Meanwhile
As the room behind them settled, Isolde and the Matron of Life walked beneath the drifting lanternlight, their footsteps echoing softly through the long, breathing halls of the manor.
The further they moved away from its heart, the quieter the air became. The walls stretched on in perfect symmetry.
To the left—radiant white.
To the right—deep obsidian black.
Adorned with abstract paintings that seemed to shift when not directly observed, and portraits of past family members whose eyes carried an unsettling awareness…Smooth and Unbroken. Swallowing light rather than reflecting it.
And between them—a single line.
Where light and dark met, just touching each other like two truths forced to coexist.
Isolde paused and The Matron of Life halted a few paces behind her silent and patient.
Without a word, Isolde turned slightly, guiding her toward a smaller chamber tucked within the corridor—a room hidden in plain sight.
Before stepping through, Isolde glanced back.
"Sister, if I may?"
The Matron inclined her head, voice barely above a breath.
"Feather to feather."
Her fingers traced a small ash-mark over her heart before crossing the threshold.
Isolde followed the Matron in, her gaze sweeping both directions of the corridor—once, twice—before closing the door behind them with quiet finality.
Inside, the room was steeped in memory.
Antiques vases and painting lined the space, each piece carried unspoken weight and history pressing faintly against the air like a lingering echo.
The Matron stopped in the center of the room while Isolde approached slowly. Soon they came within reach of each other.
Then—
as if guided by something older than either of them, they moved in unison.
Wrists touched.
Palms turned upward.
"Feather to feather."
The words settled into the room like a binding.
Isolde stepped away first, moving toward a tea table set beneath mosaic windows. Sunlight filtered through colored glass, fracturing into ribbons of shifting color that spilled across the room.
"Please, sit," Isolde said gently. "And remove the hood as you have nothing to fear here. This room is warded against all prying eyes and listening shadows."
The Matron paused briefly before nodding.
"Very well, Sister."
She lowered her hood.
Light touched her face, colors dancing across her features, though the dawn-gold and wine-red veil remained—half concealment, half ritual.
"I must say," the Matron began, settling into her seat, "Lady Selene is truly blessed. Such fertility… such enduring strength."
From within her sleeve, she produced a vial of blood. Then a shallow bowl of water from her robes, she carefully, and deliberately poured the blood into it.
They watched as the blood spread slowly engulfing the transparent surface.
Isolde, meanwhile, gathered feathers nearby, her movements quiet and practiced.
"To bear three children in three consecutive years," The Matron of Life murmured, "She is blessed."
A pause.
Isolde fingers dipping into ash, coating them in soft soot.
"And so is the bloodline."
As she placed two feathers between them.
{Ashfeather Tea}
"Corvithal… chaos remembers.
Murmuration, carry my comfort home."
The feathers lifted as if Weightless and with two fingers, Isolde carved into the air—slow, and deliberate.
A small open crescent beneath the feather with a soft spiral turning inward once. With a broken line crossing the spiral diagonally and A final dot above the crossing.
Each motion left a faint echo in the air, like reality briefly acknowledging her authority.
She tapped the feather once and exhaled.
"I name the tide: Chaos.
I accept the cost: one steady breath… and one true want.
I affirm the kin: let no theft ride this wing."
The ash loosely stirred, darkened, and gathered like steeping leaves.
The feather curled inward, drinking in something unseen—something murmuring beneath the surface of the world—before unfolding into a warm ceramic cup. Steam rose gently.
Tea.
Alive with faint whispers of ash.
"Enjoy," Isolde said with a small laugh. "Though, I've yet to remove that lingering taste."
The Matron lifted the cup and sipped the edges. For a fleeting moment, her composure slipped. Her senses bloomed as flavors unfolded in layers, warmth settling deep into her bones, and fatigue loosening its grip.
A quiet vulnerability flickered across her expression.
"The tea," she exhaled softly, "is exquisite."
Isolde noticed. {Of course she did.}
"If I may proceed?" the Matron asked, gesturing to the bowl.
"Please," Isolde replied. "Don't let me hinder your current."
The Matron leaned forward.
{The Dawn Vein Reading}
"Corvithal, hear me.
First Light… wake what still lives.
Let blood remember the thread before the wound."
She dipped the red thread into the mixture. Blood and thread intertwined and mixed with each other, At the bowl's edge, she placed a seed shaped like a dawn petal.
