He awoke.
Which was odd, because he hadn’t expected to wake up— ever again.
‘Warmth.’
A sensation of overwhelming warmth enveloped his being. There were other ambient noises in the background but none that he could make sense of.
“Mera Solus,” A voice cut through the chaos of the world, a voice that he immediately felt a strong resonance with. A connection that transcended the bonds of the physical world and stretched onto the metaphysical; a bond that carried with it a sacred oath. For the one that had spoken those words was also the source of the warmth.
A warmth that his mind associated with absolute trust.
The language was foreign to him. The world itself felt different. To what— he did not know. But it felt different.
Yet for some reason, he found himself able to guess at the meaning behind the woman’s words.
Where this knowledge flowed from— he did not know.
But that did not matter to him; for his interpretation brought him great, overwhelming joy. The joy of regaining something he had believed to be forever lost.
‘My son.’
The newborn twin sunk into his mother’s bosom, causing the midwife to flash his mother a worried look. A newborn not bursting into a loud, ear-piercing wail seconds after being pulled out was almost always a cause for concern; yet at the same time she had never seen a minutes-old child of expressing such contentment on his visage as he allowed himself to fall to the clutches of sleep.
His breathing was consistent and newborns were generally quite apt at expressing their discomfort, which caused the midwife to finally exhale the breath she was holding.
She nodded to the mother.
Now it was time for the second twin.
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She awoke.
She had expected to wake up— but she still found herself surprised when it happened.
The pretty woman hadn’t lied!
Everything around her felt…. smaller but…. the pain… the all-pervasive, all-consuming weakness that had been weighing her down for years was gone! There was no needle poked into her veins, no respirator mask clipped to her face. Her thoughts flowed with clarity, free from the fugue that a melange of powerful medication, pain and her own fragility had kept her trapped in for years.
She was free!
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But….
Doctor Ryan…. The doctor who had always met her gaze with a radiant smile… The one person who intently listened to her every word, never belittling her dreams and ambitions like the other children at the orphanage had….
A single tear trickled down her cheek.
And then the waterfall was unleashed.
The newborn twin burst into an anguished wail, her cry so heart-rending that it sent both the midwife and the mother into slight panic. Her tender lips moved as she flubbed over syllables— or rather, attempts at making her vocal cords produce a sound like a syllable. She tried and she failed—trying again, only to fail.
And then, after having vented all the anguish her tiny heart contained…
She fell asleep.
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Isadora Elsie-Willowdale finally breathed out a sigh in relief. The satin-white bed sheets of the queen-sized bed she was laying on now had a new addition; a large red spot of placental blood that would have to be thoroughly washed. The cramping, aching and shooting pains she had just dealt with were replaced by a cool, soothing sensation that enveloped her womb before using it as a conduit to spread the warmth further.
The midwife had cast a simple Tier 1 ‘Heal’ spell after she had ascertained that Isadora’s children were in no major discomfort. The warmth beat back the pain and the discomfort, allowing the strained expression on her face to be replaced with a joyous smile.
Her gaze drifted downwards as she struggled against the overwhelming desire to slip into sleep’s comfortable embrace. The moment her eyes landed upon the two newborns clinging to her bosom, any and all notions of allowing herself to drift into unconsciousness were immediately vetoed. Such soft, tender skin rubbed against her own. The sound of their rhythmic breathing were like the whispers of the wind, their frail bodies seeking refuge against her own.
Isadora Elsie-Willowdale did not know that there existed beings capable of inspiring such absolute, unconditional love in her heart. With but a glance, she found herself completely enamoured by the two little ones as their innocent hearts beat in unison with her own. The brother had a peaceful, contented smile upon his face while the sister’s cheeks were marked by two trails of tears running down her rosy cheeks as she slumbered.
The latter was the more expected response from a newborn, but try as she might, Isadora could not bring herself to worry about a child capable of expressing his happiness so vividly.
One twin was born smiling, the other crying.
One a boy, the other a girl.
A brother, a sister.
“Altair,” Isadora Elsie-Willowdale muttered, as her loving gaze fell upon the male twin. Light-bringer. The one who illuminates.
“Altair Isadora-Braveheart,” Isadora spoke the words into existence, captivated by the sound of her own voice. In truth, she had already shortlisted a selection of male and female names in advance but after seeing the twins… seeing the life that she had created… none of them sounded right. None but the one that she had just spoken out loud.
“That shall be your name, Altair,” She leaned in and kissed her boy on the forehead, her eyes glowing with pride.
The second name, her daughter’s name came to her as easily as the first.
“Nocturne,” Isadora gushed, keeping her voice low enough so as to not wake her exhausted newborns,but the excitement in her voice was palpable. Night-Guardian. The one who guards the light from the shadows.
“Nocturne Isadora-Braveheart, my daughter,” Isadora’s voice cracked as she neared the end of her sentence. A tear gushed down her right cheek, her lower lips trembling as she contained the strong compulsion to cry.
“I shall love and cherish you both with all my might,” She barely managed to whisper her intention as she drew the twins closer to herself.
“Enough for the both of us, Zane.”