One night. That's all it took to damn us both.
9
SERIS
Iwake to the weight of furs pressing against my swollen belly, their warmth a stark contrast to the stone chill seeping through the walls. My stomach clenches—not with the baby's movement this time, but with a gnawing hunger that feels like it's eating me from the inside. The dread sits heavier than the child, a cold knot beneath my ribs that no amount of fur can chase away.
The room feels smaller in the gray morning light filtering through the narrow window. Every shadow seems to hide watchers, every creak of settling stone sounds like approaching footsteps. I shift beneath the covers, trying to ease the ache in my lower back, when the door swings open without ceremony.
Maedra enters like winter wind made flesh, wrapped in thick robes that smell of ash and something medicinal I can't identify. Her gray-green skin bears the texture of old leather, marked with ritual scars that catch the dim light. She doesn't speak, doesn't offer greeting or explanation. Just fixes me with those sharp eyes and gestures with one gnarled hand.
"Up. Come with me."
The command carries no room for argument. I push myself upright, fighting the wave of dizziness that comes with sudden movement. My bare feet hit the cold stone, and I reach for the simple dress someone left folded on the chair—rough cloth, but clean and large enough to accommodate my changed shape.
Maedra watches me struggle with the ties, her expression unreadable. When I finally manage to cover myself properly, she turns and walks toward the door without checking if I follow. The assumption that I will rankles, but what choice do I have? I'm a guest here—or a prisoner. The distinction grows murkier by the hour.
My legs feel unsteady as I trail behind her into the corridor. The hallway stretches longer than I remember, lined with doors that remain firmly closed. No sounds emerge from behind them—no voices, no movement, nothing to suggest life beyond these stone walls. The silence presses against my ears like deep water.
We pass through an archway that opens into something magnificent and wrong. The space spreads before us like a cathedral, but one that's been carved apart and rebuilt by hands that understood nothing of its original purpose. Soaring columns rise toward a vaulted ceiling, their surfaces scarred with crude runes that spiral upward like smoke made solid. Stained glass windows catch the morning light, but the beautiful scenes they once depicted now lie fractured beneath claw-carved symbols that hurt to look at directly.
Sacred oils burn in iron braziers placed at irregular intervals, sending tendrils of smoke curling along the ceiling. The scent carries notes of pine and something sharper—blood, maybe, or burnt bone. Each breath tastes of ancient things and newer violence layered one atop the other.
My footsteps echo against stone that once held prayers in a dozen human tongues, now repurposed to honor gods whosenames I don't recognize. The transformation feels like sacrilege and rebirth twisted together until they're impossible to separate.
"Why am I here?"
The question escapes, my voice small in the vast space. Maedra doesn't slow her pace, doesn't turn to acknowledge my words. For a moment I think she'll ignore me entirely, but then her gravelly voice drifts back over her shoulder.
"Because the warleader had nowhere else to put you. Anywhere else, you'd already be dead."
The words hit like physical blows, each one sinking into my gut with sickening certainty. I stop walking, my feet refusing to carry me another step forward. The baby shifts restlessly, as if sensing my sudden terror.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The whisper barely carries in the echoing space, but Maedra hears. She turns fully this time, and the sound that emerges from her throat might generously be called laughter—dry as autumn leaves, sharp as broken glass.
"Kill a woman carrying an orc's child? The gods would tear me to pieces."
We continue deeper into the temple, our footsteps echoing off stone that remembers different prayers. The corridors grow narrower here, more intimate, as if this part of the structure was meant for private communion rather than grand ceremony. Carved alcoves hold gutted candles and offerings I can't identify—twisted metal shapes and bundles of dried herbs that crackle when we pass.
The silence rings in my ears until I can't bear it anymore.
"Will they force me out?"
Maedra glances over her shoulder, those sharp eyes catching mine for just a moment before she turns away again. The look carries no comfort, no reassurance—just the weight of brutal honesty.
"That depends on him."
My heart sinks like a stone thrown into deep water. He hadn't said a word when I told him about the child. Hadn't offered protection or promises or even acknowledgment beyond that flat stare. Just silence, stretching between us like a chasm I couldn't cross.
The emptiness around us suddenly feels oppressive, wrong in a way so far off from the repurposed architecture. I realize I haven't heard another voice since waking, haven't seen another soul moving through these halls. Even the guards from yesterday seem to have vanished into whatever shadows swallow inconvenient truths.
"Is no one else here?"
Maedra answers with a tired grunt that sounds like stones grinding together. Her pace never slows, but something in her posture shifts—shoulders drawing tighter, head tilting forward as if carrying an invisible burden.
"Not anymore. I'm the last true elder left in Azhgar. No one else fit to carry the gods' names on their tongue."