Her fingers slowly but intentional stirred the liquid sunwise. The blood shifted and unraveled; Branching outward into delicate, living veins.
"I declare the tide: Life.
I accept the cost: one breath, one drop… one true ache.
I affirm the kin: let only the living truth answer."
The veins pulsed faintly drawing Isolde leaned in. Some lines were strong, clear, and vibrant while others were tangled, strained, resisting collapse.
Even some lines were faded.
Leaving one burning bright and unbroken.
"What does it say?" Isolde asked quietly.
The Matron's voice lowered. "Your daughter is strong… enduring beyond reason."
Her gaze lingered on the healthier branches.
"These threads protect her while sustaining her."
Then—
her eyes shifted.
"…but others…"
She hesitated while looking at the faded lines each one fraying at the edges.
"Have already paid their cost."
Silence pressed in.
"Once a thread fades…" she said softly, "it does not return."
Isolde's brow tightened.
"This is her last child," she replied her voice controlled but edged. "Thalor will not put her through this again."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the shifting mosaic light.
"His guilt won't allow it."
The Matron nodded.
"And this—" she gestured toward the bright line, "—this is the path preserving her life. The one I will follow."
Isolde inclined her head.
"My thanks."
The Matron's gaze lingered.
"Of course. Anything for your family."
A pause.
"Especially after what she has already brought into this world."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…two children with the potential for the current."
The air shifted.
"…and with your lineage…" she continued carefully, "this birth has drawn attention."
A pause.
"Even the Council of Feathers has begun to speak."
Something in Isolde stilled not her usual calm but rather a sort of held fury.
"And what," she asked quietly, "do those old, cackling feathers presume about my family?"
Her eyes gleamed faintly.
"Do they truly believe that the long-lost dirge of myth will rise in my grandchildren?"
The Matron remained composed.
"I pass only what is spoken," she said. "And given your progenitor," she said careful but calculated.
"such rumors are not without, precedent."
Isolde stepped closer.
"Tell me," She said softly, her gaze piercing, "do you follow the fluttering noise of others…"
"…or do you seek truth with your own feathers?"
Silence.
The Matron met her gaze.
"…Whether I believe or not," she said finally, rising, "one fact remains…"
"Your lineage is not ordinary."
Her words settled the discussion between both Matrons.
"I must return," she continued. "The time approaches."
Isolde nodded.
They stepped close once more.
Hands to sternum.
"Ash to ash. Thread to thread."
Their voices whispered together.
The bond holding them together strong was then broke.
As the Matron turned, she paused.
"Next time," she said lightly, "perhaps we can speak…without an observer."
Isolde smirked.
"Perhaps."
As the Matron left silence returned to the room leaving Isolde alone, but she did not move.
Not at once.
Then—
She turned her head slowly toward a specific little corner.
"Little raven," she said softly.
"…come out."
Silence.
"Do not make me repeat myself." She said more sharply.
A rustle.
Soon a small but careful little girl stood up from behind the chair. Three years old, still as a held breath but with eyes far too aware and knowing.
"My dear little raven," Isolde crouched slightly, voice softening. "Did you overhear?"
The girl held her gaze.
"Yes, grandmother."
Her voice was quiet but honest.
"I'm sorry."
Isolde smiled, not displeased because she was somewhere she was not supposed to be but rather Proud.
{I did not even sense when Camilia entered the room.}
Her fingers lifted the child's chin gently.
"My sweet Camilia, did you enjoy the murmur?"
Camilia's golden eyes ringed faintly in amber-red lit with relief.
"I did, Sancia."
She climbed over the chair with careful, deliberate movements—each step balanced, and precise.
Isolde watched closely.
{Even now… she moves with intention.}
She dusted herself off with small, careful motions, smoothing the front of her emerald floral dress as though restoring order to herself before anything else.
Then she looked up—
and smiled again.
A smile…soft, rare, and unguarded—
lit the room more than the mosaic light ever could.
Her small hand reached to her grandmother, waiting.
Isolde didn't hesitate.
Her fingers closed gently around Camilia's, warmth threading instantly between them. With her other hand, she brushed stray lint from the Camilia's hair—deep black strands tied into flowing pigtails, their ends catching pale gold where the light kissed them.
Like dusk lingering at the edges of night.
"Oh, my sweet little raven," Isolde murmured, her voice carrying that quiet affection reserved only for her. "Shall we go find your brother?"
