The Asheviliah Kingdom was a land divided by more than just walls. While the high-born measured their lives by the movements of the stars on the Age of the Gods calendar, the inhabitants of the slums measured theirs by the thickness of the frost on their windowpanes. On this night, the frost was a death sentence—a jagged, crystalline pattern that crept across the rotting wood of the tenements.
Outside, the wind howled like a wounded beast, driving the snow into blinding white sheets. But inside a cramped, leaning shack at the end of a muddy alley, a different kind of storm was reaching its crescendo.
The air was thick, heavy with the copper tang of blood and the acrid smoke of a single, guttering tallow candle. The wet nurses—women whose faces were maps of shared hardship—moved with a practiced, frantic rhythm. Their clothes, patched and repatched until the original color was a memory, were soaked with sweat despite the sub-zero chill.
"More water! Keep it boiling!" Mirim, the eldest among them, barked the order without looking up. Her hands, calloused from years of labor in the wash-houses, were surprisingly steady as they pressed against Yuriko's abdomen.
"The linens are ready, but they're thin!" a younger woman cried, her voice trembling as she clutched a stack of frayed gray cloth.
"Then use your own shawls if you have to!" Mirim snapped. "We aren't losing her tonight. Push, Yuriko! Don't you dare close your eyes! Focus on the flame!"
Yuriko's scream was a raw, jagged sound that seemed to vibrate the very foundations of the shack. Her fingers dug into the straw bedding, knuckles white and bloodless. In the dim light, her skin looked like polished marble—beautiful, cold, and dangerously fragile.
"Where is that man of hers?" one of the women hissed, casting a glance toward the door that groaned under the weight of the wind.
"Out in the White Death," Mirim muttered, her jaw set. "Yukino is a fool, but he's a fool who loves his wife. He's hunting. He knows if he doesn't bring back meat, the winter will claim what the labor doesn't."
A final, agonizing cry tore through the room, followed by a sudden, jarring silence. Then, a thin, wavering wail broke the stillness. It was a fragile sound, but to the women in that room, it was louder than the thunder of the gods.
"A girl," Mirim whispered, a rare smile softening her stern features. She began to move the child, but her expression suddenly shifted to one of alarm. Her hands moved back to Yuriko, feeling the unnatural tension that remained. "Wait... stay back! There's another pulse. Gods above, it's twins! We aren't done yet—everyone, back to your posts! Get the second child before the mother's strength fails!"
By the time the second cry joined the first, the moon had reached its zenith, casting a pale, ghostly light through the cracks in the roof. Yuriko lay in a state of blissful exhaustion, her breath coming in shallow, rhythmic sighs. Mirim had cleaned the infants as best she could, wrapping them in the meager cloths and tucking them against Yuriko's sides to share her waning warmth.
The silence that followed was heavy and peaceful, broken only by the soft hush of snow settling on the roof. Then, the heavy door was kicked open.
A gust of winter's breath surged into the room, threatening to extinguish the candle. Yukino stood there, a towering silhouette against the white void outside. He was a mess of frozen blood and shredded leather, a massive buck slung over his shoulders. His chest heaved, and ice clung to his eyelashes.
"Yurin... I'm home," he wheezed, his voice cracked and dry. He dropped the deer with a dull thud that shook the floorboards. "The world... it tried to kill me today, Yurin. Truly. A bear tracked me for three miles. I climbed a cedar to lose it, but the wood was rotten. Fell forty feet straight onto a ledge, and the damn beast had the nerve to swat me like a fly before I tumbled into the ravine."
He let out a tired, self-deprecating laugh, leaning his head against the doorframe. "I woke up in a snowdrift, saw this deer grazing nearby, and I think I just went mad. I didn't even use the bow. I just tackled it and held on until it stopped kicking."
He wiped a smudge of grime from his forehead, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim light of the room. He saw Mirim, the basins of red-tinged water, and then—the two small bundles.
"Are those...?" His voice died in his throat. The exhaustion that had threatened to collapse his lungs vanished, replaced by a frantic, stumbling energy. He dropped to his knees at the bedside, his large, scarred hands trembling as he reached toward his wife. "Oh, bless Lady Minum... I'm a coward. I shouldn't have left you alone for a piece of meat."
Yuriko opened her eyes, her gaze soft and clouded with a weary love. "Hush, Yuki. You did what you had to. Look... our girls are healthy."
"Girls?" Yukino's face transformed. The rugged hunter vanished, replaced by a man struck by lightning. "Two? We have two daughters? Praise be! Lady Minum has seen us!"
Yuriko let out a soft, wheezing giggle. "Careful, you're far too loud. And what happened to the man who spent nine months insisting he wanted a son to help him hunt? You're losing your edge, you moron."
Yukino leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his tears mingling with the melted snow on his face. "I was wrong. Having two girls who look like you... that's a treasure the King doesn't even have. I'm the luckiest man in Asheviliah."
"If they inherit your luck, they'll be falling off cliffs by the time they can walk," Yuriko whispered, her hand finding his.
"I'm just built different, dear. Awesomely," he replied with a shaky grin.
"Absolutely," she sighed, closing her eyes. "And that's why I chose them. Names that fit the light and the dark of the world we're giving them."
Yukino looked at the two tiny faces—one pale and calm, the other with a faint, restless energy. "Tell me."
"Solvayne," Yuriko said, touching the first. "And Nyxelle."
"The Sun and the Moon," Yukino whispered, his voice thick with awe. "Our little stars in the dark."