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Birthing was like tearing off one's arm or foot—and yet, it was so much more.

Babies weren't individuals while they resided in a mother's womb. They were part of the woman, sharing her body and soul. They felt what she felt, fed on what she fed on, until they took their first breath and became separate beings. That was why birth was so excruciating—because what was once a part of her had to be torn away, leaving behind a bloody, painful mess of flesh and blood.

At least, that was what Samora believed happened during labor.

It wasn't the story her traditions demanded her to follow.

Her elders had taught her that women were sinful, born as witches—beings of evil. Men, on the other hand, were pure and strong from birth, their bodies and minds untainted. The blood a girl shed during her Monthly Mourning was a reminder of the sin at the core of her being. It was only when a man’s seed cleansed her womb and she birthed the fruit of his purity that a woman could be freed from her wickedness.

That was why men were forbidden from entering the birthing chamber. To witness a woman being "purified" would stain a man with the same evil that tainted her.

That was the doctrine her elders had instilled in her.

But Samora no longer believed it.

Nor did she believe that she—fighting to save her child—was evil, while her husband, Malok, who had callously abandoned his wife and offspring, was pure. There had been a time when the injustice of it had torn at her heart. She had wept, thinking of the moments of unity she had shared with him, the moments that had led to the child growing within her. But not anymore.

She had come to accept a bitter truth.

Her son would be better off without a heartless monster for a father.

Her insides squeezed painfully, cutting off the breath from her lungs. Her hip bones throbbed as though they were shattering from within. She closed her eyes and focused on the faint, sporadic movements of the baby—tiny feet shifting restlessly, searching for purchase before breaking free into this cruel world. A low moan escaped her throat, despite her attempts to stifle it, quickly rising into a guttural wail.

The room seemed to close in around her. Every sound, no matter how small, grated on her nerves, stoking a furry in her chest—an anger so sharp it was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. For a moment, she wondered if it was the influence of the evil growing inside her, but quickly banished the thought.

It was her baby, even if it were a monster.

"Deep breaths, dear," Daya murmured, gently caressing Samora’s belly, as though the motion could somehow ease the storm raging inside her. "Breathe in through your mouth."

Samora's eyes brimmed with tears again. All this pain and suffering—for what? Nothing?

"They could've killed me." She gripped Daya’s palm with trembling hands, desperation leaking from her voice. "Why didn't they kill me? Why wait for so long and then…" Her words caught in her throat, too jagged, too painful to force out.

The bulky woman suddenly jerked upright, as though struck by a sudden revelation "That's what I thought too!" She snapped. "Why keep her alive? That thing growing inside her is already poisoning the very air we breathe."

"Tessa…!" Daya’s voice dropped dangerously low, her glare sharp enough to cut through stone.

The pregnant woman flinched at Tessa’s words, her face pale with disbelief "You're cruel."

"Cruel?” Tessa scoffed, her lips curling into a mocking smirk. “Whose side are you on, Mika? If your husband heard you talking like this…” She waited for the threat to sink in. Tessa was no longer just angry. She was desperate. Too desperate to protect her own—and terrified of the repercussions.

Mika, the pregnant woman's eyes dated to the door in fear as though expecting it to burst open. "When did I take sides? You're… you're impossible." She crossed her arms, resting them protectively over her bump, and turned her back on Tessa.

Tessa shook her head with a dry chuckle, her eyes narrowing on Samora. “Let me tell you why. We thought this thing would die inside you.”

Daya shoved a cloth aside and turned sharply toward her. “You’re not helping, Tessa. Shut your mouth!” she barked.

But Tessa was not one to be silenced easily. “I’ve lost three myself," she said, her voice flat, as though each word carried a lifetime of grief. She tilted her head with a mocking smirk. "But yours survived. There’s still hope. Let’s see if it comes out dead.”

Mika’s face contorted with disapproval, but she stayed quiet, masking her unease.

Samora, on the other hand, stared at Tessa in disbelief, her hand instinctively covering her swollen belly as though shielding her child from Tessa’s venomous gaze. “How could you say that? You have children, don’t you, Tessa? Think about them before—”

“Don’t you dare speak about my kids, you witch!” Tessa bellowed, leaping to her feet. She snatched a winnowing tray hanging from the wall and charged at Samora. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you myself, do you hear me?”

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Before she could reach her, Daya lunged forward, locking Tessa in a bear hug. “Have you lost your mind?” she spat, struggling against Tessa’s weight as the two teetered precariously, nearly toppling to the floor. “She’s in labor!” Daya hissed, jerking her head toward Mika. “Help me, now!”

Mika who was frozen in wide-eyed shock, finally scrambled to her feet. Together, they dragged Tessa away from the bedding, wrestling her into a corner of the room and pinning her down.

“Let me go!” Tessa screamed, thrashing against their grip. “She's asking for it! That witch!” She hurled the winnowing tray across the room in one last act of fury.

The tray flew fast—too fast. Samora, still stunned and dazed, had no chance to react. It struck her face with a sharp crack, just above her eyelids. One of the rough palm strands scratched her forehead, splitting the skin. Warm blood dripped down, stinging as it seeped into her eye.

A fresh wave of sobs wracked Samora’s fragile body. Why? Why would they want her and her child dead? She had never wronged anyone. Neither had her unborn baby. So why this cruel fate? Her tear-filled eyes darted to the chaotic scene before her—the two women struggling to restrain Tessa’s blazing fury. These people were her kin, the ones she had grown up among. Had they always been like this? So cruel, so heartless?