Camilia nodded, already turning slightly, her awareness stretching beyond for someone her age.
"Brother is with Talon," she said calmly. "In the southeast wing."
Isolde exhaled through her nose, faint irritation threading through her composure.
"…So, Atlas is with him."
"Sancia," Camilia asked, tilting her head slightly, "do you not like Talon?"
Isolde glanced down at her.
"I don't despise him," she replied after a moment. "He is your grandfather on your father's side."
A pause.
"But I believe your brother is being led away from where he should be."
Camilia took note of that quietly.
"You always seem bothered by him," she added.
Isolde's lips curved softly but with edge.
"My little raven, you are far too observant for your own good."
Her tone remained light, but something beneath it carried weight.
"I may need to correct that."
A chill traced down Camilia's spine.
"Yes Sanctum."
Her head bowed instinctively.
The word lingered in the air longer than it should have.
Isolde paused.
{Perhaps I pressed too far.}
A-soft sigh escaped her.
"Listen," she said, her tone easing as she gave Camilia's hand a small squeeze. "Your grandfather and I simply disagree on how you children should be raised."
Camilia didn't fully understand….at least not yet.
But she didn't question it further.
Together, they stepped out into the garden from one of the Tea Rooms available doors.
The shift in scenery was immediate.
The air cool with a light breeze as sunlight spilled freely and warmed their skins and faces.
Silver-leaf trees arched overhead, their branches draped with hanging vines that swayed gently in the breeze, casting shifting patterns of shadow and light across the ground.
Moonflowers bloomed beneath them—glowing softly despite the sun, their petals drinking in light as though storing it for later.
The garden felt
alive in a a unique way than the manor.
Less watchful and more… forgiving.
Camilia's steps slowed as her gaze drifted. Isolde followed where Camilia's were drawn too—instinctively—toward a circular well nestled at the far corner. She stared for just a moment longer than she should have.
Then—
"Southeast wing," Isolde reminded gently, guiding her forward. Even if the moment passed, they entered through the rear doors and the world shifted again.
The warmth of the garden fell away, replaced by something heavier. The corridors here were carved deeper into the estate older. Ley veins pulsed visibly through the floors and ceilings, faint currents of light flowing like living roots through the manor itself.
Their footsteps carried steadily through the halls. Until they reached an arched marble door.
Isolde slowed, her gaze lowering to Camilia.
"This is the room, sweetie?"
Camilia nodded as though she could feel him behind the door.
Isolde inhaled—deep, controlled—before pushing the door open.
Inside—
A masculine man stood with his large back turned.
His frame filled the space like a pillar carved from adversities itself. Broad shoulders marked with crimson-silver scars stretched across his skin—each one faintly shimmering, as though the past refused to stay buried.
His black hair, streaked with white near the temples, was tied back into a war-knot. A heavy mantle draped over him, stitched with unfamiliar crest runes, while worn armor plates bore faded celestial sigils—ancient, and weathered.
"Dorian," Isolde called.
"Where is Percy?"
The man turned and, in his arms, a small child who looked to be Two years old was quietly watching.
Percy.
A soft, warm caramel glow clung to him—subtle, but unmistakable. Not radiant like flame but steady. His eyes deep blue, ringed with gold—studied everything with silent intensity far beyond his age.
Isolde stepped closer, her expression softening immediately. "Hello, my little keystone," she said gently, reaching for him. "How are you?"
Percy didn't answer at first.
He simply stared at his grandmother, watching her.
Her fingers brushed through his hair—thick obsidian locks laced with faint silver strands that only revealed themselves when the light struck just right.
"S-sancia…" he murmured softly his word was small.
But it landed like something precious.
Isolde's smile deepened, something vast and quiet unfolding within her chest.
Percy reached out with both hands attempting to be held by Isolde. "Awe, does my little Keystone want Sancia to hold him?" She said smiling ear to ear.
Percy continued to reach for his grandmother, however just as Isolde was about to reach back, Dorian reflexively blocked any further advancement on Isolde part.
Isolde's calm, loving demeanor cracked.
"Pardon old Fool." Isolde evil eyed him.
"Don't expect any leniency simply because you're their grandmother." Dorian gruff voice responded.
Soon out of pure instinct, the atmosphere of the room suddenly felt darker then normally. Camilia and Percy both curious but couldn't understand what was going on between their favorite large beings and the potential ramifications it could lead too.
