0.06

What can be more tragic than giving birth to a child, knowing it was doomed to die?

That was why Samora had a plan—a desperate, fragile plan to escape these monsters before they could lay a hand on her baby.

Tuskenvalle was a village cloistered by the Mavrielle Mountains, their crescent-shaped peaks stretching from the east to the south, beyond the vast expanse of Lavalthon Lake. The village’s farmlands and cremation grounds lay to the west, an open stretch offering no cover for someone trying to flee. The northern boundary was dense with miles of wild, overgrown thickets, only passable if one dared navigate the maze of The Great Banyan.

Samora knew the conventional northern trail would offer little chance of survival, what with the men guarding it day and night. The farmlands and cremation grounds to the west would leave her exposed. The men would find her eventually. So, in the final months of her pregnancy, she came up with a plan. She would escape south while the men watched the north, and cross the Mavrielle Mountains. Even if she couldn’t make it beyond them, she would reach the other side of the forbidden territory, where these monsters would never dare follow. There, she could live with her child—happily, far from their reach.

It was a distant hope, a risk she had no choice but to take. But it was better than staying here, waiting to die.

But the plan wasn’t foolproof. A huge obstacle loomed before her—the delivery itself. How do you give birth to a child? Is the process instinctive? Is there a technique to learn beforehand? Is there a skill involved? How would she care for the baby once it was born?

In the months of her pregnancy, spent living on the streets, Samora visited the homes where women gave birth. She stood near doors or windows, peeking through cracks in the walls to observe how birth took place. She did this each time, until someone caught her spying and chased her off, accusing her of casting an evil eye on newborns. The first time she saw a live birth, she was shaken for days, knowing that the same agony awaited her. But then she realized: if she wanted to ensure her baby survived all she had endured, she couldn’t allow the fear of labor to overwhelm her.

And so, she kept watching, learning and memorizing every detail of the delivery process, even if it meant being sneaky around the birthing houses.

Still, she wasn’t sure she could handle it alone. As her due date approached, the thought of making a mistake, of something going horribly wrong, gnawed at her. What if all this—her suffering, her sacrifice—was for nothing? What if she failed her baby in the worst possible way? What if it didn't survive? The fear of losing everything she’d fought for threatened to consume her, paralyzing her. No. She couldn’t let that happen. And so, there was no other choice but to rely on Tuscanvalle’s midwife, Daya, for the birth—and somehow, somehow, escape with the baby afterward.

It seemed like the perfect plan, but also a gamble. What if she couldn’t escape at the last moment, just before they got hold of her baby? What if she was too weak to carry out her plan on her own?

It was something she should have considered more carefully. It had never fully dawned on Samora until it was too late—until she was already halfway through the labor. The magnitude of the risk had been buried beneath the haze of fear and instinct. She had never thought it through clearly, never realized just how fragile her plan truly was. And now… now it was too late to turn back.

She knew it would be painful. But this excruciating?

As much as she thought she was ready to handle the moment, nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. By the time Daya removed the cloth sash tied around her breast, allowing her to breathe freely through the contractions and started cleaning the blood between her thighs with warm water, Samora already knew she needed someone’s help to escape this hellish place.

But with everything happening inside and around her, it hit her: she had made the gravest mistake of all. She shouldn’t have said a word about fleeing beyond Lavalthon Lake.

Everyone in the room was bound by terror.

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

Desperation clawed at Samora’s chest. She had to save her child, no matter the cost. The fear of failure loomed over her, sharp and suffocating. Could she do it? Could she really pull this off after all she had endured? She couldn’t afford to think of what might happen if she failed, not now. But the thought of losing the only thing that mattered… that terror was worse than death. She had already wasted precious time, paralyzed by fear and hesitation when she should have fled long ago. This was her final chance. If she didn't act now, she never would.

Daya quickly composed herself, stepping across the threshold and gently caressing Samora's head with unexpected tenderness. "Look at me, Samora. I can only imagine the pain you're going through. You're a mother. A good one. That's why you're so fierce and desperate to protect him." She placed her hand on Samora’s swollen belly. The baby shifted inside, its tiny feet moving beneath her touch as if it could recognize her presence. Daya recoiled, her hand jerking back as though burned. "But trust me—you don’t want this child."

Samora jerked away, her body trembling, eyes wide with disbelief, as though she couldn’t quite grasp the reality of what Daya was saying. She felt utterly alone in that moment, trapped between fear and the overwhelming consequences of the decision she had to make. Everyone she had once trusted had turned against her. No one else could help her. It was only her, with the child growing inside her, and the unbearable thought of losing it all.

"He’s not a baby," Daya continued, her voice cold and steady. "He’s evil. Look at what he’s making you do, what he’s pushing you toward, just to survive. This desperate need to protect him at any cost, at everyone’s expense? That’s not love, Samora. It’s the evil inside you manipulating your instincts. You’ll understand once it’s out of you. You're nothing more than a host to it. If it can turn you into this… imagine what it’ll do to everyone else. It's good you told us, before you did something foolish on your own."

Samora’s jaw went slack, her heart sinking. "Host? I’m a mother."

"No. You're not." Daya chided, her voice sharp, like a mother warning her daughter to stay away from something dangerous. She pulled back, distancing herself from Samora. "Not yet. That’s not a baby, Samora." Her teeth clenched as she pointed at Samora’s swollen belly. "It’s a monster."

She softened, wiping Samora’s tears away, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. "Look, you’ll have more children. Okay?" She spoke with a strange kind of calm, as if trying to soothe a hurt that went deeper than Samora’s body. "As many as you want. Don’t think it’s impossible just because your husband left you. He’ll come around. We’ll make him see reason. Do you think we’d abandon you like that? No. You’re like a daughter to me. You were born here. You grew up before our eyes. We won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. Once this is over, you’ll give this… this thing… to the men, like a good girl, and you can start your life again. Do you hear me?"

She hesitated, biting her lip before continuing, her eyes hardening. "Let them decide the fate of this… this… Nevermind. Promise me you’ll never think of doing something as foolish as this again. Will you? Not even for a second. Everything you said here stays between us. Understand?" She glanced at Tessa and Mika, making sure they got the message.

Tessa had already slouched against the wall, looking uninterested, her eyelids heavy with sleep. The long conversation and monotonous advice had lulled her into a sleepy indifference; she couldn’t care less about Samora or the baby.

Mika, on the other hand, was wide-eyed, her gaze darting between Samora and Daya, as if struggling to keep up with the tension. She nodded earnestly, making it clear she understood the intensity of Daya’s words.

Daya turned back to Samora, grabbing her hand and pressing it with urgency. "You won’t tell anyone what you just said. Not today. Not ever. Promise?" Her pleading gaze was almost unbearable

The room seemed to hold its breath. Tessa had already drifted back to sleep, the energy from earlier completely drained from her. A soft snore broke the silence. Mika and Daya waited, their eyes on Samora, waiting for her response. Samora remained silent, her gaze fixed on Daya, as if searching for something—anything—through her eyes.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Samora nodded. It was slow, hesitant, but it was a nod nonetheless. The tears that had once threatened to fall now dried on her cheeks, absorbed by the stiffling heat of the room.

For a moment, she thought there was no hope left—for her or her baby. But only for a moment.