"Look, Tessa, get a grip on yourself," Daya snapped with authority. "You’re here to watch, nothing more. I’ve got work to do. If you interrupt me like this again—" She cut herself off, her gaze sliding to Mika instead. "Never mind. Mika, go tell the men what's happening here. Let’s see if they’re inclined to grant Tessa's wishes."

Tessa’s wild struggles ceased abruptly. Fear flickered across her face.

"Right!" Daya sneered, her lips curling in triumph. "That’s what I thought." She gestured pointedly at Tessa’s trembling hands. "You know they won’t touch Samora. It’s only the baby they’re after."

Daya turned, as if dismissing the matter entirely, but paused mid-step. She glanced back with narrowed eyes. "Oh, and I trust you haven’t forgotten who you’re talking about." She let the meaning of her words settle in Tessa's. "Samora is the Chief’s niece. Remember that."

Tessa fell silent, though defiance still lingered in the hard set of her jaw. Mika sat huddled against the far wall, as far from Tessa as the cramped room would allow. Daya quietly resumed her work, wringing out the damp cloth in the stone basin. She wiped Samora’s trembling body, the motions steady and detached as if she could block out the grief that radiated from the woman beneath her hands.

Samora’s shivers grew more profound with each muffled sob that escaped her lips. Only the occasional splatter of water and Samora’s whimpers punctuated the haunting silence.

When Daya finished, Samora reached out, her trembling fingers clutching at Daya’s hand like it was her last lifeline. Her tear-filled eyes bore into Daya’s with raw desperation. "Don’t do this, Daya," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "You’ve helped so many lives come into this world. Don’t let them take mine."

Daya hesitated, guilt flickering in her gaze. But she gently pulled her hand away with an apologetic grimace. "It’s not in my hands, dear. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you."

"No!" Samora gasped, catching Daya’s wrist again before it slipped away. Her nails dug into the older woman’s skin as though her grip alone could save her. "You’re a mother too. Don’t you know my pain? Please, Daya. Please don’t do this."

Daya’s resolve softened for a briefest moment before she shook her head with regret. "This isn’t about me, Samora. You heard Theodosia’s words." Her voice wavered slightly as she uttered the oracle’s name. "It’s one life, or a hundred."

"But it’s my baby!" Samora wailed, her hands cradling her swollen belly as if shielding her child from their judgment. Her sobs came harder now, her words frantic and barely coherent. "He won’t hurt a fly, Daya, I swear it. I’ll raise him right. Ain’t I his mother? He’ll listen to me! I’ll make sure of it. Please… please let him live!"

Daya stayed silent, her eyes welling up as she took in Samora’s anguish. What mother would willingly give up her child to be sacrificed? Forget the village. Even if the world itself were crumbling, a mother would always, always choose her child over everything else. Daya understood what Samora was feeling.

Yet understanding someone's suffering didn’t mean you could fix it.

Some things were simply unfixable.

And this? There was no saving Samora’s child.

Samora’s gaze flitted aimlessly to the walls, her eyes unfocused, as though she were losing herself to despair. “They’ll be here any moment now,” she whispered to herself. “They’ll take my baby, and then…” Her words dissolved into sobs, racking her fragile body. She turned to Daya again, her hand reaching out, grasping the midwife’s palm with desperate strength.

“Let us go, Daya.” Her voice was raw and pleading. “I’ll take my baby beyond Lavalthon. I’ll never come back. I swear—he’ll never even know this place exists. Please, help me. Let us leave.”

Daya flinched as though Samora’s touch had burned her. She yanked her hand away and stumbled back, her breath hitching. Her heart raced with fear—not of Samora, but of her request. She glanced nervously towards the door.

Beyond Lavalthon? No one dared speak of that place, much less enter it.

Mika gasped audibly, her hands flying to her mouth in horror.

Lavalthon?” Tessa’s voice cut through the tension. Her massive body staggered upright, her breaths still laboured from their earlier struggle. Fear flashed in her eyes, but it quickly morphed into anger. “Are you mad?” she snapped. “Beyond Lavalthon? That place is cursed. You’ve already brought enough ruin to us, Samora! And now you want to drag us into even greater disaster? How selfish can you be?"

Samora didn’t flinch. She turned her gaze to Mika instead, her voice quieter now, but still brimming with urgency. The contraction had ebbed, giving her a moment’s reprieve. “Mika…” she began. “You don’t want to see an innocent child die, do you?”

Mika froze, her eyes darting to the floor as her hands instinctively shielded her own swollen belly.

"You don’t want to hear his cries haunt your dreams. You don’t want to remember his tiny, lifeless body…" Samora's voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, think of me. How will I live without my baby? How could you live, knowing you didn’t stop it when you could have?"

Mika’s lips parted, but no words came.

Tessa scoffed, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to her,” she spat, getting agitated by the minute. “She’s trying to drag you into her madness. Think of your baby, Mika. Think of your family! Helping her would make you her accomplice, a traitor—and you know what the punishment for that is.”

Samora leaned forward, pressing her hands together in a gesture of surrender and prayer. Her forehead touched her clasped hands as her sobs wracked her body. "Please… please help us leave. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let them take him. Please, Mika. Please."

Mika’s gaze darted to Daya, then to Tessa, before returning to Samora.

In that moment, no one could truly understand the disaster Samora’s choice might bring to their tribe. But they could feel it, a growing unease in their chests, a sense that something worse was just waiting to happen. The danger wasn’t a matter of if, but when—when Samora stepped into the forbidden lands, destruction would follow.