18. Almost Unmade #4
Kalemon crouched at the end of the bed, her knees pressing into blood-soaked rushes, her brow slick with sweat as she worked. One hand ground herbs into a poultice, the other snapped commands toward Luko, who scrambled to keep pace with her.
That’s when everything shifted.
"She's losing strength," Kalemon muttered, her voice clipped, grim. "Not just from the labor. The child is drawing from her."
Luko's face tightened, his usually bright eyes shadowed with dread. "It's resisting?"
"I don't think so..." Kalemon's gaze flicked to Allora's heaving belly, awe and fear warring in her expression.
"...more like defending." It thinks it's still being born into danger.
" She pressed her hands against Allora's stomach, feeling the unnatural resistance.
"I think... gods, I think it's forcing itself to stay inside.
Keeping itself anchored in the womb because it senses a threat.
That's why her body hasn't expelled it yet. The baby won't let go."
Behind Allora, Malec went still as stone. Every muscle coiled, his breath a low growl against her damp hair.
Kalemon's voice dropped lower. "It's ancient. Aware. Somehow it's fighting the birth—digging in with every limb. That's why she's in so much pain."
Allora let out a strangled cry, her body jerking against the contraction that tore through her. Her voice cracked, barbed and furious. "I'm right here, you know! Stop talking about me like I'm not in the fucking room!"
Kalemon didn't flinch. She leaned forward, eyes steady, and said with startling gentleness, "You need to talk to the baby."
Allora blinked through the sting of sweat, her lips trembling. "What?!"
"You need to calm it somehow," Kalemon pressed. "Reassure it by talking to it…I don’t know, like how you dreamed with it and talked to it before. I’m not magical, I don't know how it works but you need to figure it out and tell it you're safe."
Allora's face twisted in disbelief. Her hand strained around Malec's wrist, her voice rising with pain and rage. "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 back, voice cracking like a whip. "If you want to live through this—yes!"
Allora's head fell back against Malec's shoulder, another scream tearing from her throat as her body convulsed.
Her nails dug into his forearm hard enough to draw blood, but he didn't flinch.
He only held her tighter, his jaw pressed against her temple, breathing through the agony that flooded through the tether like molten iron.
"Do it," Malec growled against her ear, his voice low and lethal. "Talk to it before it kills you."
Allora sobbed, her chest heaving. She couldn't think. Could barely breathe. Every nerve in her body was on fire, every muscle screaming.
But she tried.
"Please," she gasped, her hand pressing against her belly. "Please, baby, I'm here. You're safe. Just... just let go. Let go, I promise you're safe."
Another contraction slammed through her. She arched against Malec, a guttural sound ripping from somewhere deep and primal.
The baby shifted slightly, but didn't release.
Kalemon's hands worked frantically, checking dilation, trying to guide the child's position. "It's still fighting."
"Then cut it out," Malec snarled, his arm tightening around Allora's ribs like he could hold her together through sheer will.
"If I cut her, she could bleed out," Kalemon snapped back. "The child's magic is wrapped around her organs. One wrong move and I kill them both."
Luko knelt beside the bed, his face pale but steady. "Allora, you need to use the bond. Not words. Feeling. Show it you're not afraid."
"I am afraid!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "I'm terrified!"
Malec's hand moved to her belly, pressing firm against the taut skin.
He could feel it. The pulse of power beneath his palm, strong and defiant.
Stealing her strength with every heartbeat.
He said nothing at first, only pressed his forehead to the curve of her damp shoulder, his breath searing against her slick skin.
His heartbeat thundered against her spine, wild and unrelenting, as though it might split his chest open.
He hadn't used his true gift in years, not since he was a boy, since it had terrified even his tutors and left whispers in the halls of his house. But this was different—this was for her.
With a slow, ragged inhale, he opened himself.
He reached with an instinct deeper than thought and older than words. Ancient, threaded into his bloodline, tied to the voices of old kings and the god-lords who spoke in dreams. His will unfurled like a blade in darkness, and he touched the soul of the child.
The presence felt familiar. He knew this entity from dreams, had felt it taunting him in the dreamscape. This whole time it was the one defending and protecting her from him.
