The training grounds were always alive with the familiar sounds of swords clashing and warriors sparring. Yet, it harbored an entirely different kind of display that unfolded.
Magic.
"Point!" Elaine yelled out, sitting on the now lonely bench, and gave it some attention by drumming her hands on its base.
Eugene stood tall, his gaze focused on his hand as it glowed with a steady golden light.
Rhyssand was lurking around him as he prepared to challenge Eugene's control over celestial magic.
The siblings watched from the sidelines, their initial amusement replaced with awe as Eugene unleashed his power.
"Never thought I would see the day," Arthur said with a smirk, leaning against a wooden post. "Eugene is in the training grounds. Did someone misplace a library?"
Artizea elbowed him lightly. "Be nice. It is good to see him trying something different." nearby with her hands resting on her swollen belly, smiled faintly. "I just hope Rhys doesn't scare him off. Celestial magic is not exactly friendly…"
Eugene moved with fluid precision, conjuring a sigil in the air with a wave of his hand. The glowing pattern pulsed as he summoned a sphere of light, sending it hurtling toward his mentor.
RRhyssand countered effortlessly, his wings flaring as he deflected the attack with a shimmering shield.
"Good," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "But let's see if you can keep up."
Without warning, Rhyssand retaliated, sending a burst of energy toward Eugene. But he was ready. He pivoted, raising his hand to summon a wall of light that absorbed the impact before dissipating into sparks.
Arthur, watching from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. "Where has this Eugene been hiding?"
"Submerged in the genie pool…" Elaine grinned.
Rhyssand stepped up his attacks, testing Eugene's limits with a barrage of spells.
Yet, Eugene countered each one with ease, his movements smooth and deliberate. He conjured whips of energy that lashed out at Rhyssand, forcing him to dodge.
When Rhyssand attempted to trap Eugene in a ring of celestial fire, Eugene responded by manipulating the flames, transforming them into a glowing phoenix that soared above the training grounds before dissolving into light.
Artizea watched with a mixture of pride and surprise, her hands resting on her swollen belly. "He's grown so much," she said softly.
Rhyssand raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with newfound respect. "Impressive. But let's see how you handle this."
He summoned a blinding storm of energy, the sheer intensity forcing even the onlookers to shield their eyes.
Yet, Eugene did not flinch. With a deep breath, he drew on his power, creating a barrier that not only withstood the storm but reflected it at Rhyssand in a dazzling display.
The training ground fell silent as Rhyssand lowered his hands, the energy dissipating into the air. He grinned, his wings folding behind him as he approached Eugene. "Well done," he said, clapping Eugene on the shoulder.
Euegene shrugged, his expression modest despite the clear triumph. "I've had a good teacher."
Arthur, however, could not resist breaking the tension. "So, are we just going to pretend Eugene hasn't been secretly powerful this whole time? Or did you just wake up and decide to be amazing today?"
Eugene shot him a wry look. "Maybe I did not feel the need to show off. Unlike some people."
Artizea's voice cut through the exchange, her tone warm. "Ignore Arthur. He's just jealous because he can't do it himself."
Arthur scoffed, but his grin remained. "Jealous? Please. I've got enough talents as it is."
She grinned, "And I heard he sleeps with Excalibur now—'
"I do not—"
Rhyssand cleared his throat, his expression turning serious. "Arthur is right. You have talent, Eugene. More than most. And now that I've seen what you are capable of, I think It is time we make sure you master every one of them."
Elaine, still awestruck, leaned toward Artizea to share her thoughts, but Artizea wasn't listening.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her hands gripping the armrests. A sharp pain rippled through her abdomen, and then…
A substance ran down her leg, "Honey—" she said, her voice tight.
Rhyssand's wings flared at the sound of her tone. He rushed to her side. "I've got you," he said, his voice low but steady. "Talk to me, what's hurting, Back?"
She shook her head
"Head?
She shook it once more.
