Aelius entered the dimly lit temple, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He approached an Elder Brother, a stout man with a carefully trimmed beard – Brother Marius. Aelius clasped the man’s hands warmly.

“Brother Marius,” he said, “a blessing to see you.”

“And to you, Brother Aelius,” Marius replied, his smile warm and welcoming. “It has been too long. You have always been a generous supporter of this temple, ever since you were a boy. I grieve for what has befallen Kaya. Such a kind soul. May the Gods grant her swift release.”

“Thank you for your kind words, brother,” Aelius said. “Which is why I’ve come to you today. I need to speak with Brother Ricardi. Urgently. Tonight, if possible.”

Marius hesitated, his smile faltering. “I would gladly assist you, brother, but… a meeting with Brother Ricardi is… difficult to arrange. He is a very busy man.”

Aelius placed a heavy purse, overflowing with coins, into Marius’s hand. His fingers remained on the purse, however, preventing Marius from closing his hand around it.

“I believe a man of your faith can achieve the impossible, brother,” Aelius said, his voice soft but firm.

Marius’s eyes darted nervously between Aelius’s face and the enticing weight in his hand. He gave a nervous chuckle. “As I said, brother, what you ask is… difficult. Very difficult.”

Aelius slowly pulled the purse back. Instinctively, Marius’s hand reached out, hovering over the retreating coins. His eyes gleamed with avarice. “But…” he said, a smile spreading across his face, “…I will see what I can do. Perhaps… a miracle can be arranged.”

“Tonight, brother,” Aelius said. “I need to see him tonight.” He released the purse into Marius’s grasp.

Marius clutched the purse, sinking to his knees to examine its contents. His eyes shone with uncontainable greed. “Tonight it is, brother. And thank you… for your generous… donation.”

Under the cloak of night, Aelius followed Brother Marius through the twisting streets of Aslilia. Marius led him to a small, deserted temple on the outskirts of the city.

“He awaits you inside, brother,” Marius said, gesturing towards the darkened entrance. “May the Gods guide you.”

Aelius stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of incense and dust. At the far end of the temple, Ricardi lit candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. His voice, amplified by the temple's emptiness, echoed around Aelius.

“Brother Aelius,” Ricardi said, his tone measured and calm. “Brother Marius tells me you are a devout man, a true believer. I grieve for what has happened to Sister Kaya. Though I often disagreed with her… views… I never wished her ill.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Brother Ricardi,” Aelius said. “I’m here to ask for your help in securing Kaya's release. I'm willing to offer… compensation… for your assistance. I know our faith abhors injustice, no matter who the victim.”

Ricardi’s voice turned cold. “You speak of injustice, brother? Where was your concern for the countless other brothers and sisters suffering injustice before Kaya’s arrest? Did you only notice injustice when it touched your own doorstep?”

“I would prefer we not resort to such… rhetoric, Brother Ricardi,” Aelius replied, his voice level. “I’m not here to debate past grievances. Let’s be honest, you and the Elder Brothers only started… caring about injustice when Sister Lyra took your place.”

Ricardi's eyes narrowed. "We know you've been busy, Aelius. Moving around the city, making inquiries. We are watching you. Cause us any trouble, you or your… associates… and you will face the consequences. We will not be a part of your… schemes. Our cause is far greater. We serve the Gods. We enact their will. Nothing else matters.”

“May the Gods guide you to the true path, Brother Ricardi,” Aelius said, his voice laced with irony. “And should you… reconsider your position… you know where to find me.” He turned and walked out of the temple, leaving Ricardi alone in the flickering candlelight.

Regulus, Marcus, and Valerius, the Ruling Brothers, luxuriated in a large, steamy bath, surrounded by naked women, music, and laughter. Wine flowed freely as they relaxed in the warm water.

“What shall we do about Silas?” Regulus asked, swirling the wine in his goblet.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “What do you propose, brother?”

“He needs to be… dealt with,” Valerius said, his voice cold.

“He questions everything we do in front of Father,” Regulus complained. “It’s only a matter of time before his suspicions grow, and he finds a reason to… remove us.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” Marcus said dismissively. “He’s no threat. Besides, if something were to… happen to him, we’d be the obvious suspects.”

Regulus scoffed. “Since when is the great General Marcus afraid of a scrawny, bookish Treasurer? Leave Silas to me. I will handle him.”

“Always so… decisive, brother,” Marcus said, raising his goblet. “If that is your decision, then I wish you good hunting.”

They clinked their goblets together, their laughter echoing in the steam-filled room.

Marcus, surrounded by his escort of soldiers, emerged from the palace on horseback. As he rode through the city gates, Aelius approached on foot, snapping a sharp military salute.

“General Marcus, good morning, sir!”

