"How much longer does she think I have?"
"Days." The word hits like a physical blow. "Maybe a week if we're fortunate. The fertility goddess powers are consuming your mortal essence faster than your bond with me can replenish it."
Days. The timeline should terrify me, but instead I feel a strange sense of relief. The waiting is almost over. Soon, one way or another, I'll know whether love and sacrifice are enough to overcome the biological impossibilities that define my existence.
"And the baby?"
"Perfectly healthy according to all assessments. She's actually thriving—the divine enhancement ensures she receives optimal nourishment even as it burns through your reserves." His hand covers mine on my belly. "Maya, she's going to be extraordinary. The magical affinity readings are unlike anything we've recorded."
Our daughter kicks again, and I swear I can feel power radiating from her tiny form. She's absorbing fertility magic at levels that would kill an adult, somehow metabolizing divine essence as naturally as breathing. Whatever I've become, she's inherited it—and improved upon it.
"I need to see the memorial garden," I say suddenly.
Thorian's entire body goes rigid. "Maya?—"
"I need to see where the seven women are buried. Need to understand what I'm facing." My voice grows stronger as conviction builds. "I'm not asking permission, Thorian. I'm telling you what's going to happen."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I see the exact moment he recognizes the futility of arguing. "Together," he says finally. "We go together."
The walk to the memorial garden requires frequent stops as my enhanced body struggles with basic movement. Each step sends waves of divine power coursing through my system, and twice I have to lean against Thorian's massive frame as minor seizures threaten to overwhelm me.
But I push forward, driven by a need I can't fully articulate. Something about seeing those seven graves feels essential—like understanding the full scope of what I've volunteered for.
The memorial garden is more beautiful than I remembered, and more terrible. Seven white marble headstones arranged in a perfect circle, each one marking a woman who died attempting what I'm currently surviving. Fresh flowers bloom around each grave—not placed there by gardeners, but growing spontaneously in response to the residual fertility magic that still lingers here.
I read each name aloud, my voice growing stronger with each one:
"Lyra Moonwhisper. Age 156. Died in her sixth month."
"Isabella Vasquez. Age 22. Made it to seven months."
"Celestine Brightwater. Age 203. Five months."
Seven women. Seven attempts. Seven failures that led to my selection as the eighth candidate. The lucky one. The one who survived long enough to face this final crisis.
"They were all stronger than me," I observe, noting the ages of the Fae women. "Centuries of magical conditioning, immortal physiology designed to handle power surges. And none of them made it to full term."
"None of them had your mate bond," Thorian says quietly. "None of them had the emotional anchor that's kept you stable through impossible circumstances."
"None of them channeled this much divine power either." I can feel it now—the vast difference between what they achieved and what flows through me. "I'm not just a fertility goddess, am I? I'm something else entirely."
He's quiet for so long I think he might not answer. When he finally speaks, his voice carries the weight of terrible knowledge.
"You're the first True Fertility Divine we've ever created. The others were enhanced goddesses—powerful, but still fundamentally Fae or human. You've transcended both categories."
True Fertility Divine. The title should feel like triumph, but instead it tastes like inevitability. No wonder my human body is failing—it was never designed to contain the power of actual divinity.
"Is that why you chose me? Not just because I might survive, but because I might become something unprecedented?"
"Yes." The honesty hits like cold water. "Your genetic markers suggested you could achieve power levels that were theoretically possible but never practically attained. We didn't know what the cost would be."
"But you suspected."
"We hoped the mate bond would be enough." His voice breaks slightly. "We hoped love would overcome biology."
I laugh, the sound carrying more sadness than humor. "Love isn't overcome by biology, Thorian. It IS biology. The mate bond, the divine enhancement, my willingness to risk everything for our child—it's all the same force expressing itself in different ways."
Another seizure threatens, and I lean heavily against Isabella's headstone for support. The marble is warm beneath my hands, and for a moment I swear I can feel an echo of her presence—a whisper of encouragement from a sister who faced the same impossible choice.
