eyes, only for a heartbeat, before straightening.
"Your Majesty…" The midwife's trembling voice came again, broken by sobs. She carefully cradled the infant wrapped in silk. "Congratulations. It is a beautiful baby girl. And I, I… I am deeply sorry for your loss. I should have done better."
The emperor regarded her in silence for a moment. Then he gave a single, slow nod. His eyes lowered to the small, crying bundle, and when he finally reached out to take the child into his arms, a hush fell over the room.
The cries softened to hiccups as the newborn looked up at him, his eyes closed for a moment before he opened them again, his lips trembled, she was, so small against his hands.
His daughter.
He gazed at her with an unreadable expression, his hands steady, his shoulders straight. Yet a fleeting shadow crossed his face when he noticed the newborn's hair. It was pitch black, as dark as midnight. Not his consort's platinum silver. And not his own golden blonde.
It was a color that did not belong in this bloodline.
He stared for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Sorrow, confusion, perhaps even dread. Then it was gone, buried beneath the emperor's iron composure.
'It's not unheard of for a child to be born with hair not shared between either of the parents.' He thought to himself. As much as the doubts threatened to flood his mind, his beloved Rachel would never.
He passed the child back to the midwife with quiet dignity. "See that she is cared for," he said, his voice steady as steel.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked from the chamber.
As the doors shut behind him, the women inside let out a collective breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding. Relief washed through them like a tide, though the weight of grief still pressed heavily on their shoulders.
The air felt heavier now, colder.
The emperor was gone. The heir lived. And the consort was dead.
And in her place, something else had been born.
Something that would change the world.