The night was a vast, suffocating tapestry of indigo and charcoal as Gwen moved through the jagged veins of the Iron Mountains. At four months pregnant, the weight of the Seed of Destiny felt less like a physical burden and more like an anchor pulling her soul toward the frozen earth.
Every step was a grueling battle against a body that no longer answered to her command. The golden fire that once roared in her veins—the Sun-magic that could incinerate entire armies and light the darkest of winters—was silent, dormant, consumed by the insatiable appetite of the life growing within her womb.
