Chapter 242: Storm and Shadow

Sophia’s eyes fluttered open, disoriented, the room dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The scent of herbs and something faintly metallic lingered in the air, and her stomach twisted.

The last thing she remembered was she and Orion going to bed, his hands spread over her. He’d made her enact the surprise—a surprise he didn’t even give her the chance to finish—because immediately he saw her wearing his tunic, he became a beast of a man who ravaged her, and she liked it. Though her body was sore from all the ravishing.

She smiled softly, and that was before she noticed where she was. She took in the smell again, and her heart dropped. This was the medical facility and not Orion’s home. Her senses tingled because this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened before. She took in the room where she was. It was sparsely furnished, but she would recognize this place anywhere because she had also spent time here.

The scent of herbs hit her again, and she knew with certainty this was the medical facility.

Across the room, Brynhild slept peacefully. Sophia smiled when she saw her. She had been so occupied with Orion that she hadn’t gotten the chance to see Brynhild.

Okay, maybe not only Orion, but also training and her new friends kept her company too.

Sophia watched—Brynhild, with a smile on her lips, Lysander lying beside her, his hand brushing over her hair, fingers trembling slightly. They didn’t even need to write it on their foreheads. Everyone who saw them now would know they belonged with each other. That they were lovers.

But even with how nice the scene was, how beautiful it was, Sophia couldn’t shake the feeling of dread in her stomach. Something like this had happened before. Sophia remembered the night she had dreamed of Zena and the next morning, Zena was dead.

Before Sophia could even register what was happening, a hiss split the silence.

It was filled with pain, one so intense that Sophia could only imagine how much hurt the person was in. Her eyes snapped toward Brynhild. The woman’s body twisted violently under the blankets, muscles rigid as she groaned in pain once more.

Sophia screamed for Lysander to wake up. She screamed at him even if she knew he wouldn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear her, after all. But thank the goddess, he woke up—and in time too.

"Brynhild?" Lysander’s voice cracked as he bolted upright, panic flashing across his face. "What’s wrong?"

Another hiss followed, desperate and guttural. Brynhild didn’t speak, only writhed, small tremors running through her body. Lysander’s hand found hers, gripping tightly, his other hand brushing hair from her dampened forehead.

"I’ll be right back!" he muttered, and without hesitation, he surged from the bed and ran toward the supply cabinets, gathering tools and herbs. Sophia’s pulse hammered in her ears. She could feel his fear radiating through the room like heat, and a small, icy whisper of dread tickled her spine.

Outside, the storm raged, a violent roar that seemed to batter against the walls. Lightning flashed across the small window, illuminating Brynhild’s pale, sweat-slicked face, and thunder followed in a deafening roll. Rain hammered the roof, wind howled through the cracks, rattling the shutters, rattling the hearts of anyone who dared to listen. The storm was a mirror of the chaos inside the room.

Sophia watched, frozen to the spot, as Lysander left the room, and she watched helplessly as Marta and two other healers swept in, moving quickly, deliberately.

They checked Brynhild’s pulse, her contractions, the subtle dilation that told them how close she was. Sophia’s stomach churned as she watched the visible tension in Brynhild’s body—how her legs tensed, her hands clawed the sheets, her lips quivering with the effort of each painful breath.

Brynhild tried to fold her legs, but Marta spoke up.

"Brynhild, love, don’t fold your legs, okay? I’ll need you to be strong," Marta told her.

Lysander came back too, just as Marta spoke with Brynhild.

"Deep breaths, love. Take deep breaths, Brynhild," Marta instructed, calm and sharp, her hands steady as they worked. "Focus on the rhythm. Lysander, check her dilation—now."

Lysander didn’t need to be told twice. He knelt at Brynhild’s side, brow furrowed. His hands, usually steady and precise, trembled slightly as he worked. He counted, noted, and then froze. Sophia caught the moment in exquisite, terrible clarity—the subtle line of panic crossing his face.

"She...she can’t give birth naturally," he whispered, voice barely audible but sharp in the tense quiet.

Brynhild’s eyes, half-closed in pain, widened in alarm even though she could not see.

"We’ll have to do an operation," Lysander said.

His voice, while confident, didn’t seem like the voice of the man Sophia knew—the one who rarely shook in panic. She still remembered how he had taken charge after Orion collapsed from the Trihydra attack, but there was no sign of that man now. Instead, the one who stood here was merely a shadow of that man.

Brynhild cried out loudly, like the pain had intensified. "I don’t care...I don’t care what you do," she cried out. "Please, take it out. It hurts. It hurts too much." She cried out.

"We’ll do that," Marta told Brynhild.

"Please...please take it out, take it out, please!" Brynhild cried.

Sophia had never seen Brynhild cry. She had seen her laugh and seen her strict side, but never in pain like this and never with tears in her eyes as she begged for them to take the baby out.

Lysander’s hands stilled. Sophia felt the tremor of his despair ripple through the room. Tears streamed down his face, unchecked, blurring his vision as he looked at Brynhild, felt her agony mirrored in his very bones. He stuttered, unable to move, unable to think, rooted to the spot in shock.

"Lysander!" Marta shouted, her voice cutting through the storm and his paralysis like a whip. "Snap out of it! Pull yourself together! She needs you—now! Can you do it?"

He swallowed hard, wiped at his tears with trembling hands, nodded shakily. "I... I can. I have to..." His voice was hoarse, nearly strangled by panic.

Sophia’s chest tightened as she watched him kneel beside Brynhild again. It was like the storm knew how much tension was in the room.