In the depths of the Palace Prison, within the suffocating confines of his solitary cell, Aelius sat hunched, the only sound the incessant, maddening drip… drip… drip of water echoing through the oppressive silence. He was a shadow of his former self, his face gaunt, his beard a scraggly, untamed mess, his hair long and unkempt. He was utterly defeated, lost in a haze of despair and bitter regret.

Suddenly, the heavy, iron clang of the distant prison doors being thrown open shattered the stillness. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed down the corridor, growing closer, closer… until they stopped directly outside Aelius's cell.

"It's no surprise to find you here," a familiar voice said, laced with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. "It suits you. You disobeyed my orders. You lied to me."

Aelius, startled by the unexpected visit, scrambled to his feet and rushed to the bars of his cell, his eyes widening in disbelief. "General Marcus! You… you came?"

Marcus's face was a mask of controlled fury. "I trusted you, Aelius! Tell me. Justify your actions. Everyone here believes I had Regulus killed! Why, Aelius? Why would you do this to me? After everything I've done for you… everything."

Aelius, his voice rising in a desperate cry, shouted back. "I was trying to save my sister! To avenge her! For what that… that cur did to her! If I had the chance, I'd do it again!"

Marcus roared, his control snapping. "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me what you were going through? I… I would have helped you! Why did you act alone?"

Aelius's voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "I don't think you would have helped me, Marcus. You were close to him. Too close. Why would you help a mere officer, and betray a Ruler, a close friend? I know you, Marcus. You wouldn't have helped me, even if I had told you."

Marcus's voice was cold, laced with a deep, bitter hurt. "That's your problem, Aelius! You act without thinking. You don't ask for help. You don't share your thoughts with anyone. That's your problem! Regulus would have fallen anyway. He was going to kill Silas, and the blame would have fallen squarely on him. He was finished, Aelius! But you… you saved Silas. And you implicated me in the process. That… that is what I cannot forgive. I considered you my most trusted officer… my brother. I was preparing you to succeed me. And instead… you stabbed me in the back. You acted like a fool, and now you're here, in prison. And I'm… here, left to deal. And with this". His voice start to calm down. "But you made your choice, brother. And this… this is where it leads. You traded our bond for this."

Aelius, desperate, reached through the bars and grasped Marcus's hands. "Brother! Please! For the sake of the old days… I beg you, one last request."

Marcus's expression remained hardened. "What do you want?"

"Just… get me out of this place," Aelius pleaded, his voice cracking. "Transfer me. Transfer me to the city jail. Please. That's all I ask. I know… I know I may never see you again."

Marcus, with a sharp, violent motion, ripped his hands from Aelius's grasp. He turned and started to walk away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. But then, halfway down the passage, he stopped. Without turning back, he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, "I don't know if you're aware… but Kaya is dead. She took her own life. I thought… you deserved to know." And then, he was gone.

The words struck Aelius like a physical blow. He staggered back from the bars, his hands flying to his head, a strangled cry escaping his lips. "No! No!" He crumpled to the floor, his body wracked with sobs, the sound of his grief echoing through the desolate prison, a raw, keening wail of despair.

On the day of the King's departure, "A specially crafted, Narmes Craig", enormous carriage, sized to accommodate his immense bulk, was prepared. It was drawn by a team of powerful, magnificent horses, their harnesses gleaming. As the royal procession prepared to leave the city, it was a spectacle of impressive scale: the King's carriage, flanked by mounted Royal Guards; Marcus and Valerius, compelled to attend; Eva and Aylauna, riding in their own carriage; and Clytos, accompanied by his new apprentice, Eden, also on horseback. A vast retinue of soldiers, servants, and additional carriages stretched out behind, a visible demonstration of the King's power and authority.

As the procession passed through the city gates, the people of Aslilia lined the streets, cheering and waving, their faces filled with a mixture of awe and genuine affection. "Farewell, Father!" they cried. "Return to us safely!" "We wish you a joyous journey!" The air vibrated with their well-wishes and blessings, in different expressions, all coming as one. The King, acknowledging their devotion, raised a massive hand in a gesture of farewell. All of this, as soldiers guard those are assembled.

The royal cavalcade moved at a stately pace, leaving the capital behind. Word of the King's journey had spread, and as they passed through the outlying villages, people flocked to the roadside, eager for a glimpse of their rarely-seen monarch. They offered cheers and blessings, their simple devotion a stark contrast to the political machinations of the court.

The King, seemingly invigorated by the fresh air and the adulation of his people, appeared to be genuinely enjoying the journey. His expression was one of contentment, a rare sight indeed.

"Marcus, riding on horseback beside his father's carriage, leaned in to speak to him. "You seem to be enjoying yourself, Father. The air suits you. Are you feeling fatigued? Shall we rest?"

"The King's voice, rumbling like distant thunder, replied, "No, son. I am enjoying this… change of scenery. Leaving the confines of the city… it invigorates me. This is a rare occurrence, indeed. But I still have the strength to travel a while longer."

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Nearby, riding alongside Clytos, Eden's curiosity got the better of him. "Master," he asked, "why is this such a significant event? Why are people so surprised by the King's journey? Does he not… travel often?"

Clytos shook his head. "In truth, no. It is not customary. Sacred Womb bearers typically do not undertake official visits. They remain within their own kingdoms, acting more as… figureheads. True governance is usually left to a prince or a Ruler. Those who carry the Sacred Womb are typically dedicated solely to their sacred duty of procreation; their title is largely symbolic. But our Father… his situation is entirely different. He is both King and Sacred Womb bearer. Therefore, he does as he pleases."

Eden, digesting this information, murmured, "So… Father's case is exceptional, then."