Marcus grinned. “Aelius! Where have you been hiding? Enjoying the… hospitality… of our city sisters, I trust?”

Aelius smiled back. “Indeed, General. Enjoying some much-needed rest and relaxation.”

Marcus gestured to one of his soldiers. “Give Aelius a mount.”

Once Aelius was mounted, Marcus said, “Ride with me, Aelius. We have much to discuss.”

They rode side-by-side beyond the city walls, the bustling city fading behind them.

“Aelius,” Marcus began, his tone turning serious, “when you’ve finished your… business… in the city, I need you back at the legionary fortress. As soon as possible.”

“Has something happened, sir?” Aelius asked.

“The Northern Pass is open again,” Marcus explained. “We need to secure our… interests… along the route. I need you there, Aelius. You’re my most trusted officer.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Do you think they know, sir?” Aelius asked, his voice low.

“They’ll be eager,” Marcus replied angrily. “And greedy. No one can keep them in check like you.”

“I will return as soon as I can, General,” Aelius assured him. “My men and I will secure the Northern Pass. You have my word.”

“Good. I’m counting on you, Aelius. Return quickly."

"Yes, sir,” Aelius replied. “I must return to the city now. Safe travels, General.”

Marcus’s expression turned somber. “Be careful, Aelius. That city… it has a way of… clinging to those who stay too long. It can be a curse.”

“I’ll be careful, sir,” Aelius replied, turning his horse back towards the city.

In the damp, chill darkness of the Palace Prison, Kaya huddled in a corner of her cell, a single, filthy scrap of cloth offering little warmth against the cold stone. She shivered uncontrollably, her head resting on her knees, her bare arms wrapped around her legs. Faint sounds echoed from the corridor outside – hushed voices, the clink of metal.

“We need more men,” Regulus’s voice hissed. “The birthing… that's when we strike. Everyone will be distracted, preoccupied. I'll lure him… Just find the men. Quickly! There’s not much time.”

Silence followed, then the rhythmic thud of footsteps echoing through the cellblock.

“This place reeks,” Regulus’s voice complained, closer now. “Can’t you at least wash them occasionally?”

“Of course, my lord. We’ll see to it immediately.”

“This… stench… clears my mind.” The footsteps stopped outside Kaya’s cell. Regulus’s face appeared at the small barred opening. “Well, well. If it isn’t my former paramour. Still alive, Kaya? Clinging to life, I see.”

Kaya recoiled further into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Shall we open the cell, my lord?” one of the guards asked.

Regulus sneered. “Look at her. Filthy. Pathetic. A withered husk. She’ll be dead soon enough. No need to hurry the process. Show me the new arrivals.”

The footsteps moved away from Kaya’s cell, echoing down the corridor before stopping again. The sound of a cell door opening reached Kaya’s ears.

“Fresh meat,” Regulus said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “Give me the whip.”

A woman’s terrified scream echoed through the prison. “No! Please! I’ve done nothing!”

“I do so enjoy their… enthusiasm,” Regulus purred. “Someone, take my robe.”

The woman’s screams continued, punctuated by the sickening thud of the whip and Regulus's chilling pronouncements. “Traitor! Whore! Filth!”

Kaya pressed her hands against her ears, tears streaming down her face. “Stop it!” she whispered. “Please… make it stop…” But the screams only grew louder, more desperate, more filled with unimaginable pain.

Outside the city walls, under the pale glow of the rising moon, Gavril and Aelius huddled around a small fire, the flickering flames casting long, dancing shadows on their faces. The night air was crisp and cold, but the fire offered a welcome warmth.

A figure emerged from the darkness. It was Kaelen. He approached cautiously, then settled down beside them, his eyes darting nervously around.

“As promised,” Kaelen said, his voice low, “I bring… news. Regulus is gathering men. He intends to… eliminate Silas. The Treasurer.”

Aelius and Gavril exchanged a look of grim understanding.

“When?” Aelius asked, his voice hard.

“During the birthing. When our Father… delivers.”

Aelius nodded slowly. “Listen carefully, Kaelen. This is what you’re going to do…”

In the King’s palace, preparations were underway for the arrival of the newborns. The palace buzzed with activity, everyone focused on their tasks. Close Sisters hurried back and forth, their arms laden with warm water and white towels.

Inside the King’s chamber, the air was thick with the smells of blood, sweat, and incense. Eva stood by her father’s side, her hand clasped tightly in his massive, clawed one. "Breathe, Father," she urged, her voice strained with concern. "Deep breaths."

The King, his face contorted in agony, roared, his body convulsing with each push. Sweat plastered his long, black hair to his forehead. Several Close Sisters surrounded the birthing bed, their faces grim but resolute. They chanted softly, a rhythmic prayer to ease the King's pain and ensure a safe delivery.

