In the dimly lit royal bedchamber, the King lay upon his immense bed. Clytos knelt beside him, his fingers gently probing the taut skin of the King’s pregnant belly. He carefully anointed the swollen flesh with medicinal oils.

Clytos says to the king, you seemed to enjoy this argument, father.

A faint smile touched the King’s lips. The king smiles and says I love your brother Silas when he loudly judges your arrogant brothers makes them look weak in front of me. Clytos and the King laugh.

Clytos asks, I just wonder why you keep them and you know very well that they are corrupt?

“Loyalty is a rare commodity, my son. Honest men are easily swayed. Your brothers… they are not beyond redemption. I believe… I can shape them.”

Clytos never ceases to surprise me, father.

The King responds with confirmation, my son it is the experience of years.

“But Father, don’t you think that if you allow your sons—and I mean by that all the spectra of your people—to oppose, criticize, and express their opinions, it makes the individual's character strong and not shaken in front of the enemies of our nation?”

The King’s gaze softened, and he gestured for Clytos to continue. The father looks at him Relaxed, continue, my son.

All I mean, my father, if they fear opposing you, they will not be qualified to oppose your enemies.

Suddenly, the King’s massive hand lashed out, seizing Clytos’s wrist, the one still resting upon his swollen belly. The king says to him angrily, "Don't you ever cross your boundaries with me and lecture me on how to deal with my sons again," while he squeezes and crushes Clytos’s wrist bones.

Clytos’s face remained impassive, revealing nothing of the agony he surely felt. Clytos keeps his face cool and shows no expressions of pain, "Excuse me, my father, I only wanted to see your wisdom in this matter." The King abruptly released Clytos’s hand. The flesh below the King’s iron grip, now a sickly shade of purple, pulsed with suppressed pain. He lowered his hand, the useless limb dangling at his side. Yet, he continued to gently massage the King’s belly with his other hand.

"My son, your brothers need my care. They do not know what is in their best interest. If I allow everyone to oppose them, they will rebel against me, the order will fall, and if the order falls, the kingdom will fall, and if the kingdom falls, all your brothers, including you, will become homeless."

Clytos replies You always amaze me, father, with your great vision. Clytos stopped his ministrations. Clytos stops rubbing the king's belly and says, "We are done, father."

He rose, bowing his head slightly. Clytos stands up and says, "I have good news, Your Majesty. After you give birth this month, next month you will not need to carry yourself. We will make the surrogate wombs do it completely."

"King Father, this is good news. Well done, my son. You did it in a short time. Now, you are dismissed. I require rest." Clytos bowed again and silently withdrew from the royal presence.

In his research laboratory, Clytos sat hunched over a thick notebook, his injured hand resting limply in his lap. With his good hand, he meticulously documented his observations: “The King’s strength remains… remarkable.” A knock echoed through the room.

“Enter,” Clytos called, closing the notebook.

Aylauna entered. “You summoned me, Brother Clytos?”

“Indeed, Sister Aylauna,” Clytos replied. “I require a few… special tonics… for our Father.” He gestured towards a shelf filled with vials and flasks.

Aylauna’s gaze fell upon Clytos’s injured hand. "Gods above, Brother! What happened to your hand?” She rushed to his side, gently taking his injured hand in hers.

Clytos stammered, avoiding her gaze. “It’s nothing. A minor… accident.”

“A minor accident?” Aylauna’s voice was sharp with concern. “It looks… terrible. Sister!” she called out. A younger Close Sister hurried into the room. “Bring bandages and splints. Quickly.”

Turning back to Clytos, Aylauna said, “I imagine you have something… here… that could help with that.”

“Yes,” Clytos replied, still flustered. “In that cabinet.”

Aylauna found the cabinet and retrieved a vial filled with a dark green liquid. Returning to Clytos, she carefully poured the potion over his injured hand. The younger Sister returned with the bandages and splints. “Thank you, Sister,” Aylauna said, taking the supplies and dismissing the young woman with a nod.

As Aylauna expertly wrapped the splints and bandages around Clytos’s hand, he murmured, “Thank you, Aylauna. I appreciate this.”

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“Save your thanks, Brother,” Aylauna replied, her voice gentle but firm. “Perhaps you should be more mindful of your surroundings. You’ve been… distracted lately. Lost in thought. It will be your undoing.”

Clytos looked at her, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

Aylauna smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Intuition, Brother Clytos. Perhaps… a touch of nosiness. But in this case… I suspect there are matters at play that are… beyond my purview. So, I shall refrain from prying.”

Clytos’s lips twitched into a small smile.

“There!” Aylauna exclaimed. “A smile! See, Brother? It suits you.” She finished securing the bandage.

At that moment, Eva entered the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of Clytos’s bandaged hand. “Gods! Clytos! What happened? Are you alright?”

“A… a fall,” Clytos stammered. “On the stairs. Sister Aylauna was kind enough to assist me.”

“Then why summon me?” Eva asked, her brow furrowed.

Clytos rose to his feet. "Come with me, Eva." He paused at the door, turning back to include Aylauna. "Sister Aylauna. Join us. This concerns you as well.”

