For three weeks, the silence between the warlock and the Zaliyah was louder than any blizzard.
Xulthas had retreated behind a wall of cold professionalism . He became a ghost in his own castle. If Zaliyah entered a hallway, Xulthas vanished into a shadow. If Zaliyah called his name from the balcony, Xulthas suddenly found a pressing need to inspect the outer battlements. He was a man running from a ghost, or perhaps, running from the "weird heat" that had sparked in his chest the day he painted Zaliyah's soul.
Every time Zaliyah tried to corner him-determined to ask about the sudden unnecessary distance, Xulthas would offer a clipped excuse. "The mana levels are fluctuating, I must attend to the core," or "The snow-wolves are encroaching; I have no time for chatter."
Zaliyah sat at the long dining table, picking at a plate of roasted roots and cream. He watched Xulthas's empty chair with annoyance.
"It seems the Commander is back to factory settings," Harun remarked, standing behind Zaliyah.
Zaliyah rolled his eyes, shoving a spoonful of cream into his mouth. "Who cares? If he wants to spend his days talking to ice statues and avoiding me like I'm the plague, let him. It's quieter this way."
But later that day, as the physician arrived for the final checkup, Zaliyah's gaze kept drifting to the wall of his bedchamber. There, hanging in a place of honor, was the painting. Xulthas had captured everything-the silver starlight of his hair, the curve of his jaw, and the sacred weight of the child. It made the room look regal, but it also served as a silent reminder of the man who was currently fighting wolves day and night on the mountain just to avoid looking Zaliyah in the eye.
While the North prepared for life, the Human Realm was watching a slow death.
In the Ruo Han Residence.
Karas sat by the window, his head bowed over a leather-bound book. His once-vibrant blue eyes looked duller than ever, the light in them flickering like a candle in a draft. The white streak in his black hair had grown, spreading like frost indicating that the life force he had used as bargaining chip was reaching its limit.
As he heard the familiar soft step of Riosuka, Karas quickly snapped the book shut and slid it under a stack of scrolls.
Riosuka entered, her heart sinking at the sight. She was used to finding him here, scribbling his thoughts, his dreams, and perhaps his goodbyes into that hidden book. It was his only way of coping with Zaliyah's absence-a conversation with a man who wasn't there.
She walked over and gently caressed his hair, her fingers snagging on the brittle, white strands. She watched them fall like silver waves over his shoulders.
"The white strands are increasing, Karas," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Karas turned and offered her a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Don't worry about it, Mother. It's just the stress of the season."
Riosuka's eyes filled with tears. She reached out, cupping his face. "How can I not worry? Every white hair is a second lost. Time is catching up to you, and I am powerless to stop it."
A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Karas reached up, his thumb catching the salt-drop. "I am here with you now," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "That is all that matters. You need not be sad while I am still breathing."
He leaned into her palms, but Riosuka could feel how light he was becoming. Her son was slowly fading, drifting away like mist, and she was left to mourn a loss that was happening in slow motion.
In the Northwest, the physician had finished his rounds.
"You are fine, Your Highness. The child is positioned well. Rest now."
Zaliyah ate his evening meal in silence, later sitting by the fireside as Iruna brushed his hair. The heat of the flames felt good against his aching back. He felt heavynas usual, settled, and strangely peaceful.
But that peace shattered at three in the morning.
A loud cry which almost seemed like a scream for help tore through the silence of the castle. It wasn't the wind, and it wasn't the snow monsters. It was Zaliyah.
Harun and Iruna erupted from their rooms in their undergarments. Harun, shirtless and wild-eyed, grabbed his sword from the wall, . Thalassa slammed her door open, her hand already glowing with a combat spell. They all expected snow monsters or an elite squad from the Capital.
Instead, they found Zaliyah sitting upright on his bed, clutching the headboard so hard the wood almost splintered. He was drenched in sweat and breathing deeply. His hands were clamped over his waist, his knuckles white.
"It's... it's time," Zaliyah gasped, another wave of pain twisting his features.
The room exploded into motion. "The physician! Now!" Thalassa barked at a passing guard. "And someone get word to Xulthas on the mountain! I don't care if he's neck-deep in monster blood, tell him Zaliyah is in labor!"
