At the walkway that led from Nihara's room to Nyxander's, Nihara struggled against her frailty, her weakened body leaning heavily on the surrounding walls. Every step was a battle of wills as her sheer will propelled her forward, swatting away the hands of the two nannies, who were desperately trying to hold her back.
"Mother of the Abyssborn, please rest. We can fetch you anything you need," one of the wet nurses implored in a tone dripping with increasing desperation.
But Nihara heard none; the words sounded like whispers skittering across one ear out through the other. Every step meant risk of a collapse, but her body could lie no more than it did already. As that happened, the nannies moved to grab her, but she pushed them off with trembling hands.
"Please, take it easy. Tell us what you need, and we'll get it for you," another nanny urged, her voice cracking under the weight of worry.
She carried Nyxander out of the cot, clutching him to her chest as though he were the last star in a sky consumed by darkness. "My son, my son," Nihara muttered under her labored breath, her words barely audible, like fragile whispers carried on a storm.
The struggle continued until the sharp, unmistakable echo of footsteps approached from behind. The nannies turned in unison, their faces a mixture of relief and unease as Zephyrion and the nanny who had fetched him appeared.
"Hey, Nihara, I said I'd bring him to you!" The voice of Zephyrion was soft and firm as he reached for her shoulders, clamping his hands on the woman with care, attempting to guide her back into her room.
But Nihara refused, her eyes ablaze with defiance. "You left the room with the promise that you'd bring my son to me, yet here you are with nothing in your hands!" she accused, her voice hoarse from her emotions. And before Zephyrion could say anything, she clutched his arm, shaking, but implacable. "What happened to my baby? You laid to me." Sympathy and fear mingled in that tone, breaking the heart of anyone who listened to her.
Then, as if propelled by mere desperation, she flung herself forward, her body rolling when her legs gave out beneath her. Yet even as her strength faltered, her determination a force stronger than her frailty clawed at walls and pulled her forward. Zephyrion, try as he might, could do naught but watch, and tears swam, unbidden, into his eyes.
"Wh. what." His voice hitched as his hand brushed against his cheek, surprised to feel tears-an alien occurrence with the mighty Primordials.
Through heavy wooden doors, Nihara's relentless determination pushed her forward down the castle hall and into her son's room. Zephyrion hurried ahead, trying again to slow her down. "Wait, let me help with the door!" he urged.
But Nihara, with the last reserves of strength, shoved him aside and banged the door open. For a moment, she stood there, her breath catching at the stillness inside. The room was silent, the air thick with unsaid tension.
Zephyrion darted in behind her, his voice cracking, "Please, let me explain-" But words failed him when his gaze fell upon Nihara, who was by the dark gray baby cot, trembling hands patting something within.
She carried Nyxander out of the baby cot. "My baby. my baby," she whispered, faint enough to barely hear. Tears came streaming down her face without reserve now, as if her agony could not be contained.
Zephyrion stepped closer to Obsidar, who stood beside the cot, his expression somber, gesturing silently to explain what had transpired.
The old man turned to Nihara, bowing his head respectfully. "Please, excuse me. I need to take my leave." His voice was soft, laced with understanding.
Nihara nodded, her eyes a river of tears, as Obsidar left the room. Zephyrion followed him out, his voice still shaking in protest. "Old man, what just happened? I left you only a few minutes ago. How...?"
"Relax, man," Obsidar interjected, his tone steady, a stark contrast to Zephyrion's frantic questions. "Right after you left, one of the nannies brought Nyxander in, already fast asleep. She reported that Captain Umbrazel of the Void Vanguard delivered him safely to the castle."
Zephyrion exhaled sharply, the breath escaping him like a dam breaking, releasing the tension that had clenched his chest. His shoulders relaxed, calm finally washing over him, the storm within subsiding into quiet waters.
"Thanks for today. Allow me to walk you to the castle exit," said Zephyrion, gratitude and hospitality dripping in his voice.
Obsidar lifted his hand, an indication of decline. "You don't have to, Your wife needs you now, particularly with how intense things are becoming," he replied without as much as a tremble in his voice, his figure disappeared into the darkness of the corridor as he turned away, his very faint scent evaporating in the process to leave nothing but memory.
Zephyrion stood there, observing the empty hall; a soft voice behind him cut short his thoughts. "Where is Old Man Obsidar?" The weak and cold voice of Nihara called his attention towards her as she leaned on one of the nannies heavily to support her pale self.
He is gone," Zephyrion replied, rushing to her side, his voice gentled by worry. "How are you feeling? I told you to stay in your room and rest, and yet here you are, worse off than when you began.
He moved to take her from the nanny's support, his arms steady as he guided her back toward her room. "I'm sorry if I worried you," Nihara murmured, her voice weak but clear enough to reach his ears. Her breaths were heavy, every word costing her strength she could barely spare.
It's no problem," Zephyrion said, his voice firm but soft, laced with a quiet admonition. "You need to take your health seriously. That's the only way you can keep everyone from worrying-including Nyxander.
They were in front of her room, Zephyrion swinging the door open and seeing her carefully to the bed. Nihara let herself sink into it with a soft sigh, like finally some of the weight had been taken off her shoulders.
"Rest, and don't think too much," he said, tucking the leather blankets around her as he spoke. "Good night.
She replied with a soft hum from her throat, a wordless sound of acknowledgment as her eyes drifted shut. Zephyrion lingered for a moment, watching her with a tenderness he rarely showed, before turning and leaving the room, letting the silence embrace her rest.