Song vibe: Interlude: Dawn - Agust D

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  SAPHIRA

  Haven Highway, The Lowlands

  The sun hung low behind a veil of clouds, casting a strange silvery light over the road ahead. Saphira sat nestled beside Nocturne, keeping her eyes set hopefully on the road ahead, searching for the promised lamplight of the Halfway Inn. They had not said much since Nocturne’s truth spilled between them.

  I shouldn’t have pried into his past, Saphira admitted, resisting the urge to reach for her husband’s hand. He’s been through so much pain. Seen so much horror. How could I ever think I could help heal such wounds?

  The dull ache in Saphira’s lower back—which had started as a tinge of pain at Tullia's house—now throbbed. She shifted in her seat, but no position offered relief. Her abdomen felt tight—not painful, but tense.

  This isn't normal, Saphira thought, almost snorting. There's no 'normal' in your life anymore. Not since Nocturne.

  “You're wriggling. It’s distracting,” Nocturne snapped, perhaps harsher than he intended. He exhaled heavily, his breath fogging in the chill of the late afternoon. “Never know what’s out there, is all. So, how're you holding up?”

  “Barely,” Saphira admitted, touching the dragon’s claw wound on her shoulder. “It’s starting to feel hot again. I think it’s making my whole body—”

  A sudden twist of pain coiled through her belly. She sucked in a breath, hand gripping the seat rail.

  Nocturne’s eyes snapped to her, sharp with concern.

  Saphira smiled, unconvincingly. “Just a cramp.”

  But the ache did not fade. It lingered—low, deep, and growing hotter with each passing moment. She cried out, doubling over as her breath caught and her strength vanished. Nocturne’s arms were around her in an instant, steadying her before she could slip from the cart.

  “What’s wrong?” Nocturne asked, his voice rough. His hand reached for the wound on her shoulder. "Is it infected?"

  "No..." Saphira doubled over, grasping her belly. "The baby...ow—!”

  Nocturne looked up and down the empty road. He cursed under his breath. “The Inn is close. There could be someone who—”

  "I need to... lay down." She grabbed Nocturne’s arm, her fingernails digging into his skin. "I'll check...myself."

  Nodding resolutely, he scooped her up and swung his legs over the side of the seat rail. As he lowered her into the hay, his hands withdrew from her body—and then stilled. His face turned a ghastly, grey-white shade.

  A cold dread pressed down on Saphira’s chest. She looked down and saw blood. It was bright red and fresh, soaking through her skirt, darkening the wool in slow, blooming patches.

  “No…no…” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as another wave of pain surged, this one stronger, deeper. Her hands clutched her abdomen. The muscles were hard and most certainly contracting.

  “Hold on,” Nocturne hissed. “I’ll get help. Just... hold on.”

  But the pain came like fire—relentless, rising, ripping through her bones.

  “I need you,” she whimpered, her voice cracking, writhing as her body clenched again. She gasped in pain, "Medicine..."

  Nocturne tore open his travel pouch, quickly finding his medicine bag. He uncorked a small vial and, placing his hand behind her head to tilt it upwards, tipped the contents into her mouth.

  “It’ll dull the pain,” he said, voice taut.

  The liquid scorched her throat—bitter and acrid. As she coughed the potion up, another contraction built up, deeper and more brutal than before. As the pain faded, she could feel the wet blood between her legs. This isn't real. This isn't happening. Just breathe, you'll wake up. Pausing to catch her breath, she looked up at the open sky, the sun shining on her—defenceless, exposed to the sky, the wind, the world.

  “Get me down from here,” she whimpered, grasping the corner of his sleeve.

  Nocturne swept her into his arms and carried her down from the cart, laying her gently on the soft grass between the trees.

  The wind had gone still, and the sounds of the forest had gone deathly quiet. Saphira gasped, feeling the cold ground beneath her back. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. Lady Hawthorne bled in her pregnancy. It stopped. Her baby lived. You'll get through this.

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  Then another pain struck. Her spine arched off the earth as her fingers clawed into the soil, seeking something solid while her muscles betrayed her. The contraction ripped through her, beyond her will, beyond her strength.

  Nocturne crouched behind her, his legs bracketing hers, arms bracing her as she trembled. He said nothing—but she could feel his body shake with hers.

  Hold it in, hold the baby in, she begged. Please, Almighty, not yet. He’s not ready—

  The wave passed. She sagged into his arms, trembling.

  “I’m sorry…” she sobbed.

  “Stay with me, Saphira,” Nocturne said, low and hoarse. “I won’t leave you.”

  Another contraction rose—fast, sharp. She bit her lip until it bled. Her hands slipped against his, her nails carving into his palm.

  “Make it stop…”

  “Breathe with me,” he said. “In… and out.”

  She tried. One breath, then another. But the pain did not stop. Time blurred. Each cry bled into the next as the waves tore her apart. Nocturne held her through it all—whispering steady reassurances, holding her upright when her limbs failed, wiping the sweat from her brow with hands that trembled.

  “I can’t…” she gasped. “It hurts…”

  “You can,” he said. “You are.”

  Another contraction came—and something shifted. Her body bore down. There was no holding back.

  “I’m going to die—”

  “You won’t,” Nocturne breathed. “I won’t let you.”

  One final wave tore through her—deep, crushing, absolute. And then… release.

