The skies churned as if the gods themselves were bearing witness.
Wind clawed at the trees, rain slicked the stones of Leira's ancient chateau, and thunder rolled across the cliffs like war drums. Malec's black stallion charged through it all, foam at its mouth, driven by the desperate, merciless will of the elf it carried.
Malec was no longer a commander.
No longer a prince.
He was a male possessed.
She was near.
He could feel her—Allora—a thread tugging on the back of his skull, a scream he couldn't unhear. Her scent rode the wind. Her pain throbbed beneath his ribs like a second heart.
She was giving birth.
To another man's child.
A foul, blasphemous thing.
No Awyan male had ever fathered a child with a Canariae. It was believed impossible. And so, when she'd fled and he discovered her swollen belly… it could only mean one thing.
Betrayal.
She had given herself to another.
Now he would take her back. Claim what was his. And burn whatever lay in her womb if it dared look at him with another man's eyes.
"You let him go," Kirelle hissed as her cloak whipped in the wind. "And now we're riding into the flames. The contract is already void, Leira. He found her on his own."
"I know," Leira said flatly, never looking at her.
"Then what happens next is blood on your hands."
"Not if she survives," Leira said. "Not if he holds it together."
Kirelle's eyes narrowed. "The moment that child draws breath, he'll crush it. You know that."
"Of course I do." Leira's tone never changed. "But I'd rather have my son whole… than lose him to grief again."
At the chateau, Allora's screams tore through the stone corridors like a hunted thing.
She was soaked in sweat, her wild curls pasted to her temples, eyes sunken from exhaustion. Her dark skin gleamed under the firelight. Her thighs were streaked with blood, her belly tight with strain.
"Push, child," whispered a midwife. "You must push—"
"Where is Kalemon?!" Allora gasped. "She knows—she knows what's happening to me—"
But the door had been barred.
Kalemon pounded with her fists from the outside, her deep voice snarling through the gap.
"You think your ancient rites apply here? She's not Awyan! That child—it's draining her life force!"
"She is not your patient," one of the midwives snapped. "You are forbidden from interfering."
"You fools! The child is fighting to protect her—it's stronger than any of you understand. If you cut her open—if you give her anything binding—you'll kill them both!"
But they wouldn't listen.
They didn't know the truth.
Only Kalemon and Allora knew.
That the child was Awyan.
That Malec was its father.
That its blood was ancient, royal, and dangerous.
Then—
BOOM.
The door jolted.
BOOM.
Wood splintered. Hinges groaned.
With a thunderous roar, it shattered inward—slamming off the stone walls.
Malec stepped through like a force of nature. Rain dripping from his soaked leathers, his silver-blond hair plastered to his face. His eyes—pale tan, rimmed in shadow—burned with obsession.
The midwives gasped, backing away.
But Malec didn't see them.
He saw her.
Allora. His.
She was on the bed, writhing, her hands clawing the blankets, her cries raw from hours of labor.
"Allora," he breathed.
Her eyes locked on him—and she flinched in horror.
"No… no, you can't be here!" she screamed, her voice breaking. "You'll kill it!"
Malec rushed to her side, kneeling, gripping her trembling hand.
"I would never harm you," he said, voice eerily calm.
She gasped between sobs, body heaving. "Swear it—swear you won't touch the child."
He didn't blink.
"I swear."
And he lied.
Because if that thing came from another male, it had no place in the world.
He would cut its cord with his own blade. And bury the memory deep in her until she forgot.
Kalemon barreled in as the midwives scattered. Her sharp eyes scanned Allora's condition.
"She's beyond the edge," Kalemon muttered, throwing open her satchel. "The child's magic is anchoring to her life force. If it's not guided out, it'll take her with it."
"Then get it out," Malec growled.
Kalemon shot him a glare. "Not like a damn calf. We do this slow. Gentle."
Behind them, the others arrived.
Luko and Surian pushed their way forward, faces pale with worry.
"Allora!" Surian shouted.
"She's alive," Kalemon barked. "But you lot are about to kill her with noise. OUT!"