Harun sprinted down the hall to fetch the physician, while Iruna knelt by the bed, wiping Zaliyah's forehead. "Breathe, your highness. Everything would be okay . Just breathe. I'm here."
Zaliyah's eyes were wide with terror.
The labor was unlike anything the demon guides had described. It felt like his very soul was trying to expand, his core thrumming in harmony with the child's heartbeat.
When the physician arrived, he ushered everyone out, but Iruna refused to move, her hand locked in Zaliyah's.
"Out!" the physician commanded.
"I am his Chamberlain! I stay" Iruna replied, her face pale with worry.
Harun stepped in, gently wrapping his arms around his sister. Runa, let the man work. We will be right outside the door." He hauled her out, her small frame trembling in his grip.
They stood in the hallway. Harun, Iruna, and Thalassa. Iruna buried her face in Harun's chest, sobbing quietly. Thalassa stood apart, leaning against the wall, her eyes fixed on the closed door. She watched the twins, watching the way Harun held his sister, and for a fleeting, traitorous second, she felt envious. She wished she was the one holding Iruna.
Inside the room, the physician pressed a vial to Zaliyah's lips. "A tonic, Your Highness. It will dull the pain, but you must remain awake."
Zaliyah drank it, his vision blurring as a strange numbness spread through his torso. He watched, detached and floating, as the physician prepared his tools. Because of the child's dual-aura and Zaliyah's unique anatomy, a natural birth was impossible.
Zaliyah watched as the silver blade of the scalpel caught the candlelight. He felt no pain, only a strange pressure as the physician began the C-section. He watched his own belly being opened, the silver-white skin parting to reveal the child within.
Then, it happened.
A loud, piercing cry broke the silence-a sound so powerful it seemed to shaken the foundations of the castle.
At that exact moment, the weather outside did the impossible. The eternal snow stopped. For the first time in centuries, the clouds broke and a torrential, heavy rain began to fall over the Northwest. The rain washed away the ice, drumming against the stone like a thousand heartbeats.
Xulthas arrived at the gates at that very second, his long black hair plastered to his face, his cloak torn from the hunt. He stopped dead in the courtyard, looking up at the sky. Rain?
He rushed up the stairs, his chest heaving, arriving at the door just as the baby's second scream echoed through the hall.
Harun let out a breath he had been holding for hours. He looked down at Iruna and smiled.
"Brother... he did it," Iruna sobbed, jumping with joy. In her excitement, she tripped on her nightgown, stumbling toward the floor.
Both Harun and Thalassa lunged forward. Harun reached out, but it was Thalassa who caught her, her arms locking around Iruna's waist. Iruna froze, her face turning a bright red as she looked up into Thalassa's intense gaze.
"Careful now," Thalassa whispered.
Before Iruna could stammer an apology, the doors creaked open. The physician stepped out, his glasses sliding down his nose, his clothes stained with blood.
"You may go in now," he said, wiping his brow.
The room was filled with a soft, golden light that seemed to emanate from the bed. Zaliyah sat propped against the pillows, his face pale and exhausted, but his eyes were filled with a beautiful clarity. His silver hair fell around him like a cloak.
The silks of the bed were stained red, but Zaliyah didn't seem to notice. His stomach had already begun to magically knit itself shut, the Celestial energy in his blood sealing the wound until it was as flat and smooth as it had been before the exile.
In his arms, wrapped in white silk, was the child.
He still couldn't believe it was a girl.
The baby was small, her skin a soft porcelain. As the group entered-the twins, Thalassa, the wide-eyed maids, and finally Xulthas-the room went silent.
Zaliyah looked up, his purple eyes shimmering with tears. He looked ethereal, He didn't see anyone else. He only saw the tiny face in his arms.
"She's here," Zaliyah whispered.
For the first time in nine months, the void in Zaliyah's heart felt full. He wasn't just holding a baby, he was holding a piece of Karas.
Xulthas stood at the back of the room, unable to move. He looked at the man on the bed-the blood, the silk, the rain outside-and felt that "weird heat" in his chest turn into a full-blown roar. He had spent weeks trying to ignore him, but looking at Zaliyah now, he realized the battle was already lost.