Chapter 245: The Waiting

Lysander’s gaze met Orion’s briefly, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them before he turned toward Sophia. His eyes softened as he looked at her, reading the depth of the fear and urgency written on her face. For a moment, he simply nodded, a small gesture that carried volumes—he would listen.

Sophia’s pulse thumped violently in her chest, echoing the rhythm of the storm that still raged outside. She swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure, and then caught Marta’s sharp, assessing glance. Marta’s presence was commanding, as if her very being reminded the others in the room that she was the one with control, with experience.

"I’ll take charge," Marta said, her voice steady, cutting through the tense air. She didn’t wait for arguments or explanations. Her eyes swept over Lysander, Orion, and Sophia, stopping just long enough on each before continuing. "We don’t have time for hesitation. Brynhild will have her baby. We move, now."

Sophia’s chest tightened as she stood, hands clenched at her sides. "But... Brynhild can’t give birth naturally. You have to... you need to go straight to surgery." Her words spilled out fast, desperate, an insistence laced with the certainty that only dreams—or premonitions—could grant.

Marta’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed in thought. "You... you’re certain?" she asked, skepticism threading her tone, though not sharply enough to dismiss Sophia outright.

Sophia nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I know. You must trust me. Brynhild can’t... she can’t do it naturally. Go to the surgery. Now."

Lysander stepped forward, his face set but tense. He glanced at Sophia once more, a shadow of doubt in his expression, but there was also trust, the silent acknowledgment that he would follow her lead if she insisted. He straightened, turning toward Marta. "Then let’s proceed. We can’t waste a moment."

Marta’s lips curved in the barest hint of approval before she motioned to Lysander and the other healers. "Follow me. Everyone, be ready. We move quickly and carefully."

The group began moving, the soft shuffle of boots and rustle of fabric blending with the muted thunder beyond the walls. Sophia’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched them go, the weight of helplessness pressing down on her. Orion, who had followed her every motion, finally approached.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said gently, placing the heavy, dripping blanket around her shoulders.

"I’ll change later," Sophia replied stubbornly, her voice small but firm. "I’ll wait... until they’re done. I need to wait until Brynhild is okay."

Orion’s brow furrowed, but he did not press further immediately. Instead, he sat beside her on a vacant bed, careful not to crowd her, letting the warmth of the blanket fall over her shoulders. Her body shivered violently beneath it, lips tinged blue, and he could see the toll that the storm, the cold, and her fear had taken on her.

"You can’t stay like this," he said softly, though his voice carried the edge of concern that only softened slightly for the gentle rhythm of her breathing. "You’ll get sick."

"I’m fine," she murmured, though her teeth chattered, betraying her words. "I’ll wait. I need to stay here... until she’s safe."

Orion sighed, exhaling slowly. He placed a hand lightly over hers, warm and grounding. "Sophia, you need to change. Warm up. Let me help you."

She shook her head again, stubborn as stone. "No. I... I’ll stay here. Just... until Brynhild is okay. Then... then I’ll change."

He studied her, noting the tension in her jaw, the pallor of her skin, the tiny quivers that betrayed her words. Despite her insistence, he saw how fragile she had become in the last few hours—how much she had carried within her heart, witnessing what she had, feeling the storm of emotion, and holding Brynhild’s fate in her prayers and instincts.

Finally, he softened his tone, letting a note of history, of understanding, edge into his voice. "Is this... like the dream you had about Zena?" he asked quietly.

Sophia’s throat tightened, a lump forming as she nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "It’s... similar. But... worse, in a way. I can feel everything so clearly. I... I can’t explain. I just... need to stay until it’s done."

The hours passed slowly, the storm outside relentless, wind and rain battering the small windows as lightning illuminated the room in fleeting, harsh flashes. Orion remained beside her, ever watchful, his presence a quiet anchor against the whirlwind of emotion inside and outside. He reached for the blanket again when a particularly fierce gust rattled the windowpanes, pulling it tighter around her shoulders, and murmured, "You need warmth, Sophia. Please. For your own sake."

She allowed it, leaning slightly into his side, shivering but still unwilling to move toward her own clothing. His thumb brushed gently along her hand, a grounding rhythm. He watched her lips, tinged a faint blue, and the quiet acceptance of his presence, and though she had refused change, he didn’t press further yet. He would wait.

Minutes stretched into what felt like eternity. Sophia’s breath fell in shallow, uneven waves as she sank into the vigil by the hearth, letting the flickering warmth creep slowly through her chilled body. The shadows danced across the walls, thrown by the firelight, mingling with her anxiety. She could not still her heart from racing, could not quiet the echoes of the dream replaying in her mind—the screams, the sobs, the sense of helplessness.

Finally, footsteps approached. A firm, steady presence against the backdrop of the storm. Sophia looked up sharply as Marta stepped from the room where the operation had taken place, her face composed but lined with exhaustion.

"How is she?" Sophia asked immediately, voice trembling but determined, eyes searching Marta’s expression for the slightest hint of danger or complication. "Is Brynhild... is she okay?"

Marta’s lips pressed together for a moment, then a small smile broke through, faint but reassuring. "She’s fine," Marta said. "The baby is with her now. All went as it should. Both are safe."

Sophia’s chest tightened, a sharp inhale escaping her as relief crashed through her body. "Thank the goddess," she muttered softly, voice barely audible over the storm that still pounded outside.

Orion leaned forward, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Now that you know she’s okay," he said quietly but firmly, "it’s time you change into some dry clothes before you fall sick."

Sophia nodded, a small, tentative smile breaking over her face, the weight of tension slowly lifting from her shoulders. But as she rose, her legs buckled beneath her. Hee eyes closed as she collapsed.

Orion placed a hand on her head and noticed how hot she was meanwhile outside, the storm stopped like it had been timed for this all along.