Isolde and Dorian both being consumed by their emotions, inadvertently cause their aura to spill out. Camilia and Percy eyes widened, causing them to react.
Camilia moved her head in her grandmother's direction, and tugged on her hand, and gripped it tightly.
Percy in similar fashion looked back to his grandfather and rolled his tiny fist into his chest, trying to push it deeper inside his skin.
Both actions snapped Isolde and Dorian back to reality, thus both grandparents looked down at their grandchildren.
{For a moment there…} Isolde rose-golden eyes with violet halo stared into Camilia's golden irises with red inner rings.
{For a minute there…} Dorian star-iron gray irises with flecks of gold as he stared into Percy's ocean with golden halo eyes.
{No, Impossible. I Simply Lost Control….} Both grandparents are of the same mind.
Their Aura's retracted and both inhaled before coddling Camilia and Percy.
In the end they both side-eyed each other.
Suddenly, Isolde and Dorian sensed their surroundings were off. Dorian looked outside and saw a nearby bluetail flapping their wings but seemed unable to move a centimeter forward, while Isolde looked at a nearby extinguished candle, its smoke seemed to descend back to the pick and relight self.
Isolde and Dorian watched as they recalled a similar scene over the past 3 years.
"The first time, the clocks stopped," Isolde reminded Dorian.
"And the second…"
"…the corridors did not stay where they should." Dorian finished Isolde's sentence.
"How much longer?"
Isolde just before answering that, everything had returned to normal. The bluetail was no longer suspended and was now flying free, while the candle stays relit and burning brightly.
"Its almost time…" Isolde started it say, however before she continued, the manor and the environment was shifting.
Exotic and Normal flowers suddenly blossomed when looking at the garden through the window, However, Dorian and Isolde felt something robbing out their clarity.
Unbeknownst to Isolde and Dorian, Camilia and Percy stared at each other for a moment, before looking in the direction of the manors heart.
"Excuse me, Matriarch and Patriarch." A manor servant interrupted them in the Atrium; looking hurried with some news. Both Isolde and Dorian knew what was coming,
"Its time" the servant, Isolde and Dorian all said.
Isolde swiftly picked up Camilia, and Dorian tightly held onto Percy. Then they both started walking for the center of the manor. Each with step taken, Isolde witnessed the Ley-lines beneath the estate flare—not violently, but in perfect terrifying harmony.
And then—something deeper surged.
A cold current, ancient & vast, flooded upward through the foundations…
{What is going on?} Isolde questioned.
{This is vastly different then the previous two times?} Dorian thought.
However they finally arrived in Selene birthing room, but even more weird things occurred.
The lanternlights flickered outside, while odd unrecognizable distorted sounds came from inside. And nearby a mirror reflected both Dorian and Isolde however, its movements were wrong, so they steeled themselves and entered Selene's room.
Ward Nurses moved first—and fast, their hands working in practiced rhythm—stripping away blood-soaked linens, replacing them before the chill could settle. One steadied Selene through the violent tremor of each contraction, another pressed cool cloth to her brow, whispering breath-counts like anchors cast into a storm.
Nearby, the Physicians moved with sharper edges.
Pulse checked.
Blood loss tracked.
The child's birth watched with unwavering focus. Steel instruments rested within reach, glinting faintly beneath lanternlight, while steaming sigilwater released curling threads of vapor that clung to the air.
While the First Light midwives—
moved to a different rhythm entirely.
They circled the bed like orbiting stars, red thread looped between their fingers, drawn taut and trembling with unseen tension. Dawn sachets rested at each post of the bed, filled with seed, hair, and blood—offerings.
Vitality candles burned low in shallow bowls of milk and iron.
Where the physicians guarded the body and the nurses guarded breath—
the Dawn-Spinners guarded something far more fragile.
The arrival of newborn.
"ARGHH!!!"
Selene's scream tore through the chamber—raw and unrestrained, shaking the very stillness of the manor.
"Push!" the female physician commanded, her voice cutting clean through the chaos. She positioned herself firmly with steady hands, and eyes locked in.
"We've got the baby in the birth canal!"
On the other side, the midwives moved faster now—thread looping, knot after knot forming in rapid succession, binding themselves to the bedposts as though anchoring something slipping away.
