A soft and sure whisper cut through the din of my cries. “You can do this, Olivia. You’ve got this.”
The familiar and reassuring words were a melody against the discord of my suffering. My tear-blurred eyes fluttered open, and the sight before me pierced through the fog of pain.
Amara. She stood before me, ethereal, her presence an impossibility.
“Amara?” The name slipped from my lips, laden with disbelief. “How are you real? It can’t be!”
Yet there she was, as real as the stark stone walls that encircled Roman and me.
Amara stepped forward without hesitation, an aura of quiet authority bending the air around her. She placed her hands on Roman’s chest, firm but gentle, and nudged him back.
“I will deliver the baby,” Amara said, her voice carrying the weight of timeless wisdom. She stepped forward, pressing the sun and moon daggers into Roman’s hands. “Keep these safe. Their power must not be left unguarded.” Her gaze softened as she met his. “Now, go. Be by your wife’s side, Roman. Comfort her.”
Stunned into silence, Roman and I exchanged glances, the impossible unfolding before us as we clung to hope amidst the shadows.
His mouth fell open, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Do you see what I see?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I struggled to comprehend the scene unfolding before us, utterly awestruck by the sight of Amara—our once-dear friend—returning from beyond the veil at the precise moment we needed her most.
“Give me one big push,” Amara instructed, her voice steady and clear, a lifeline in the tumult of my agony.
Summoning every ounce of strength left within me, I gathered it like a warrior preparing for battle. With a raw, primal roar, I pushed against the relentless tide of pain, willing our child into the world.
And then—silence. A profound stillness blanketed us as if the universe itself held its breath.
The quiet shattered with a sound more powerful than any thunder—a sharp, piercing cry, fragile yet fierce in its defiance of the void. My breath caught as my eyes sought Amara through the haze, her form glowing with an otherworldly light that seemed to radiate from within her. Tears streamed down my face, no longer from pain but from overwhelming relief and awe. I never thought I’d see this moment. I never thought I’d see Amara again.
“You have a daughter,” Amara said, her voice soft and reverent.
Joy burst into my chest, filling every corner of my being. Beside me, Roman let out a shaky sob, his tears mingling with mine as they traced paths of gratitude down our faces. Amara moved with a grace that defied reality, cradling our newborn daughter before gently placing her on my chest. The warmth of her tiny body against mine was a miracle; each breath she took was a testament to the trials we had overcome.
“Oh my god, she’s here,” I whispered, the words choked by overwhelming emotion.
Amara smiled down at us, her expression tender, her eyes shining with pride.
“You did so good, my love,” Roman said, stroking my hair. “You were incredible.”
Amara’s gaze shifted to the tiny life nestled between us. Her smile deepened as she said. “Looks like your daughter is a Timeborne.”
A chill rippled through me, starkly contrasting the warmth of my baby cradled against my chest. Beside me, Roman drew a shaky breath, his wide eyes reflecting the gravity of the moment. Amara’s gaze shifted to the glint of metal catching the dim light—the Timeborne dagger lying innocuously at my side.
Amara picked up the blade with hands trembling from both exhaustion and reverence. It was more than a weapon; it was an artifact of destiny, a symbol of our trials and triumphs, now destined to pass into the hands of a new generation. She turned to Roman and extended it toward him.
Roman accepted the dagger, his fingers curling around its hilt. The weight of the blade was a sharp contrast to the fragile life he had just helped bring into the world. For a moment, he stood still, the gravity of its significance sinking into his soul.
Darkness enveloped us, but a light stronger than any eclipse bound us together—a family forged through time and trials. Our tears fell silently, an unspoken ode to the love and wonder that held us in this sacred moment, deep in the heart of the earth.
As I held our newborn daughter close, her tiny breaths a miraculous rhythm against the stillness of the cavern, I nuzzled her soft, delicate nose. “Welcome to the world, little one,” I whispered, my voice filled with awe. “Your day of birth is February 25, 1598, and you shall be a woman who is not bound by time’s constraints.”
“All that matters is that you’re safe and the baby is here,” Roman said, his steady voice grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my forehead and my cheek. His eyes, warm and unwavering, radiated a love so profound it felt like a force of nature—unbreakable, eternal. It consumed us both, growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. We were rooted together at that moment, intertwined like ancient trees, reaching deeper into the earth.
“What shall her name be?” I asked softly, the question rising instinctively. A name held power, especially for someone destined to transcend the boundaries of time.
Roman’s gaze fell to her tiny face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. His features softened as he considered.
“Luna,” I proposed, struck by the poetic balance of light and darkness, the celestial dance that had heralded her arrival.
He nodded, the faintest smile playing on his lips. Then, after a moment of thought, he added, “She graced her way into the world amidst chaos. We should name her Grace.”