Kirelle stepped in, eyes narrowing at Malec. "If she dies—"
"She won't," Malec hissed, not looking up. "And if you speak again, you'll be next."
Only Luko remained, his usually quiet voice firm. "I'm staying. She knows me."
Kalemon gave a nod.
Malec leaned in close to Allora, brushing his lips over her forehead. His hands, trembling and blood-warmed, cupped her cheek.
"You're going to make it," he murmured.
"I'm scared," she whispered, barely conscious. "It feels like something's… trying to shield me. From you."
The child. It knew.
Kalemon felt it too.
The invisible pulse of ancient power inside the womb. Not Awyan. Not Canariae. But something in between. Something made of starlight and storm.
Malec stroked her jaw, his expression soft. But in his mind—
He pictured the baby's cry.
And his hand closing over its tiny throat.
It didn't matter what it looked like. It wasn't his. It couldn't be.
And he would not share her love—not with some stranger's spawn still warm from her body.
If the child lived… it would live in her heart.
Which meant there would be no room left for him.
That was unacceptable.
An Hour of Pain, Power, and Possession
The torches burned low. The stone walls of the birthing room dripped with sweat and heat. Rain lashed the windows, and thunder groaned through the distant peaks, as if the heavens themselves dared not come closer.
Allora had been laboring for an hour—an hour of agonized screaming, bone-crushing pressure, and blood soaking through the sheets. Her body was slick and shaking. Her muscles spasmed violently with every contraction.
And through it all… he held her.
Malec, stripped of armor, had discarded his heavy coat to the floor. He had somehow wedged his long body behind hers on the bed, cradling her against him like a creature both in love and in mourning. One arm was wrapped tightly around her ribs, the other gripping her thigh as she strained and screamed.
His fingers trembled from how tightly he held her—but his face? It was carved from stone.
He was happy.
He was furious.
She had returned to him. His wild, black-haired goddess was back in his arms. But her swollen belly was not his doing. Her agony was not his blessing.
The child was a thief.
And thieves were punished.
In his mind, the answer was simple: she would survive, and the child would be buried.
Kalemon crouched at the end of the bed, her brow soaked with sweat, mixing herbs into a poultice with one hand while commanding Luko with the other.
"She's losing strength," Kalemon muttered. "Not just from the labor. The child is drawing from her."
Luko's eyes narrowed. "It's resisting?"
"No." Kalemon glanced at Allora's belly with a flicker of dread. "It's defending. It thinks it's being born into danger."
Malec stiffened behind Allora.
Kalemon added, "It's ancient. Aware. Somehow it's fighting the birth—like it's digging in with every limb. That's why she's in so much pain."
"I'm right here, you know!" Allora shrieked, her voice raw. "Stop talking about me like I'm not in the fucking room!"
Kalemon, without missing a beat, said gently, "You need to talk to the baby."
Allora blinked through the sweat. "What?!"
"You need to calm it. Reassure it. Tell it you're safe."
"Kalemon, I have a whole damn person trying to crawl out of my womb, and you're telling me to have a chat?!"
Kalemon snapped, "If you want to live through this—yes!"
Malec's grip around her shifted.
He said nothing at first. Just pressed his forehead to the back of her damp shoulder. His heartbeat pounded against her spine. He hadn't used his true gift in years—not since he was a child, not since it frightened even his tutors.
But this was different. This was about her.
With a slow inhale, he opened himself.
He reached with something deeper than thought—something ancient in his blood, tied to the old kings, to the god-voices that spoke in dreams. He touched the soul of the child.
And the moment he did, the air changed.
The torches flickered.
The crying stopped.
The child felt him.
A pulse of raw emotion pushed back—instinctual and strong. Fear. Recognition. Then—resistance.
The child knew who he was.
It didn't know the words. But it knew the presence. The danger. The possessiveness. The fury.
It sent a single message, not in speech, but in a sensation that struck Malec like a blade to the chest:
"You are the threat. Leave her."