  She lay back, gasping, her entire body trembling. Warm, wet blood soaked the grass between her thighs. Her vision blurred as dark specks floated across her sightline.

  Please let me faint, she thought, letting her head flop back into the grass. Let me go. Let it end. But the mercy of unconsciousness did not come.

  When she opened her eyes again, Nocturne was kneeling between her legs. He was holding something, his hands shaking—his entire body still. His face had gone slack, all colour drained. His jaw worked once, twice, but no words came out.

  “Nocturne…” she whispered. Her heart thundered in her ears as she struggled to rise. Her arms shook with the effort, elbows slipping in the wet grass. “Let me see,” she breathed. “Please…”

  Nocturne turned his face away.

  “I want to hold him,” Saphira said, voice cracking. “Please… I need to—”

  He shook his head once, a slow, aching gesture.

  “Give me my child.”

  He bowed forward and gently guided her hands upward. His palms opened with excruciating care, and the tiny, weightless bundle slipped into hers.

  Saphira’s breath caught. He’s so small.

  Fitting perfectly in her hands, his fragile body curled as though still asleep. Tiny limbs tucked close, his fingers and toes perfectly formed. His skin was a dusky pale colour and streaked with blood.

  She cradled him in her palms, feeling the warmth fade from his skin. Her thumb brushed down the length of his spine—and there, along his back and over his scalp, delicate obsidian scales shimmered red in the dying light. His ears were faintly pointed. His fingers ended in half-formed claws.

  “He’s perfect,” she whispered, as a sob tore from her chest.

  Nocturne’s lips pressed tightly together. His arms came around her from behind, holding her steady as she rocked forward over the body in her hands.

  “I was afraid he would be like this,” he murmured. “Not human. Not fully—”

  “He’s ours.” She swallowed a sob. “He needs a name…”

  “Asher.” Nocturne’s voice shook. “It means joy… a blessing.” His breath hitched. "It's my fault, if only I didn't—”

  "Stop." Saphira closed her eyes and repeated, “Yes, Asher.” She kissed the top of his tiny head. “He is loved.” She gazed at her child with more sorrow and love than she ever thought possible. “I… can’t stand to think of him buried all alone in the cold ground, the worms—” the words caught in her throat.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Saphira nodded.

  “Let me hold him.”

  With his palms steady beneath hers, she let her fingers unfold. Asher slipped gently from her hands into his. Nocturne took the weight of him without a word.

  “Now give me your necklace.”

  She unhooked the crystalith pendant without hesitation and passed it to him. It feels good to be free of the weight.

  Cradling Asher in one hand, Nocturne wrapped the necklace around where the child lay. “Place your hands under mine,” he said quietly. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Saphira cupped Nocturne’s hands, feeling his skin grow warmer.

  “Sleep well, my son,” Nocturne whispered.

  From between their palms, yellow flames bloomed. They rose around Asher like petals, glowing with soft, ethereal light. The flames shifted—yellow to orange, orange to red, red to blue, and finally, violet.

  Saphira blinked. The tiny body and the necklace were gone.

  In their place rested a single crystalith egg, cloudy and imperfect—nothing like the clear, glittering gem she had worn.

  “It’s how the Trugs bury their loved ones,” Nocturne murmured. He exhaled, warming the stone in his palms. Slowly, the cloudy surface became transparent.

  Inside, Asher lay still—almost sleeping—suspended in light. Saphira felt hot tears fall from her eyes. He looks so peaceful resting in there, she thought, But I wasn't ready to say goodbye. She touched her belly, feeling the afterpains. I'll never be ready to let go.

  “It may take us another two days to reach Firestone,” Nocturne said. “This way, he won’t…” His voice faltered. “…he’ll stay as he is. Peaceful. We’ll bury him properly at Firestone.”

  Saphira nodded numbly, clutching the warm stone to her breast.

  “There’s a good healer at Firestone.”

  Saphira’s eyes searched his. “You’re… not going to send me back home?”

  He shook his head. Then he bent, gathered her into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. He held her tightly, rocking them both, his face pressed into her hair as she sobbed.

  Later, Nocturne carried her back to the cart. He threw out the bloodied hay and spread his woollen cloak over the fresh boards. From his medicine pouch, he drew another vial.

  “This will help you sleep.”

  He placed a hand behind her head and tipped the bitter liquid into her mouth. Then, he lifted her waterskin and helped her drink. She swallowed, surprised by how dry her throat had become, how much her head pounded, her teeth ached. She drunk again, draining the waterskin.

  Nocturne returned to the driver’s seat and urged the old chestnut forward.

  She lay curled beneath the cloak, shivering. Her knuckles were white, too weak to pull it tighter.

  Did I do this? Her heart weighed heavily in her chest. Was it the wound? The nightspawn in Horrocks? The stress? Almighty, why me?

  A small warmth nudged against her side. Saphira wanted to open her eyes; she wanted to reach out to see what comforted her. But there was no strength—no will—left in her fragile body.

  Dusty’s soft fur met her hand. The hell-leopard kitten let out a faint mew and licked the sweat from her brow. She buried her face in Dusty’s fur and wept, her whole body aching with the weight of grief. He's gone. She wept. I wish it were me instead.

  This chapter was really hard to write.

  There'll be another chapter scheduled to publish in one hour's time, just because I didn't want to leave the story on such a heavy note for the next few days.