"Yes," Clytos confirmed. "Exceptional in this world."

Throughout the journey, the caravan would halt periodically – sometimes to allow the King to stretch his legs and enjoy the scenery, sometimes for meals, other times to tend. These pauses lasted for several days, on this routine.

Finally, as the royal procession neared its destination – the kingdom of Nordhall, they stopped at a large, flowing river near a great waterfall. The King dismounted from his carriage, and the Close Sisters, ever attentive to his needs, were immediately at his side.

"He decided to bathe before his formal entry into the city. The Sisters assisted him in removing his garments, revealing the full, awe-inspiring scale of his immense body. Once his clothes were removed, he settled himself in the shallows of the flowing river, the water barely reaching his mid-thigh. Aylauna oversaw the preparations, ensuring that the correct oils and herbs were used, while Eva stood near the King, offering words of comfort and monitoring his well-being. One Sister gently scrubbed his broad back, another his powerful arms, a third his massive legs. Another Sister, standing on a sturdy, specially-made wooden chest to reach his head, carefully washed his long, thick hair. Other Sisters cleansed his hands, and tended to him with practiced efficiency, using fragrant oils and steaming water. Outside this scene, the guards encircled the area, ensuring privacy and security."

Once the bathing ritual was complete, they dressed him in fresh, opulent robes, perfumed him with rare incenses, and prepared him for his grand entrance.

"Refreshed and resplendent, the King remounted his carriage. The procession moved forward, approaching the border of Nordhall. There, ahead of the city gates, they were met by Daeghir.

Daeghir approached, bowing low before his father. "Welcome, Father! To Nordhall."

The King smiled, a rare and genuine expression of pleasure. "Ah, Daeghir! You are here! It is good that you preceded us."

"Of course, Father," Daeghir replied. "It is my honor to be here." He then paused, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He looked directly at his assembled siblings, his voice dripping with mock courtesy, "Brothers. Sisters."

His siblings, in response, offered nothing. No acknowledgement, no returned greeting, not even a flicker of annoyance. They simply stared straight ahead, as if Daeghir hadn't spoken at all, a deliberate and pointed snub. The subtle tension between them, usually masked by courtly formality, was, for a fleeting moment, laid bare.

"As the royal carriage entered the city, solely with a massive retinue and escort, the streets thronged with cheering crowds. Once it gets closer to the Royal Palace, he descended near it. The way paved. Horns were sounded, announcing the King's arrival. Trumpets blared, heralding his presence.

At the entrance to the Royal Palace, Prince Alaric himself stood waiting, along with members of the Nordhall royal family and court.

"Oh! King Father! Welcome… welcome to our Kingdom! Your arrival is an auspicious omen, a blessing upon our land and our people. We rejoice at your presence."

“Oh Prince Alaric! Thank you, on this wonderful welcome” He extended his massive hand and beckoned the prince. "Your Majesty... Welcome...Come," Alaric gestured warmly, leading the King inside. The King was at the lead. His sons and daughters, Daeghir, Clytos, Eva, followed, escorted with Marcus, and Valerius. All in attendance."

Inside the Royal Palace, the King and the Prince walked side-by-side. "Before anything else," the King said, "I wish to see the Queen."

They proceeded to a large, grand chamber, reserved for the Queen, obviously. The room was filled with nobles, princes, and the children of both the King and the Queen, all standing respectfully to receive their monarchs.

The assembled courtiers whispered amongst themselves. Would they truly see each other? A meeting between two Sacred Womb bearers? An unprecedented event…

Suddenly, a royal guard announced, his voice ringing out, "Her Majesty, Queen Islene the Sixth!"

Queen Islene entered. She was tall and imposing, her body large and powerful, her presence commanding. A hush fell over the room as she moved with regal grace. It was evident this, even seeing her, an exceptional moment, for the very first time, to be holding.

Another guard, his voice equally loud, announced, "His Majesty, the King of Aslilia!"

The King entered. The two monarchs stood facing each other, a palpable tension filling the air. They moved forward, step by measured step, until they stood only a few feet apart. Then, in the center of the grand chamber, the Queen's stoic composure crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes, a soft sob escaping her lips.

"Your Majesty," the King said, his voice surprisingly gentle, offering greetings.

He reached out and embraced her, drawing her close. She buried her face in his chest, her body shaking with emotion. Their sizes were remarkably similar, their forms almost mirroring each other.

Eva, standing beside Clytos, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. She whispered to Clytos, "Do you think… do you think they know each other?"

Clytos shook his head. "It is not customary for Sacred Womb bearers to meet. But… such a connection… it is understandable. To see another like oneself… it must evoke powerful emotions. They sense each other’s presence, they are, indeed… similar.”

The King held the Queen close, his hand gently stroking her back, his voice a soothing murmur. "I know… I know what you've endured. It's alright… it's alright…Shh. Calm now."

As the two monarchs embraced, a wave of emotion swept through the assembled courtiers. Many of the women present, and even some of the men, were visibly moved, tears welling in their eyes and streaming down their cheeks. The sight of two Sacred Womb bearers, figures of such immense power and symbolic significance, sharing a moment of such raw vulnerability and shared understanding, was profoundly affecting.

After a long moment, the Queen's sobs subsided. She stepped back slightly, her voice trembling. "I am… I am truly honored to meet you, Your Majesty. Welcome… welcome."

After this emotional encounter, the King and Queen sat together, side-by-side. A wave of relief and joy washed over them both. Their first meeting had been fraught with emotion, but now, a sense of shared understanding, of kinship, settled between them. The Queen began to speak, to whisper to the King, her words lost to the awed and murmuring crowd that surrounded them, a moment full of wonder and silence.