At the end of a long, dimly lit corridor in the palace basement, a small, unassuming door stood guarded by two sentries. Clytos, Eva, and Aylauna approached. Clytos nodded to the guards, who unlocked and opened the heavy door. He took a torch from a nearby sconce, its flickering flame casting long, dancing shadows as they descended a narrow, winding staircase into the darkness below.

“As you know,” Clytos began, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space, “the monthly birth rate has… diminished. Down to the hundreds, I’m afraid. Our Father, being… a King… is… less efficient in this regard than the Queens of neighboring kingdoms, who produce thousands of offspring each month. He tasked me with finding a solution.” He paused. “After much research and experimentation… this is what I have achieved.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and entered a vast chamber. The walls pulsed with a network of translucent, veined sacs—the detached wombs—connected by thick, throbbing tubes. Inside each sac, floating in a viscous fluid, fully formed human fetuses slowly drifted. Eva and Aylauna gasped, their eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and revulsion.

“The detached wombs,” Eva breathed, her voice hushed. “I’d only heard rumors… never seen them…”

“They will birth in sync with our Father,” Clytos explained. “That is why I wanted you both to see this. Preparations must be made.”

Aylauna approached one of the pulsating sacs, kneeling before it. “May I… touch it?” she asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Clytos replied.

Aylauna gently touched the surface of the sac, her gaze fixed on the fetus within. “They’re… beautiful,” she whispered. “But… will they be… normal?”

“So far, they appear to be developing… typically,” Clytos assured her. “We’ve observed no… abnormalities.”

“How many?” Eva asked, her eyes scanning the vast network of wombs.

“Some hold dozens,” Clytos replied. “Others, hundreds. Eventually, we’ll reach the same… output… as the Queens. After this month’s birthing, I plan to increase the number significantly. Our Father deserves… respite from his burden.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “The… acquisition… of new… materials… is proving increasingly difficult, however.”

Eva walked along the wall, tracing the network of tubes connecting the wombs. Her brow furrowed. "Are these… connected to… those things… I attach to the King each night?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and revulsion. "How does this… work, Clytos?"

“Simply put,” Clytos explained, “it’s a matter of… transferring the seed generated by the Sacred Womb into these… receptacles. If the seed remains within the Sacred Womb, most… fail to thrive. This way, we increase the… yield.”

“And the birthing itself?” Aylauna asked, still kneeling before the womb. “Will it be… natural? Uncomplicated?”

“I hope so,” Clytos said. “That is why I need you and the most experienced Close Sisters to assist us. Your expertise will be invaluable.”

“Of course, Brother Clytos,” Aylauna replied. “But I have a… suggestion…”

In the southern reaches of Aslilia, under the harsh midday sun, Daeghir and his entourage rode through a desolate landscape of dust and rock. Beside him rode his advisor, his face creased with worry.

“Brother Daeghir,” the advisor said, “we’ve been riding for hours. Nothing but vultures and barren plains. I fear we’re lost.”

Daeghir nudged the advisor sharply with his elbow. “Remember your place, Cassian. Out here, it’s ‘my lord,’ not ‘brother.’”

“Of course, my lord,” Cassian corrected himself quickly. “But… are we lost?”

“Patience,” Daeghir replied, his voice tight. “The Madman’s Cave is near. Though why Father insists I deliver these orders personally… I can’t fathom. I've entangled myself in a sordid affair, it seems.”

Unseen, concealed by a spell of reflection, Bathekson lurked nearby. As Daeghir and his entourage rode past, Bathekson materialized suddenly before them, his voice a startling rasp. "A sordid affair, you say, Your Majesty?"

Daeghir yelped, startled, and nearly tumbled from his horse. His guards drew their swords, but Daeghir quickly raised a hand, stopping them. Fear flickered in his eyes as he addressed Bathekson.

Bathekson let out his unsettling laugh. “Ahahahahaha! The mighty Daeghir, reduced to a mere courier. How… thrilling. Tell me, what message does our Father deem so important that he sends his precious son to deliver it personally? Or perhaps…” His eyes gleamed. “…you enjoy these little excursions into my territory?”

“If you hadn’t been intercepting my messengers," Daeghir said, his voice trembling slightly despite his attempt at bravado, "I wouldn’t have been forced to come here myself. I don’t answer to you, Bathekson. Only to our Father. Do you understand?”

"Our Father commands you to resume operations along the Northern Pass," Daeghir continued, his tone sharper now. "But discreetly. No… mishaps. Is that clear?”

“The Northern Pass?” Bathekson mused, feigning innocence. “Excellent. The caravans along this road are… less than prosperous.”

“Don’t get greedy,” Daeghir warned, his fear more evident now. "Father has also ordered increased patrols. He’ll know if there's any… unnecessary bloodshed. Be warned, Bathekson.”

As Daeghir and his men turned to leave, Bathekson’s voice echoed behind them. “Our Father plays a dangerous game, Your Majesty. Balancing order and chaos… He risks being consumed by the flames.”

Daeghir flinched at the mocking title but didn’t turn back. "If you think you are the fire, Bathekson,” he called out, his voice strained, “our Father will simply… extinguish you. And replace you.”

“Ahahaha! Duly noted… Your Majesty." Bathekson’s mocking laughter followed them as they rode away.