One after another, the newborns emerged, slick and squalling, from the King’s womb. Each tiny form was swiftly received by a waiting Sister, who cleaned and wrapped the infant in a soft, white cloth. The King’s cries echoed through the chamber, each one a raw expression of pain and exhaustion.

“Another boy, Your Majesty,” One Of Close Sisters announced, holding up a wriggling infant. “Strong and healthy.”

The King, his breath coming in ragged gasps, barely acknowledged her words. He squeezed Eva’s hand, his grip surprisingly gentle despite his monstrous strength. "How… how many more…?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just a few more, Father,” Eva reassured him, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re doing well. Be strong.”

The rhythmic chanting of the Sisters intensified, their voices weaving a tapestry of sound meant to soothe and strengthen the King as he continued his arduous labor. The air in the chamber crackled with a strange energy, a mix of anticipation, fear, and the raw, primal power of birth.

In the depths of the palace basement, the air in the chamber of detached wombs hung thick and humid. The rhythmic pulsing of the organic sacs cast an eerie glow on the gathered crowd. Aylauna and Clytos oversaw the frantic activity, their faces etched with anticipation and apprehension. Close Sisters and Clytos’s assistants moved with practiced efficiency, attending to the birthing wombs.

One after another, the sacs began to contract, their translucent surfaces rippling. The assistants, their hands glistening with viscous fluid, carefully guided each newborn from its artificial womb. The infants’ cries filled the air, a chorus of wails echoing through the chamber. Close Sisters swiftly wrapped each newborn in soft white cloths. The sheer number of births was overwhelming, the chamber overflowing with new life, the cacophony of cries growing louder with each passing moment. It's was a bizarre mix of the clinical and the chaotic, a testament to Clytos’s unsettling achievement and a disturbing perversion of the natural order.

Meanwhile, in his opulent chambers, Regulus paced anxiously, his footfalls heavy on the marble floor. One of his guards rushed in.

“My lord! News has arrived! Master Silas… he’s been injured! At the southern wall construction site!”

Regulus stopped pacing, feigning surprise. "Injured? When?"

“This morning, my lord,” the guard replied breathlessly. “They request your presence… immediately.”

“Then let us not keep them waiting.”

Regulus arrived at the construction site to find a crowd of workers and guards gathered around a pile of rubble. Several of Silas's guards pointed towards a figure lying amongst the debris. Regulus approached cautiously and looked down. Silas lay face down, seemingly lifeless. Regulus knelt and turned the body over.

“This isn’t him,” he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, a cry rang out. “Ambush! It’s a trap!” An arrow thudded into the chest of one of Regulus’s guards. He spun around to see Aelius and Gavril charging towards him, followed by a group of Aelius’s legionaries.

Aelius engaged one of Regulus’s guards, his sword a blur of motion. With a swift thrust, he ran the man through, then turned to dispatch another with brutal efficiency. Gavril, a whirlwind of fury, cut a path through the remaining guards, his powerful blows sending them sprawling. Outnumbered but undeterred, Aelius and his men quickly gained the upper hand.

Aelius faced Regulus, who stood his ground, a sword in his right hand, a stone clutched in his left.

“Do you know who I am?!” Regulus shouted. “Don’t come any closer! I am Regent of this city! The King’s First Son!”

Aelius advanced, his sword raised. “Then fight like one.”

Regulus’s bravado crumbled. He stumbled backward, his eyes wide with fear. His foot caught on a loose stone, and he fell heavily, the back of his head striking the hard ground. He lay still.

Aelius approached cautiously, checking for signs of life. Regulus was still breathing, unconscious but alive, blood trickling from a gash on his head.

Gavril rushed forward, his face contorted with rage, his sword raised to strike the fallen Regent. "He'll pay for what he did to Kaya!"

Aelius stepped between Gavril and Regulus, catching his brother’s arm. “No, Gavril! We need him alive. He's our leverage to get Kaya back.”

Gavril hesitated, his chest heaving, then slowly lowered his sword.

A figure emerged from the shadows – Silas, unharmed. He approached Aelius, relief evident on his face. "You… you did it,” he said, a wry smile touching his lips.

“We did it,” Aelius replied.

“I owe you my life, Aelius,” Silas said, his voice filled with gratitude. “They would have killed me.” He glanced nervously at the unconscious Regulus. “We need to hide him somewhere secure. Until morning. His men… they'll be searching everywhere."

“Then repay the debt,” Aelius said, his voice hard. “Help me get Kaya out of that prison.”

“Gladly,” Silas replied. “But not tonight. The birthing… it’s too risky. We’ll keep Regulus hidden. Tomorrow, we bring him before the King. For justice.”