Page 199 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

“Lovely, Nora. Her head is almost out. I need a big push on the next contraction—then another—and she will be here with us. You’re almost done, my Queen.”

“Why isn’t he crying?” Nora panted, panic rising again but the next contraction hit, ripping another roar from her chest.

“Push, Nora. Keep pushing.”

With one final, agonising effort, the baby slipped free. Silence followed; a silence so sharp it felt like a blade pressed to the throat.

The midwife rubbed the tiny back, firm and practiced.

A newborn’s cry split the air.

Relief crashed through the room; ragged breaths, trembling exhales, a collective release of tension. But beneath it all lingered a quiet, suffocating grief for the child who had not drawn breath.

The pink-skinned newborn was placed on Nora’s chest. She whimpered, her sobs softening as she looked down at her daughter.

“Hello, Skylar,” she whispered.

The little one nuzzled instinctively, rooting for her first feed. Selia kissed Nora’s head, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“They are so beautiful, Nora. I am so proud of you.”

Nora looked up, searching her sister’s face and found the truth there.

“Bring him to me,” she said, voice hoarse but firm. “Please. Kern needs to be by her side.”

The midwife nodded, sorrow etched into every line of her face. She set aside the placenta, then lifted the wool-wrapped bundle she had swaddled earlier.

Nora said nothing as she took him.

Her son.

Her silent, perfect son.

She cradled him close, studying every tiny feature, frozen, peaceful, heartbreakingly still. Her tears dripped onto his cool skin, each one a testament to the love pouring out of her.

Beside him, Skylar fussed, her mouth forming a tiny O of displeasure, her cry rising in protest.

Then—

The eyelids of the eternally sleeping baby fluttered open.

Piercing, pupil-less icy-blue eyes stared up at her.

A chill swept through the chamber.

When he spoke, his voice was not one but thousands.

“Help me.”

The plea echoed around the stone walls, unnatural and ancient.

Blackened veins erupted across his delicate skin, crawling outward like living shadows. They slithered over the wool blanket, across the bed, spilling onto the floor; twisting, reaching, hungry.

The room dissolved.

Warmth vanished.

Light died.