"What hope? To hell with your hope. I would rather my child die with me than live in this cursed world without me." She thought.
She had wanted her anger to ignite, to spill out those words and lash against the one who stood before her. But Talon's earlier words echoed in her mind, chilling her rage. He could have truly taken her child by force—there would have been nothing she could have done. Her powerlessness paralyzed her. So, instead, she waited. Waited to hear what he truly intended.
Talon's eyes brightened with satisfaction. The woman's resistance had waned showing her desire to listen. That, to him, was enough.
This was already more kindness than he was used to offering. Everything in his grasp has always been taken forcefully, seized by violence. Mercy was foreign to him. But today, he was in a strange mood. Rafiki's disappearance had stirred something—his heart, for once, was light.
Finally, the woman whispered through gritted teeth, her soul trembling behind the words, "I will take this hope. Let my child live."
She dropped to her knees, bowed her head low, and clutched her baby tightly to her shoulder.
Talon gave a pleased nod and lifted his hand, pointing across the battlefield.
"See that woman?" he said naturally. "She gave birth earlier today… and I killed her child."
He paused, savoring the tension thick in the air. The woman flinched, her eyes following the direction of his hand. There, sprawled in the dirt, lay a pale, motionless woman—Abigail, and another woman–Maria, knelt beside her while tending to her. A small bundle wrapped in cloth rested near them. The woman's heart sank. That must have been the dead child. She suddenly had a grip.
Talon chuckled.
"But strangely, she made me happy today. And I decided that happiness deserves a reward." He glanced back at the woman. "So I'll give her your child. Let her live with something to hold on to. Give your baby to her… and die knowing your child will grow."
The woman closed her eyes. Her heart cracked. The thought of handing her child to another tore at her soul—but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. She had no future to offer. And perhaps… this was better. She had no strength left to protect her baby.
She looked once more at the woman lying in the dirt. There was no fight in her body, no spark in her eyes. She looked like someone already halfway gone. She radiated a pain so deep, it reached across the space between them. The woman felt it in her bones.
And she understood: that woman had lost everything.
Her gaze dropped to the baby in her arms, sleeping peacefully despite the chaos. The child's serenity brought a bittersweet smile to her lips.
Yes, maybe… this was the only mercy left in her shattered world.
With trembling legs, she rose from the ground and limped forward. She reached Abigail who had been helped to a sitting position by Maria and stopped. Abigail's face was blank, her spirit hollow. She had heard Talon's words but cared little for what they meant.
The woman stood still for a breath, then leaned forward and placed her child gently into Abigail's lap.
Abigail blinked in surprise, but her body didn't react. She simply stared at the child now lying against her.
Without a word, the mother stepped back, then dropped to her knees. Her hands braced the ground, and her forehead touched the dirt. She bowed low, her tears falling silently, unseen by the others—but not by Abigail. She heard the sharp, stifled sobs, the ones the woman fought to hold back.
And Abigail, without knowing why, began to cry too.
There was something shared between them, something unspoken but unmistakable. Abigail didn't know this woman—her name, her past, her pain—but she knew her heart. She could see it in her eyes. This woman no longer feared death. She welcomed it. Her only concern was the child she had just given away.
Bitterness welled in Abigail's chest. But her thoughts still spiraled.
Why was it not my child? Why wasn't it my son who had been given a chance?
Why must I carry this loss while another lives?
Envy burned in her gut. Her breath came faster, and rage throbbed in her throat as she looked at the child.
Then, the child stirred.
Those soft, ocean-blue eyes opened and met Abigail's own. She stilled because she knew she had never seen something so beautiful as it.
So beautiful, she thought.
The baby smiled—a tiny, innocent smile and lifted her arms, wanting to be held.
Abigail's defenses crumbled. She scooped the baby into her arms, holding her close, letting the warmth of that small body fill the cold void inside her.
"She's a girl," she whispered.
The woman lifted her head at the words. She had kept silent all this time, knowing how selfish her request was. To ask a grieving mother to raise her child… It felt like cruelty. But now, seeing Abigail hold the baby with such care, something inside her cracked open.
