"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" An inhumane, pained screech tore out of the throat of a beautiful lady lying on a large bed.
Her appearance was dishevelled and ragged. She was sweating heavily, and her face was contorted into a pained grimace.
Her hands clung tightly to the bedsheets below her, and her light green veins strained against her creamy white skin, showing clearly despite how unnatural that was.
Sweat slicked the woman's skin, beading along her temples, tracing down her neck and chest before vanishing into the twisted sheets beneath her.
Her breath came in heavy, ragged inhales and exhales, like she was trying to draw in more breath than her body allowed her, with the hope that maybe that would reduce the harrowing pain tearing through her body.
The bestial growls and screams coming out of her mouth could barely be distinguished from the cries of an injured beast.
But it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Despite the situation she was in, her blinding appearance shone through the gloomy environment.
Her beautiful platinum silver fell onto the bed, the strands scattered around her head in a circle.
"Please! Keep pushing, my lady. You are almost there!" A midwife pleaded with the beautiful lady lying on the bed. She was not doing much better herself.
She had said those words countless times. They no longer sounded like an encouragement, only a desperate plea to herself.
Dark circles were visible under her eyes, and her hands were trembling and sweaty. Her brow was matted with sweat; she was exhausted both mentally and physically.
Clearly, she had seen better days. But it was to be expected, the lady had gone into labour approximately seventy hours ago.
Outside, the sky convulsed. It had been. For three days and nights, thunder had rolled endlessly across the heavens, like a ceaseless drumbeat that rattled the towers of the imperial citadel.
Lightning split the clouds like cracks in reality itself, turning the dark sky white for heartbeats at a time. The wind howled through the mountain peaks, battering the castle's walls and screaming through its battlements like a chorus of vengeful spirits.
The air was heavy, thick, charged, oppressive, as though the world itself held its breath, waiting.
Inside the grand birthing chamber, the storm's rage was muffled but ever-present, rumbling like some great beast beyond the walls.
It was like the world itself was reacting to the birth of the child coming into this world.
For seventy long hours.
That was how long the labour had lasted. Three days and nights of agony that would have broken even the strongest of women. But the Emperor's beloved consort, the most radiant jewel of the castle, still clung to life like a child would her mother's breast. Her will, defiant even as her body betrayed her.
The midwife was doing her best despite the situation. But the stress was starting to get to her, and she could not keep her hands steady.
She was tired.
But that was not even the worst of it. Because if either the mother or the child died here, the emperor would have her head.
She was scared.
It was never supposed to be this complicated. The child should have been born by now. She had done everything right, even accounted for a breech birth.
But for some reason, the whole process ended up becoming lengthy and complicated anyway.
Experienced as she was, she had done everything she could, using all the tools available to her, all the knowledge she had, and yet, here they were.
Regardless, she was still trying her best.
"Bring more water!" She barked to the servant beside her.
A servant scrambled, tripping over the hem of her dress in her haste. Another pressed a wet towel to the consort's forehead, murmuring soothing words that were lost to the howls.
There were half a dozen more people in the chamber. All of them were sweating profusely, their expressions somber.
They fidgeted endlessly, some cleaning the sheets and cloths they had been using, all of them, stained in crimson blood.
The floor was littered with discarded cloths, broken bowls, and shattered glass. The air was thick, heavy with heat, fear, and the copper tang of life and death intertwined.
Two more ladies were beside the bed, one with a bowl of water and a wet towel in her hands, which she passed to the servant who would occasionally dab the consort's sweaty forehead.
The other, a healer, worked tirelessly to replenish the consort's energy, but there was only so much she could do. And her mana reserves were dropping dangerously low.
Everyone else in the room kept their hands busy. That way, at least they would be assisting in some way.
Over the course of the three days, they had all realised how useless they were; they could do nothing but stand in there and watch as the midwife struggled to help the consort, and as the consort struggled endlessly to give birth.
"Ahhhhh!!" The consort's screams were like a waking call for them all. Every time she screamed out in pain, the midwife's figure would tremble.
"Please, my lady!" the midwife's voice cracked. "Once more, push!"
The consort's jade-like fingers continuously clawed into the sheets, veins like glowing vines beneath her skin, as though some unnatural force resisted the birth from within.
The others close to the bed also encouraged her, but she could barely hear their reassuring words, all of it drowned away by the unbearable pain.
The midwife bit her lip until it bled, forcing her trembling hands to steady. 'Over seventy hours… gods above, how is she still alive?'
Regardless of her efforts, the hours stretched on, and the contractions grew incredibly slow and weak.
The chamber seemed to shrink with every passing hour, the stench of sweat and blood clinging to the air like a curse.
Every time the consort's voice tore through the silence, the servants flinched as if the very walls might collapse on their heads.
Eventually, the consort's screams grew strained and weak, which was not a good thing. No matter how much her screams and grunts of pain haunted their senses, the weak sounds that she was making now meant something much worse.
'She won't be able to hold on for much longer. ' The midwife thought. Her heart was beating thunderously in her chest.
This whole ordeal was bordering on the edge of the worst-case scenarios. They had to do something; otherwise, they were going to lose both the mother and the child. They had to save one of the two at least.
But that was not her choice to make.
Moving quickly, she rushed to the bedside table, pulling a piece of paper to write on and a quill. She wrote something quickly and called over one of the servants, and handed her the paper.
"Take this to his majesty!" The urgency in her voice sent the servant scurrying out of the chamber.
She moved back to the consort.
"Please keep pushing, my lady! You are almost there!" She urged. But that was all a lie; they were nowhere near done.
Three days had passed, yet she could barely see the infant's head. Or was it a leg? or a hand? She was not sure.
There was barely any sign of the infant's body. And her vision was starting to get get blurry.
Yes, she could feel the infant moving, slowly, excruciatingly slow. At this rate, the consort would die before the infant was born.
The situation was only getting worse.