Aelius and Silas stood before the King in the throne room, Regulus between them, his head bandaged. Silas stepped forward.

“Father,” he began, his voice clear and steady, “Regulus plotted to assassinate me. Aelius, and his men, intervened and saved my life.”

“Lies!” Regulus shouted. “I responded to a summons, Father! A trap! It was an ambush! They tried to kill me and my guards!”

“Silence!” the King thundered, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. “I did not give you leave to speak.” He turned his gaze to Aelius. “And you, Aelius? You dare to bring violence and chaos into my city? You dare to spill the blood of your brothers?”

“Justice demanded action, Father,” Aelius replied, meeting the King’s gaze unflinchingly. “Regulus imprisoned my sister, Kaya, without trial, without cause. She languishes in the Palace Prison, denied even the semblance of due process.”

Regulus started to speak again, “She’s a traitor! She spoke against you! She…”

“Silence!” the King roared again, silencing Regulus with a look. He gestured to a nearby guard. “Bring Kaya forth.”

The King addressed Aelius and Silas. “Your actions were… reckless. You created chaos. You spilled the blood of your brothers. This… displeases me. However…” he paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, “…you have brought a legitimate grievance before me. Justice will be served. I will pardon those involved… on one condition.” He turned to Aelius. “You will take Kaya’s place. She will be released, and you will serve her sentence.”

“Father!” Silas protested. “But…”

“Enough, Silas,” the King interrupted, his voice hard. “Someone must pay the price for this… disruption. Aelius will serve Kaya’s sentence. That is my decree.”

“I accept your judgment, Father,” Aelius said, his voice steady.

A guard entered, leading Kaya into the throne room. Aelius’s face lit up at the sight of his sister. He rushed towards her, arms outstretched, but as he drew closer, his smile faltered. Kaya’s eyes were dull, her face gaunt and pale. She looked… broken. She didn’t even seem to recognize him.

“Kaya?” Aelius whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “Kaya, it’s me. Do you hear me? Do you know who I am?”

Kaya stared at him blankly, offering no response.

“Take Aelius to the Palace Prison,” the King commanded. Guards approached and seized Aelius by the arms.

“Silas,” Aelius said, as he was dragged away, “please… take care of her. She’s… she’s yours now. Get her to Gavril.”

Silas nodded. “I’ll get her somewhere safe, Aelius. Don’t worry.”

Aelius was led away, his heart heavy with a mixture of relief and despair. Silas watched him go, then gently guided Kaya out of the throne room.

The King, once again seated upon his throne, gestured for Regulus to approach. “You have disappointed me, Regulus,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “You have caused… unnecessary complications. I know what you were trying to do. And this… I cannot forgive. You dared to plot against my son.”

“Father! I… I didn't…” Regulus stammered, his eyes wide with terror.

Before he could finish, the King’s massive, clawed hand shot out, piercing Regulus’s chest. He lifted the screaming Ruler high into the air. “I have had enough of you,” the King rumbled, his voice cold and hard.

He let Regulus’s lifeless body slide slowly from his claws, the now-silent Ruler crumpling to the floor in a heap. Blood dripped from the King’s claws. The Captain of the Guard and the other sentries watched in horrified silence.

The King turned to Theron. “You are Ruler now, Theron," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “But… refrain from… fraternizing… with Eva.”

Aelius was led through the dimly lit corridors of the Palace Prison, the heavy iron door clanging shut behind him. He sat alone in the darkness, the cold stone seeping into his bones, his thoughts consumed by Kaya and the cruel twist of fate that had landed him in her place.

Silas, meanwhile, guided Kaya gently through the city streets, her hand resting lightly in his. As they neared her home, Gavril spotted them. “Kaya!” he cried, rushing towards her. He embraced her tightly, his relief giving way to concern as he felt her frailness. He led her inside, Silas following. Once inside, Silas excused himself, leaving the reunited siblings alone.