The Matron of First Light knelt beside them. Watching and Focusing on the red thread she was looping into thirds every knot.
"Milady—we need a strong push!" the physician urged again.
Thalor tightened his grip around Selene's hand, his strength pouring into her through sheer will alone.
Selene nodded weakly, tears streaking down her face, her breath uneven, her body trembling under the weight of exhaustion.
Then—
"ARGHH!!!!!"
For a single breath—
The shadows in the room turned.
Turned.
Time slowed but No one spoke or moved.
And in that suspended instant—
Camilia and Percy felt it.
Something familiar and welcoming.
Then—
reality snapped back.
"We've got silver-white hair!" the physician shouted, relief and excitement bleeding into her voice.
"The head is out! One more push!"
But Selene—
shook her head.
There was nothing left.
No strength to push forward.
Thalor saw it.
And for the first time—
he was helpless.
Dorian and Isolde stood near the threshold, silent feeling like they could not do anything to do. Then—Selene's eyes shifted to them.
Camilia and Percy.
Her babies.
Camilia's golden irises burned bright, those faint amber-red rings steady, unyielding.
Percy's ocean-blue gaze glowed softly, his golden halos anchoring stability.
Together, they stood like twin pillars.
Unmoving.
Unshaken.
Selene's gaze softened.
{…I just want to hold my babies.}
A quiet, simple truth and it was enough.
Her teeth clenched.
"ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!"
A final cry—
and she pushed.
"Oh—we've got shoulders!" the physician exclaimed, relief breaking through at last.
The baby was born.
And in that moment—
Selene felt no pain, not even exhaustion but instead…something colder than Death waiting.
"You were amazing, Selene," Thalor whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed a fervent kiss to her lips, his hands cradling her face like something sacred.
She smiled faintly.
The baby was lifted carefully, and swiftly into the ward nurses' hands.
"It's a girl."
The words settled into the room like a quiet dawn.
They cleaned her gently, and wrapped her in soft cloth, careful not to disturb the fragile stillness that clung to her. The baby looked peaceful.
A First Light midwife approached the baby, from within a white cloth, she revealed an untouched, pristine thread.
She tied it carefully around the baby's wrist.
"May your life-thread be forever sturdy," she whispered.
Then stepped away.
The baby was placed into Selene's arms.
Her Silver-white hair framed her small face, faint sapphire undertones shimmering softly where light touched it.
Her skin carried a warm, peach glow—subtle, but luminous, as though light lingered within her even without the sun.
Her eyes opened revealing a Pale pink-gold, Soft, and Translucent.
Like glass touched by dawn.
She yawned.
A small, fragile sound.
"Awe…" someone whispered.
Hearts softened and Tension dissolved.
"She took after her mother," Thalor said quietly, his voice filled with something vast and unguarded.
Selene smiled, turning slightly toward him.
"Do you want to hold her?"
He nodded.
Carefully—fearfully—he took the baby into his arms.
"She's… light," he murmured, awe slipping through his voice. "Too light…"
Like something that could break between breaths.
But then—he looked into her eyes, and his Fear dissolved replaced by absolute Love.
"What should we name her?" he asked softly.
Selene watched the baby.
Selene then spoke, "The moment I knew I was Pregnant; I had chosen her name."
"Elysia."
Her voice steadied.
"Elysia Celeste Magus."
Thalor smiled, the name settling unto him.
"…Elysia."
He traced a gentle finger along her cheek.
The baby smiled.
A faint glow pulsed outward—
and for a moment—
both Selene and Thalor felt it.
Something touching their hearts, Deep and Endless.
At the doorway, Isolde and Dorian stood in silence; Watching and feeling that boundless, overwhelming love only parents could know.
Camilia tugged at Isolde's sleeve and pointing to her parents and the baby...
"What is it, little raven?" Isolde asked softly.
But Camilia did not answer.
She only stared at her newborn sister.
Percy did the same, he could only stare at Selene and Thalor before gesturing to his grandfather. Dorian understood what Percy wanted without words.
They moved forward, placing the children gently at the edge of the bed.
Small hands and Careful steps; Camilia and Percy leaned in, while Elysia looked at them causing all three to smile.
Camilia's aura brightened—soft, radiant.
And Percy let out a small, bubbling laugh.
While Elysia etched a pleased smile on her face.
For a split second, A subtle unseen thread became visible linking all three siblings together.