The 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. Why is it not working!?'
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.
The light in her eyes faded like the last flicker of a dying star.
"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 boy. 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 new-born looked up at him, his eyes closed for a moment before he opened them again, his lips trembled, he was, so small against his hands.
His new-born son.
He gazed at him with an unreadable expression, his hands steady, his shoulders straight. Yet a fleeting shadow crossed his face when he noticed the new-born'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 he 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.