The following morning, Regulus's body, displayed prominently upon the palace walls, served as a grim spectacle for the city. A herald announced the new Ruler, and Theron stepped forward, his face a mask of solemn authority.

“People of Aslilia,” Theron declared, his voice ringing out across the assembled crowd, “Regulus has been executed for his treachery against the kingdom. He plotted against Master Silas, abused his power, and threatened the very foundation of our society. Justice has been served.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. “Furthermore,” he continued, his voice softening slightly, “I will be reviewing the cases of all those currently imprisoned, and those unjustly condemned will be released.”

A cheer erupted from the crowd. Theron gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then withdrew, seeking the solitude of the Ruler’s chambers within the palace. Eva was waiting for him.

Rain began to fall, a soft drizzle that slicked the stones of the courtyard. Theron and Eva walked side-by-side, the rhythmic patter of the rain the only sound between them.

“Father… he warned me,” Theron said, breaking the silence. “Told me to stay away from you.”

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“Perhaps that is for the best,” Eva replied, her voice cool and even. “If you wish to be a successful Ruler… distance is advisable.”

Theron stopped walking, turning to face her. “You speak of it so… easily. You’re… cold, Eva.”

“On the contrary, Theron,” Eva said, her gaze meeting his. “This is why we thrive in the court. We do not allow… sentiment… to cloud our judgment.” She turned and walked away, leaving Theron standing alone in the rain.

In the bustling nursery, filled with newborns from both the Sacred Womb and the detached wombs, Lyra stood in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the sheer number of infants. A Close Sister approached, her expression troubled.

“Sister Lyra,” she said hesitantly, “no one has come to adopt today.”

Lyra frowned. “What? What’s happening? Explain yourself.”

“Only the uncircumcised infants have been taken,” the Sister explained, her voice low. “The… the others… remain.”

“What in the Gods’ name is going on?” Lyra demanded, her voice rising in alarm. “Do you know something? Tell me!”

The Sister wrung her hands nervously. “It… it seems… word has spread among the brothers and sisters… that the circumcised infants are… from the detached wombs. They’re… afraid.”

Lyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Who ordered this?!” She turned on her heel, then paused, her voice sharp. “Who gave the order to circumcise these children?”

“Sister Aylauna, Sister Lyra,” the Close Sister replied, her voice barely a whisper.

Lyra, her face a mask of fury, stormed off.

She marched through the palace corridors, her anger growing with each step. “Where is Aylauna?” she demanded of a passing Sister.

“With Brother Clytos, Sister Lyra.”

Lyra found them in a secluded alcove, Clytos seemingly pleased with himself, Aylauna beaming. They were deep in conversation, no doubt congratulating each other on their… success.

Lyra confronted Aylauna, her voice laced with fury. “How dare you order the circumcision of those infants! No one is adopting them! They’re terrified! The nursery is overflowing!”

Aylauna’s smile vanished. “I… I ordered it, yes,” she stammered, “but I never anticipated… this reaction.”

“Was this your decision?” Lyra pressed, her eyes blazing. “Or did that withered old spider, Ricardi, put you up to this? Are you collaborating with him, Aylauna?!”

Aylauna, flustered by Lyra's attack, opened her mouth to speak, but Clytos intervened. “It was my order, Sister Lyra,” he said calmly. “A… precautionary measure. A way to… monitor their health. To identify… potential complications. I assure you, it was my decision, and I take full responsibility.”

Lyra’s fury subsided slightly. She turned to Clytos, her voice still sharp. “Then I need to speak with you. Alone.”

Clytos nodded and followed Lyra, leaving a visibly shaken Aylauna behind.

They entered Clytos’s laboratory. “You’ve created a disaster, Clytos,” Lyra said, her voice low and urgent. “No one is adopting those babies. They’re going to die. We can’t care for them all. We need the families. They need homes.”

Clytos sat heavily on a stool. “What do you propose we do?”

“You’re going to address this,” Lyra said, her voice firm. “In the Grand Temple. You will give a sermon encouraging adoption. Reassure the people. Tell them there’s nothing to fear.”