"Yes," she said. "She's a girl."
Abigail looked again at the child's eyes. "Her eyes…"
"They're her father's," the woman answered softly, her voice drenched in sorrow.
Abigail nodded slowly. "I will raise her. I'll be her mother now. And she will never feel otherwise."
Tears flooded the woman's eyes. "Thank you," she said. It was all she could offer.
"Have you named her?"
She shook her head. "No… I never got the chance."
Abigail looked away, her gaze drifting to the small wrapped form in Maria's arms.
"I never named my son either." Her voice was a whisper of pain. "I didn't get the chance."
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again.
"May I name her?"
The woman hesitated, then nodded.
"Yes. From the moment I gave her up, I lost every right."
"I think I'd like to name her Dahlia," Abigail said gently. She held the baby's hand in hers. "Yes… Dahlia."
The mother's lips trembled as she repeated the name. "Dahlia… Dahlia." Her smile broke through the tears. "We love Dahlia. Tell her… that Elara loved her too."
Abigail nodded. No more words were needed. A silent vow passed between them—two mothers, one daughter.
Talon was long gone from the field. No one had seen him leave behind the dramatic evening to go tend to his recent spoils of war. But Shadowtail remained, his cold presence heavy behind Elara.
When the moment ended, she didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knew what was coming.
Elara reached out one last time, brushing her hand against Dahlia's tiny fingers. She pressed a kiss to the child's skin. A final tear slid down her cheek.
Shadowtail's blade swung in a clean, swift arc, and Elara's body shuddered before crumpling to the ground.
Abigail shielded Dahlia from the sight, pressing her close. But the moment the sword struck, Dahlia screamed—a sound so sharp and haunting it echoed across the field like a requiem.
The ten thousand soldiers who had gathered to watch began to scatter, their footsteps fading.
Only two women remained: one with a dead child in her arms, the other holding a living one who would cry through the night.
Maria looked at Abigail. "Sister… are you truly going to raise her?"
Abigail rocked the crying baby gently. "Yes. She is my daughter now."
Maria said nothing, only nodded.
Abigail looked toward the small bundle of cloth in Maria's arms.
"Will you… bury my son?" she asked softly.
Maria's heart clenched. "I will find him a peaceful place," she replied.
And with that, she walked away, cradling the still body of Abigail's son—toward silence, toward peace, leaving behind the cries of the living and the ghosts of the lost.
—-------
Whoosh!
The curtain of illusion collapsed into nothingness, its fading shimmer revealing the dusty screen walls. A projection had ended.
"No wonder, no wonder," the old woman muttered twice, her voice raspy with age yet tinged with awe. Her gaze lingered on the girl lying still before her, newly brought into the confines of her shadowed dwelling.
"Even your very birth was steeped in tragedy…" she sighed, shaking her head with slow, deliberate sorrow. Then, as a shiver crawled up her spine, she whispered to herself, "But who would have thought he was still alive… Rafiki."
Her breath caught.
"He saw me… through time and space. How powerful!" Her eyes gleamed with a mix of fear and reverence.
The old woman was Hecuba.
"That was fourteen years ago, in the past and he could see me in the present." she had a quickened heartbeat, as she spoke more to the dark space around her. "So… he bound himself to a human. Hmph! That mortal wasn't ordinary either. Such a deliciously dark aura… He would've made a fine student under my guidance." She chuckled to herself, the sound dry and sharp like brittle leaves.
She turned back to the girl.
"Well now… isn't our little sleeping malice princess enjoying her beauty rest?" Hecuba giggled, a glint of playfulness in her eyes as she leaned closer.
With a bony finger, she tapped the girl gently on the forehead. An invisible surge of arcane energy rippled through the girl's small body—soft and subtle, yet ancient in its power.
Hecuba's voice dropped into a quiet command, echoing with enchantment:
"Dahlia… awaken."
Instantly, Dahlia's eyes flew open—ocean blue, wide, and gleaming with the unknown.