The Black Hand estate was full of life, with servants bustling between corridors, bringing towels and hot water, guards marching around the perimeter, constantly on edge as they checked the shadows with spears, finding only suspicious air, and cooks stressing whether to use lake salt or mountain salt.

“Lina, did you change the banners?” Gant, the head servant of the estate, asked.

Lina thought back to the room where the lady was currently hard at work. Typically, the entire Black Hand estate was covered with banners of black, with a white, open hand printed against the cloth. “No.”

“The storage should have the golden banners,” Gant informed.

Lina tossed the basket to Gant, who caught it with ease, before she pulled up her skirt slightly so she could dart swiftly towards the storage. There, neatly pressed, were the golden banners which had not been used by the family in a few years. She grabbed the banners, tossing them over her shoulder, before she rushed back to the room.

“Push!” the midwife urged.

“Push,” Amon repeated, trying to do his best to help.

Martha looked up at her husband with a curious look, squeezing his hand harder, before she returned back to trying to give birth. Her forehead was painted red, the sweat causing it to trickle down the sides of her forehead, a sign of good fortune for the mother.

“Push!” the midwife urged once more.

“I am pushing!”

The guards outside the room straightened as Lina charged towards them, before they noted the banners on her shoulder. They peeked into the room to notice the banners were still black, exchanging a quick look between one another, before the senior of the pair, the eldest twin, dashed into the room and quickly removed the banners.

Lina skid to a halt next to the bare walls, tossing the banners up, while Gin, the eldest twin guard, leapt up and slotted the wood into position, before doing the same to the other banner nearby. As he landed, he turned around to see whether they had made it in time.

Martha was panting, her hand now loose within her husband’s grasp. She blinked away the exhaustion as the midwife held up the baby, who was upside down, staring into her eyes. Her newborn son’s eyes stared into her own almost unblinking, and she swore his expression held a semblance of annoyance.

‘You dar-,’ came the thought inside the boy’s mind, before a hand slapped his bottom. He gasped, coughing out from the shock, before his lips pulled taut once more. ‘Who dares to slap my bottom? I will have your head on a spike.’

The midwife’s eyes sparkled for a moment as she cut the umbilical cord with one hand, and cleaned the baby with the others, somehow the baby’s form remaining in mid air in the instant she worked on him, before she handed him to his mother.

‘I cannot believe you have done this to me,’ the boy thought, barely able to make out shapes in front of him.

“Young miss, you can’t come in right now,” Lina said, trying to stop the storm that was the first daughter of the right hand, who waddled confidently towards the room.

Ami stopped, her head slowly raising up to look at the maid. She didn’t notice her father slip away past her, her eyes judging the maid for stopping her on the way to her mother. “Why?”

“The miss needs a moment to rest,” Lina replied.

“Why?”

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“She has just given birth.”

“Why?”

Lina began to sweat, knowing where this was going. Ami had trapped the young maid, who did not know how to respond a couple of questions further. ‘Young miss, please don’t bully me like this.’

“Ami, come here,” Martha called, holding her son close to her bosom.

Ami marched up to her mother and climbed up the bed, crawling over to look at her brother, whose eyes stared up at her suspiciously. “Little brother?”

“That’s right,” Martha said. “It’s your little brother.”

Ami stared down at the baby boy. “Why?”

Martha smiled at her daughter, reaching up to brush her hair, but said no more. Ami would not stop asking why until the adults exhausted themselves. “You must take care of him, Ami.”

Ami continued to stare down at the boy, noting that he was giving her the side eye, though he couldn’t see her properly. “Okay.” The girl smiled.

Amon returned with a young woman by his side. She wore long robes of white and green, with a bronze collar. She wore a tablet at her side, that which denoted her rank as an alchemist.

“Congratulations, miss Black Hand,” the alchemist said, flashing a warm smile towards the exhausted mother.

“Thank you, alchemist,” Martha replied.

“Rio Flowers,” the freshly promoted alchemist said, smiling politely at the right hand’s wife. ‘What good fortune I have to assist with a Black Hand’s birth.’ The alchemist held out a small box with both hands, which Amon accepted on his wife’s behalf, before placing it to one side. Then she brought out a small, living wood tablet, which held seven different runes, each which were intricate.

“May I, miss?”

The miss bowed her head, allowing the alchemist to place the tablet tablet against the forehead of the newborn baby. The runes gently glowed in a particular manner. Each rune held one hundred paths, and the faint light would travel along one, or two, or three paths for each rune to denote the health and fortune of the child.

Rio glanced to the side, checking the walls. She checked her tablet once more, trying to make heads and tails of it. “Did you change the banners in time?”

Lina began to sweat. “We had barely managed to do so as the miss gave birth.”

Rio frowned. “It was ambiguous.” She noted the combination of runes, which had revealed to her that the banners were not exactly changed on time, which has led to a murky fortune. “The young sir’s root is not yet confirmed.”

Amon frowned, though he did not think too deeply about it. An unconfirmed root was not the worst news he could have heard. It was erring on the side of misfortune, but if that was all, they could spend some gold to deal with it later. The alchemists would not refuse, not when it brought them fortune.

Rio continued to check up on the baby and the mother. “I have confirmed that you are both in good health, miss.” The alchemist bowed her head, but only slightly, since she still held the rank of an alchemist. If the right hand’s wife had been the head’s wife, and if it had been yesterday, then the seniority would have demanded a deeper bow of the head.

Amon brought a golden talon, a small golden statue in the shape of a long dragon worth one hundred gold coins, and held it out with both hands. “Please accept our gift, alchemist Rio.”

‘A golden talon?’ Rio smiled. “You are most kind, right hand.” She accepted the gift with both hands, accepting and returning the respect which he had shown her. Of course it wasn’t really a gift, more of a payment for her service, in the same way that the pill and the service of checking the baby was not a gift, but it was customary for this matter to pass this way in particular.

The alchemist left quickly, smiling to herself, glad that she had managed to bring back a golden talon for her first service. The golden talon was a statement by the Black Hand family, which was that they would do things appropriately, and wouldn’t skimp out on their dues.

“Lina, go to the wall and kneel before it for an hour,” Amon said. “I will lash you later.”

“Yes, right hand,” the young maid replied, bowing apologetically, before excusing herself quickly.

“Just a single lash,” Martha urged. “There is no need to darken this auspicious day.”

“As you say,” Amon replied, sitting down beside his wife, staring down at the boy, his first son. ‘Welcome to the world, my son.’ He crossed his arms, trying to remain stern, but the corners of his lips continued to twitch.

‘If I am born here, then does that mean…’ the baby thought, his eyes shut tight as he thought of his last moments. ‘No, it can’t be…’ His face contorted as he shook within his mother’s bosom.

“Are you hungry already?” Martha asked, feeling her son shake within her arms.

‘Hungry? How could I, the-,’ his thoughts were cut off as a nipple forced its way into his mouth. ‘How dare you! Do you think you are worthy to feed me?’ However, he was but a babe at the moment, and could not give in to his youthful urges, suckling against his mother’s teet for the delicious milk which lay beyond.

‘How could this be? How could I die right then? How could I drink from a bosom minutes after I was killed by that cringe hero? You damned gods above, just you wait until I conquer this world too!’