Chapter 221: Left gone Right
Beside her, a girl with a gem embedded in her arm knelt—hands glowing.
The stone in her skin shimmered emerald, its light ebbing in time with Kaelithar’s breathing. Lines of spirit energy flowed from the gem into the woman’s abdomen, carefully measured pulses designed to dull the pain without disturbing the spiritual pathways forming in the child.
"Madam Kaelithar," the girl said softly, her voice even despite the chaos in the room, "you’re doing fine. Please breathe... deep, now—yes, like that." the green gem on her arm humming softly, its spirit energy flowing into the woman, easing the pain with each pulse.
The woman, Lady Seraphine Kaelithar, matriarch of House Kaelithar—one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Kenosha Shibuya—gritted her teeth, her auburn hair slicked to her brow, strands clinging to her temples as sweat poured freely down her face.
The scarf she wore had slipped down past one ear, revealing the faint scar that cut across her right temple—a jagged remnant from a border skirmish years ago, one she’d walked away from while others hadn’t.
Her green eyes, dulled with fatigue but still burning with resolve, locked on the wooden beams above, searching for something solid as another contraction crashed through her.
"I’m trying, Lira!" she snapped, breath hitching, fingers clenching hard enough to leave bruises. Her nails dug into the maiden’s forearm, drawing tiny beads of blood that shimmered against the light of the pulsing green gem embedded in Lira’s skin. That gem glowed in rhythmic pulses, each one pushing out waves of calming energy, though they faltered slightly now—strained, like the woman wielding them.
The room vibrated faintly with the tension between pain and power. Wooden walls, centuries old and inscribed with House Kaelithar’s protective runes, seemed to groan under the pressure. Those carvings—gently glowing—interacted with the spirit energy thick in the air, forming faint veils of light that crackled faintly at the edges, just enough to keep stray interference at bay. The warded oil lamps flickered, casting shifting shadows across the birthing bed.
Lira leaned in close, wiping Seraphine’s brow with a damp cloth, her voice even but not cold. "You’re nearly there, my Lady. I can feel the movement. One more surge." Her words didn’t float—they pressed. Firm. Controlled. Her own face was calm, but her gem pulsed faster now, the strain clearly transferring through her arm.
And then, the door creaked open.
A single step echoed—then another. The scent of blood and soil followed the figure in, mingling with the birth-scented air like a stormfront cutting across a field. He was tall—thick-limbed, broad-chested—with tousled blonde hair streaked dark with sweat and blood, a single braid tucked behind his left ear in the fashion of the old frontier. His jaw was tight, beard scruffed from days without trimming. Over his shoulder, a monster’s face hung limp—something between a wild boar and a rockhound, its tusks broken clean at the root, the body clearly crushed by brutal force.