Malec growled low in his throat. He pressed harder into the link, answering it silently, violently.
"You are draining her. You are killing her. If you want her safe, you will come out now—or I will take her from you."
The child's aura flared. Angry. Desperate. Afraid. But then…
It felt something else. Not just rage. Not just power.
It felt that he was holding her. Shielding her. Whispering against her skin.
Malec hissed into her ear, his voice barely audible. "I'll keep her alive. Even if it means taking you out myself."
And with that—
The child yielded.
Not out of trust. But strategy. It lowered its defenses. Its life aura dimmed, like a flame banking itself. It slipped into a protective hibernation, focusing all its remaining strength on preserving its mother.
Allora gasped. Her body, which had been spasming violently, suddenly relaxed. Her breath came easier. Her heart slowed. Her eyes, once rolling, now steadied.
Kalemon's jaw dropped. "Gods below… it worked."
She looked to Malec, narrowing her eyes. "What did you do?"
He didn't answer.
He just held Allora tighter, letting her body fall limp against his, his face buried in her damp hair.
Inside his head, his mind was a storm.
The child had obeyed.
But not out of respect.
Out of wariness.
It saw him for what he was.
And he would never forgive it for that.
Minutes passed.
The storm outside had stilled to a faint hush—no thunder now, only the low rumble of wind brushing the stone walls like a prayer whispered by gods too afraid to watch what was coming next.
The room held its breath.
Allora was drenched in sweat and tears, her wild black curls matted to her flushed cheeks. Her body trembled from exhaustion, her lips cracked, her voice hoarse. But she held on.
And the only thing anchoring her to this world was the iron grip of the man behind her.
Malec, bare-chested and burning with tension, sat lodged behind her, his thighs cradling her hips, one arm locked tight around her stomach, the other bracing her leg. His hand trembled against her thigh—but not with tenderness.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the child to come.
Waiting for the moment he could end it.
Not in rage. Not in fury.
But in certainty.
It wasn't his. And nothing not his had the right to survive.
"It's crowning!" Kalemon shouted, voice raw with urgency.
The tension cracked like lightning in the room.
Luko leaned forward, his face alight with awe. "Oh gods… oh my gods. It's happening—"
"Steady," Kalemon barked. "Keep the linens dry—she's losing blood. Allora, push, now. Push!"
Allora screamed through gritted teeth, gripping Malec's thigh and tunic, the only things tethering her to this plane. Her eyes fluttered from pain, and her voice broke. "I can't…!"
"You can!" Kalemon roared. "Do it now!"
And Allora did.
With every last shred of her strength, she bared her teeth and screamed her soul through her teeth, her entire body convulsing as she bore down—
And with a great wet sound and a final cry—
The baby slipped free into Kalemon's waiting hands.
But the room didn't erupt in cries of joy.
The child was silent. Limp.
Kalemon's brow furrowed. "No… come on… breathe."
Luko stepped forward, ready with a cloth—and then he froze.
His face changed.
Whatever he saw made his eyes widen like he'd seen the heavens open.
The tray he was holding clattered to the ground with a metallic crash.
"The gods…" Luko gasped, hands shaking. "This is impossible… there's no way."
Outside the birthing chamber, the hallway had filled with people—Leira, Kirelle, Surin, Surian, guards, servants. No one dared enter. But they all heard it: the sudden absence of sound, the sharp cry from Luko, the metallic clatter. The tension in the air was palpable.
No one stepped forward.
Because the Silver Fox was still inside.
And if he was quiet… it meant the danger had only sharpened.
Malec's grip around Allora didn't loosen.
She was too weak to speak. Too weak to run. She clung to him only because she knew—
He was seconds from rising.
From tearing the child from Kalemon's arms. From deciding, once and for all, that it would not live.
She clung to his arm like a lifeline. But not out of love.
Out of fear.
And then—Malec shifted.
His breath deepened. His limbs unlocked.
He stood.
Allora whimpered. "No… wait—"
Too late.
He moved toward Kalemon, dagger in hand, slow and methodical like a predator nearing a kill. He stepped around Luko.