"I cannot speak human so well, Princess, meet me halfway—"
"Fuck…" Artizea groaned.
"I think her water just broke…" Eugene said
The words hung in the air for a moment before they registered. Everyone froze.
"What?!" Rhyssand yelled.
Artizea glared at him, her fiery crimson eyes narrowing. "Do you think I am joking, Rhyssand?"
Arthur burst into laughter. "Of course it would happen here, in the middle of Eugene's big moment."
Elaine smacked his arm. "Arthur, not now!" She turned to Artizea, her voice calm but urgent. "We need to get you to your chambers. Now."
Artizea exhaled sharply, trying to maintain her composure despite the pain building steadily. "Yes, that would be nice—
"Someone get a healer!" Rhyssand said as he scooped her up without hesitation.
"About damn time this child comes out," she muttered, wincing as another contraction hit.
The palace was a flurry of activity as the time finally came. Midwives and royal physicians bustled in and out of Artizea'schambers, their hushed whispers and swift movements heightening the tension.
Outside, the family waited anxiously, with Gil pacing like a caged lion and Arthur cracking jokes in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.
Inside the room, however, the mood was anything but light.
Artizea gripped the edge of the bed with both hands, her fiery crimson eyes blazing as another contraction rippled through her body.
Her husband was by her side, his usual composure completely unraveled. His eyes darted nervously between her and the midwives, his wings twitching every time she cried out.
"You are doing great, Tizea," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Just breathe—"
Artizea's head snapped toward him, her expression a mixture of pain and fury. "Don't tell me to breathe, Rhyssand!" she yelled. "This is your fault!"
Rhyssand blinked, stunned into silence. "My fault?"
"Yes, It is your fault!" she screamed, clutching his hand so tightly he swore he felt bones shifting. "If you had not—ahh!—I would not be in this situation!"
Rhys winced, trying not to show how much pain she was inflicting on his hand. "Tizea, I think it takes two very willingpeople to—"
"Do not finish that sentence!" she bellowed, glaring at him with the full force of her Pendragon fury.
One of the midwives, an older woman with a calm demeanor, stepped in with a knowing smile. "Perhaps you should just nod and agree for now, Your Highness," she said to Rhyssand.
He nodded quickly, looking both chastened and amused. "Yes. Absolutely. My fault. All of it."
Artizea's glare softened only slightly as another contraction hit, pulling her focus away from him. She groaned, her grip on his hand tightening further.
The heavy doors of the birthing chamber creaked open, the sound cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. Every head turned in shock as the towering figure of Gilgamesh strode in, though his face was etched with concern.
Gilgamesh strode in, his expression carved from stone—but beneath it, a storm of concern churned.
"Speak," he commanded the midwives and attendants.
One bowed deeply. "The babe is facing the wrong way, Your Majesty. We cannot get him to turn at this stage. Should we prepare for intervention?"
Artizea's head snapped toward them, eyes wide with fear. "Father…what are they saying…"
"You," he barked to a young attendant, "find the woman in the village who delivered the children. She resides in the Nursing Children's Temple. Bring her. Now." his deep voice leaving no room for argument. They hesitated for only a moment before scurrying out of the room.
Gilgamesh crossed the room swiftly, his gaze sharp but filled with an uncharacteristic tenderness as he knelt by her side. His hand, strong yet surprisingly gentle, brushed her damp hair from her face. "I am here."
Her lips quivered, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "I can't do this," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed. He closed them, pushing back the dark thoughts. When they reopened, he placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm. "I warned you, your father warned you—" he said flatly.
"DAD!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, breaking off with a horse cry.
He sighed and tried again."Artizea. Strength flows through your veins. Do you think I would entrust the legacy of the Pendragon to anyone with weak blood, such as your husband?"
Artizea let out a chuckle with a shaky breath, her heart steadying under his unwavering gaze.