The air itself shifted.
The torches guttered, shadows lurching on the stone walls. The crying stopped. The pressure of labor hung suspended, as though the entire room were holding its breath.
The child felt him.
A pulse surged back at once, raw and instinctive, wild with fear. Recognition followed, sharper than any scream, and then came resistance, fierce and unyielding.
The child knew Malec’s presence, his fury, his possession. It recognized the danger he posed.
The answer slammed into Malec's chest with the force of a hammer: Good, you remember me.
A guttural growl rumbled low in Malec's throat.
His grip on Allora tightened as he pressed harder into the connection, forcing his essence deeper, dark and violent.
The room seemed to darken around him, shadows thickening, the air growing dense and suffocating.
His reply was pure fire and iron, forming into thought that cut through the child's defenses like a blade through flesh.
You are draining her, killing her. You are the threat. If you want her alive, you will come out now, or I will take her from you myself.
The child's aura flared in defiance, burning like a storm contained in flesh. Its presence lashed at him, primal and relentless, refusing to yield. Malec almost smiled at the response, he felt vilified for the torment this being had bestowed on him and now it was cornered and it knew it.
But then it faltered.
Through the haze of resistance, it encountered an obstacle it hadn't anticipated. Him holding her, wrapping his body around hers, shielding her from the cold. The heat of his breath against her skin, the steady thunder of his heartbeat at her back.
Confusion rippled across the connection, followed by hesitation.
Malec's lips brushed her ear as he hissed, his voice low and venomous, every word for her and for the life inside her. "I'll keep her alive. Even if it means taking you out myself."
And with that, the child yielded.
Not out of trust, but out of strategy. Its resistance softened, folding inward. Its aura dimmed, like a flame banking itself against the wind, slipping into a protective hibernation, gathering the last of its strength, diverting everything toward preserving its mother.
Allora gasped, her whole body shuddering with the sudden release. The violent spasms eased, her breathing steadying into ragged but bearable pulls of air. Her heart slowed its frantic hammering. Her eyes, which had been rolling back in agony, blinked open and focused again, dark and glassy.
Kalemon froze mid-motion, her jaw slack as she stared at the change. "Gods below," she whispered. "It worked." Her gaze snapped to Malec, narrowing in suspicion. "What did you do?"
Malec gave no reply. He only bent lower, pulling Allora tighter against him, her limp weight sinking into the prison of his arms. His face buried in her damp curls, lips pressed to her temple like a vow he did not speak aloud.
Inside his skull, his thoughts were a storm.
The child had obeyed, but not out of reverence or fear.
Out of calculation. It had looked at him, soul to soul, and recognized him for exactly what he was. A threat.
And he would never forgive it for that.
"It's crowning!" Kalemon shouted, her voice cracking with urgency, ragged as though her throat were splitting on the words.
The tension snapped through the chamber like lightning splitting the night sky. Every breath caught, the weight of inevitability pressing against ribs and bone.
Luko leaned forward, his face flushed, eyes wide with awe and terror tangled into one. "Oh gods, it's happening."
"Steady!" Kalemon barked, snapping the trance. "Keep the linens dry, she's losing blood." Her eyes darted down, her hands already in motion. "Allora, push. Now. Push!"
Allora screamed, her body arching against Malec's iron hold.
Her nails dug into his thigh through leather, her other fist twisted into his tunic like she would drag herself back from death with sheer force.
Her eyes fluttered, rolling from pain, black and wet with tears.
Her voice broke into sobs. "I can't, I can't!"
"You can!" Kalemon roared, her voice fierce, relentless. "Do it now!"
And Allora did.
Her back bowed, her chest heaved, and she bared her teeth with a primal scream that tore through the stone walls like a creature unmaking itself. Her body convulsed, every muscle straining, as though her very soul were tearing free.
Then, with a wet rush and a broken cry, the baby slipped into Kalemon's waiting hands.
But no sound came.
No triumphant wail. No thin cry to split the tension.
A suffocating weight descended over the chamber.
The child was limp. Silent.
Kalemon's face darkened. She rubbed vigorously along the infant's chest, voice breaking into low mutters. "No, come on. Breathe. Breathe dammit!"