Luko tried to stop him. "Malec—wait. Just look."
Malec didn't hesitate. He pushed Luko aside.
He was ready.
Until…
Until he saw it.
Kalemon turned.
In her arms, wrapped in a bloodstained cloth, was the smallest creature Malec had ever seen. A squirming thing. Fragile. Barely breathing.
A baby.
But its skin—
Not as dark as Allora's.
Not as pale as his.
A rich, golden brown… a color that glowed like earth bathed in moonlight.
And its hair.
There wasn't much—but enough to catch the torchlight. Soft, downy strands curled at the crown.
And they were silver.
Not white. Not flaxen. But unmistakably Awyan silver.
His sister's shade.
His father's blood.
Malec's grip slackened.
Then—
The ears.
Small and slightly pointed, like a noble Awyan child's, but delicately shaped. An ancient mix. A contradiction.
A truth he could not deny.
It was his.
His blade slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the stone.
And the mighty Silver Fox—the man who had destroyed empires, started wars, rewritten bloodlines—fell to his knees.
He knelt before Kalemon, eyes wide, chest heaving. And for once… he said nothing.
He had no words.
No breath.
His hands dangled at his sides, bloodied and limp.
He stared.
Stared like the world had come undone.
At that moment, Leira pushed through the crowd and stepped into the room. She did not care if he lashed out. She wanted to see.
She came up behind him, still kneeling on the floor.
She looked into Kalemon's arms.
And her voice cracked. "What in the gods' names…"
She looked at Malec.
Then at Allora.
"How?"
Allora, nearly unconscious, opened one eye.
She was too weak to speak. Too battered to explain.
But her lips curled into the ghost of a smile.
And she slowly raised one trembling hand… and gave Leira the middle finger.
Before letting her head fall back into the pillows, her eyes rolling shut in final, blissful oblivion.
She passed out.
And the room held still.
Kalemon holding the child.
Malec broken on his knees.
Leira frozen in disbelief.
Luko, crying quietly.
And outside the door—no one moved.
Because they all knew.
The world had just changed.
Forever.
_______________________________________________________________________
The silence after the middle finger was deafening.
Malec knelt before Kalemon, her arms swaddling the tiny life he had moments ago planned to erase.
The torchlight flickered across his sharp cheekbones, casting dark shadows beneath his wide, stunned eyes. He didn't speak. He couldn't. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, as if his body were trying to catch up with a soul that had just been struck through the heart.
Kalemon was focused, steady even in the storm of it all. She pinched the child's tiny feet and gave a soft, practiced spank, firm enough to startle but gentle enough not to bruise.
And then—like a rip through the veil—
The baby cried.
A piercing wail echoed off the stone walls, filling the chamber with something raw and sacred.
Kalemon exhaled slowly. "Lungs are strong."
It was only then—only then—that Leira, still standing stiffly behind Malec, blinked as though pulled from a trance.
Her lips parted in awe, a whisper slipping out as though she hadn't meant to speak it aloud:
"I'm… a grandmother."
And then it happened.
The doorway filled.
First Kirelle, brows knitted in disbelief.
Then Surian, trying to peek over the crowd.
Surin, stony but clearly shaken.
Guards. Servants. Healers.
All drawn into the room like moths to the warmth of a fire they'd never dreamed would exist. No one dared step too far in, but they had to see. Because no Canariae and Awyan pairing had ever produced a child.
And yet—there it was.
A miracle.
Malec stood.
The movement was slow, uncertain. His legs trembled as he rose from the cold stone. His hands were bloodstained—her blood. His tunic was soaked. His hair hung wild around his face. He looked like a man who had fought a war and lost something deep before winning it all back again.
He stepped toward Kalemon.
"…Let me hold the child."
Kalemon's arms instinctively shifted, shielding the baby close to her chest. Her eyes narrowed.
"No."
Malec looked down at the woman he once loathed and now owed everything to.
"I won't harm it," he said, voice low. And for once… bare. No venom. No arrogance. Just truth.