His expression softened, and for a moment, he was no longer the indomitable king but simply a father. "Fear is an illusion, pain is only a fleeting touch; you must endure it, conquer it, and rise above it. You have faced worse than gods. You will prevail, because you are my daughter."
Gilgamesh turned to Rhyssand, who had been silently watching, "Follow my instructions," he ordered. "She needs you now more than ever."
Rhyssand nodded, moving behind Artizea and gripping her hand with both of his. Artizea gasped, her voice cracking with a mix of relief. She lay back against the pillows, her strength waning as the contractions continued to rack her body, as they waited for the midwife.
Moments later, the village midwife burst in—hair tied hastily back, eyes sharp and unafraid.
"Alright," she huffed, rolling up her sleeves, "let's have a baby."
Artizea cried out, "Just pull him out, I don't care—just get him out!"
The midwife gave a firm nod. "Your Majesty," she addressed Gilgamesh, "Your highness, I'll need you to secure Her royal Highness's legs."
Without hesitation, Rhyssand held his wife's thighs steady, already in position.
"Good, you're a natural, no doubt what made the rascal," the midwife snorted.
The king bowed in head, fighting inner demons. There was a reason he had been reluctant to bring her here, and it had everything to do with his first child, now he has now passed on the cycle. His gaze softened as he watched Rhyssand and Artizea work together
"I see the troublemaker. As soon as a contraction hits, Your Highness—push."
Rhyssand pressed his forehead to her temple, voice low and steady. "Breathe with me. You can do this."
The contraction hit like a wave crashing through her body. Artizea screamed, clenching both her father and her husband as she bore down with every last ounce of strength.
Again.
And again.
Until—
A sharp, wet cry split the air.
"Congratulations, It is a boy…" the midwife said.
Rhyssand exhaled in relief.
The room fell still when Gilgamesh rose to his feet as the midwife lifted the newborn, wrapped in soft cloth. She stepped toward the king and placed the child into his hands first—a sacred tradition, honoring the lineage and the patriarch's blessing. He smiled upon handing him to his daughter.
Artizea held her son for the first time, her crimson eyes wide with wonder as the room gasped in collective awe.
"White wings…" She whispered, her voice trembling.
The child's Wings were not black like those of his ancestors, nor did they bear the shadows of Tiamat's curse. Whispers spread quickly through the palace: The prophecy is over. The blackened legacy of Tiamat's fall, a burden carried by countless offspring, had been lifted at last.
"Callisto…" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she stroked the delicate feathers of his wings. Rhyssand leaned closer, looking down at them both, by her side as promised, his hand resting gently on his son's cheek.
Callisto cooed softly, his tiny fingers clutching at his father's hand, which made a tear fall from Rhsysand's face untouched.
His presence seemed to fill the room with warmth, a reminder that even after centuries of darkness. As the news spread through the castle and the family would soon barge in, the King looked down to study his grandson carefully, reflecting a depth of emotion seldom seen.
Callisto stirred in his mother's arms, his white wings shimmering in the light. A small, golden-eyed boy with a tuft of pale hair and tiny white wings folded against his back.
For a moment, even Gilgamesh seemed overcome with emotion. He turned to Artizea, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile."A dove," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of ages. "Pure, unblemished… a symbol of peace and renewal."
The room fell silent, and the profound meaning of his words struck everyone present. For Gilgamesh, a king who had seen countless wars and bore the weight of endless conquests, to call his grandson a dove was a declaration that the boy was not just an heir to power, but a herald of a brighter future.
"Behold, the future of our kingdom," he said, his voice low and full of pride. "I am proud of you, daughter."
Artizea cradled her son, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at her father, gratitude shining in her red eyes. "Thank you… Father."
Gilgamesh reached out, cupping her cheek. "You are going to do wonderfully."
It was over. Artizea thought.
Then came the light—white and blinding, catching and reflecting every glimmer in the room until it felt as though the walls themselves were breathing. As her eyes fluttered closed, she heard the echo of voices—soft, layered, familiar—all calling her by different names.