Clytos paused, considering her words. “It will be… a performance. A deception. The Elder Brothers… they won’t like it.”

“It doesn't matter,” Lyra said. “Just do it. Convince them.”

“I haven’t set foot in the Grand Temple in years,” Clytos muttered. “But… very well. You arrange it. Gather those willing to adopt. I’ll… handle the rest.”

Lyra embraced him. “Thank you, Clytos,” she whispered. “You’re saving those children’s lives.”

Lyra noticed a detailed drawing on Clytos's workbench. “Is that… the Sacred Womb?”

“Indeed,” Clytos replied. “One of my last… projects… before it was… implanted. My predecessor… he documented everything. A meticulous man.”

“It’s… beautiful,” Lyra breathed, her eyes wide with wonder.

“In its way,” Clytos agreed, his gaze distant, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

A crowd filled the Grand Temple, their voices a low murmur of speculation and unease. Suddenly, Clytos appeared, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor as he approached the dais.

“People of Aslilia! Brothers and sisters!” Clytos’s voice, amplified by the temple’s acoustics, filled the vast chamber. “Greetings to all who have gathered here, from every corner of our kingdom.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembled crowd. “For those who do not know me, I am your brother, Clytos, and I am responsible for… the detached wombs.”

A ripple of surprise and apprehension ran through the crowd.

“I stand before you today to answer your questions, to address your concerns,” Clytos continued. “Are the detached wombs an abomination? Are these newborns, brought forth through this… unconventional method, the product of dark magic or sorcery? I tell you now, brothers and sisters, these rumors are lies, spread to sow fear and discord.” He paused for effect. “The detached wombs are not sorcery. They are divine inspiration, a vision granted to me by the Sacred Womb itself. A vision I have pursued through years of research and scientific inquiry.”

He let that sink in. “Yes, brothers and sisters, science. Years of study led me to this discovery. We face a crisis of dwindling births. Our Father, with his blessing, tasked me with finding a solution. And my inspiration… came from him. Our Father foresaw this need. He trusted… my vision.” Clytos’s voice swelled with emotion. “I knew our Father could not be wrong. I followed his guidance, and with the blessings of the Gods, I have achieved this… miracle.”

“The detached wombs are connected to the Sacred Womb, sharing its blessings, its life-giving power, bringing forth these beautiful children, our new brothers and sisters.” He paused, his voice softening. “People of Aslilia, I implore you, do not respond to falsehoods with fear. Show compassion. These children are of your blood, your kin. We are all connected, bound together by the profound power of the Sacred Womb. All that it touches is blessed.”

Clytos’s voice rose again, filled with righteous fervor. “Those detached wombs… they were barren, lifeless. But touched by the power of the Sacred Womb, guided by science, they have blossomed with life! This, my brothers and sisters, is the miracle of the Sacred Womb!”

At that moment, Close Sisters entered the temple from every door, their arms filled with newborn infants. The air filled with the cries of babies and the excited gasps of the crowd. Each Sister approached a woman in the congregation and placed a babe in her arms. Tears streamed down the faces of the women as they held the newborns. Men, too, stepped forward, their arms outstretched, eager to embrace these new brothers and sisters.

Clytos descended from the dais and moved among the people. He approached a woman holding an infant. “Sister,” he said gently, “this child is hungry. Nourish him.”

He repeated this instruction to each woman holding a child. One by one, they lifted their robes, offering their breasts to the infants. The temple, once filled with anxiety and suspicion, now buzzed with the sounds of suckling babes and the soft murmurs of women offering their warmth and nourishment.

Lyra approached Clytos, tears of gratitude streaming down her face. She embraced him tightly. "Thank you, brother," she whispered. "Blessings upon you."

Hidden within the crowd, Ricardi and a group of Elder Brothers watched the scene unfold. Ricardi’s face contorted with rage as he clenched his fists and silently stalked out of the temple.