"It's mine."
His gaze drifted to the baby's curled ear, the downy silver hair. "There's no doubt."
He swallowed hard, voice tightening. "The power they wielded before they were even born… I felt it. The barrier. The defiance. Of course it's mine. Only my blood would fight that hard to protect her."
He blinked hard, as if the moisture burning his eyes was foreign.
"And I almost killed them."
Kalemon studied him for a moment that lasted a lifetime. She saw the truth in his face.
Slowly, she nodded.
But before the tension could settle, Leira's voice cut through the reverence like a blade.
"You knew," she snapped, rounding on Kalemon. "You knew what she was carrying!"
Kalemon didn't even flinch. "It wasn't your business."
"You let me believe she ran off like some ungrateful pet—when all this time, she was carrying the first heir in a generation!"
Kalemon raised an eyebrow, biting off her reply like a serpent coiling to strike. "You practically kidnapped her. You were ready to cage her again. Why would I trust you with the truth?"
Leira's nostrils flared. "I'm his mother—"
"You're not hers."
The words were flat. Deadly.
Kirelle opened her mouth to cut in, but Kalemon turned before the argument could erupt further.
She stepped away from Malec, away from Leira, and pressed the child into Luko's arms.
"You're the only one in this room with a stable heart rate," she said flatly. "Hold him. Try not to faint."
Luko, who had been floating somewhere between bliss and shock, blinked and took the baby like she was made of crystal. "Yes—yes, of course."
He cradled the child, gazing down with teary reverence.
"Oh... you are beautiful, little storm," he whispered.
That's when the others closed in.
The soldiers—cautious at first—moved forward. One by one.
"By the gods…"
"It's glowing."
"I've never seen anything like it."
Then, someone clapped Malec on the shoulder.
"Well done, Commander. You've finally got your heir."
Another added with a smirk, "Of course he did. Didn't break a sweat while she nearly died."
The room chuckled.
But Malec didn't move.
He didn't respond.
Their praise echoed in his ears like distant wind.
He couldn't hear them.
All he could hear was her breathing.
He turned.
And walked slowly back to Allora.
She lay limp, drenched in blood and sweat, curled in the aftermath of pain. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly in unconscious rest.
Malec sank beside her on the bed. One hand hovered over her brow, fingers twitching to brush the curls from her forehead.
He had been angry at her. So angry.
He thought she had given herself to another. Thought she'd abandoned him. Thought she'd betrayed him.
He had been ready to punish her.
To punish a child that was never guilty.
And all the while… she had been carrying his future.
And shielding it alone.
"I should've known," he whispered. "Of course it was mine."
He pressed his forehead against her temple. "But we are going to talk about the drugging, the vanishing… and the part where you left me to lose my goddamn mind."
He exhaled through a bitter, quiet laugh.
"But not tonight."
He rose again, this time scooping her gently into his arms—bloodied sheets and all. She didn't stir.
He turned toward the door, expression blank but not empty. His eyes were fixed forward, but his steps were slow, deliberate, reverent.
Kalemon called after him, "Where are you taking her?"
He paused.
His voice was low, but firm. "To bathe her. To lay her in a clean bed. To watch over the mother of my child."
Kalemon nodded once. "I need her vitals."
"I'll send for you," he replied. "But she's not staying here."
The crowd parted for him as he passed. Luko still held the baby, a soft smile playing on his lips as he swayed and whispered to the newborn.
Leira, stunned and speechless now, stepped forward and opened her arms. Luko hesitated, then passed the baby to her.
She held the child gingerly—her grandson—for the first time.
"He has your hair," she murmured to no one. "And your silence, my sweet."
But Malec wasn't listening anymore.
His back was to them all. His eyes were on the woman who had become the axis of his world.
She had nearly died… and he had almost let her.
Never again.
He walked from the crowd, carrying Allora like a precious thing he didn't deserve.
And behind him, a room full of nobles and soldiers and ghosts of ancient laws fawned over the impossible child.
The miracle that never should have been.