Her consciousness drifted through limbo, a crossroads between dimensions where time and space held no meaning.
Reality lingered only at the edges of perception. Fragments of memory and possibility drifted through the void like shards of shattered glass, each reflecting fleeting glimpses of what had been and what might yet come. None remained long enough to grasp.
The ethereal expanse held her suspended in a fragile balance between life and death. The place felt both alien and achingly familiar.
She drifted in the endless dark, waiting for something she could neither name nor explain.
Then a tremor rippled through the fabric of her existence.
The darkness quivered, its oppressive grip beginning to loosen.
Colour erupted across the void. Violent ribbons of light twisted and collided, tearing through the blackness like fractured auroras. They spiralled around her, their currents growing stronger with each passing moment, their summons impossible to resist.
Thoughts slipped through her grasp one by one, unravelling beneath the force of the transition.
Then everything shattered.
Awareness returned in fragments.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A heartbeat.
Her own.
The realisation surfaced only briefly before other sensations swept it away.
She floated within a dense cocoon of fluid that cradled her on all sides.
Somewhere beyond, something stirred.
The space around her seemed to contract.
A sharp hiss pierced the muffled silence.
Then the surrounding fluid began to recede.
Cold air brushed against damp skin.
The sensation was unbearable.
Her body convulsed.
Air rushed into lungs that had never drawn breath.
Her chest burned as dormant organs struggled to perform a task they had never known.
Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
Hands lifted her.
Firm hands. Steady hands. Gloved hands.
A wave of disorientation rippled through her.
She tried to move, but her muscles responded sluggishly, lacking both strength and coordination.
Soft cloth brushed her skin.
The viscous fluid coating her body was carefully wiped away. Fresh cloths followed, removing what remained. Gentle pressure worked along her limbs, clearing every trace from the delicate folds of her skin.
Figures moved around her in silence, little more than blurred silhouettes beyond the limits of her focus.
Then familiar pulses of green light swept across her body.
For the first time since her return to existence, the relentless flood of sensations eased enough for coherent thought to emerge.
Diagnostic magic.
Emerald radiance passed through flesh and bone, probing, measuring, confirming.
Magic pressed against her nerves with uncomfortable intensity, sending sharp tingles racing through her limbs as it traced pathways beneath skin and muscle. More than once, it brushed against her internal organs with all the subtlety of an intrusive finger.
Crude.
Whether from inexperience or a lack of finesse, the caster's control left much to be desired.
The green glow gradually faded.
Though no words were spoken, a silent exchange seemed to pass among the gathered figures.
Then warm, bare hands gathered her against a soft chest.
The difference was immediate.
The clinical precision of the others gave way to something gentler.
A steady heartbeat echoed beneath her ear.
The woman carrying her began to walk. Even the lightest step reverberated through Valeryon's body like distant thunder, though the sensation soon faded as her attention drifted to their destination.
Ahead stood a crystal basin atop a marble pedestal.
The woman paused beside it.
The basin appeared carved from a single piece of translucent stone, glowing faintly from within. Gentle steam drifted upward, carrying the scent of flowers and unfamiliar herbs.
A hand tested the water before carefully lowering Valeryon into the basin.
Warmth enveloped her.
The lingering ache in her muscles eased as heated water cradled her body.
A soft cloth moved carefully over her skin.
Her arms.
Her legs.
Her fingers.
Only when they seemed satisfied with her cleanliness was she lifted from the water once more.
Warm towels absorbed every trace of moisture before chill could touch her skin. She was dried, wrapped, and swaddled in layers of impossibly soft fabric.
Then she was back in the woman's arms, held close once more.
Her vision still lacked clarity, but shapes were beginning to emerge from the haze.
Pale skin.
Glimmers of silver.
The outline of a face peering down at her.
Long silver hair framed delicate features softened by unmistakable affection.
One hand supported the back of Valeryon's head while the other held her securely against a slender frame.
The woman's heartbeat remained calm and steady.
A bottle entered her field of view.
Warm white liquid sloshed behind crystal etched with softly luminous runes. Symbols spiralled across its surface, glowing faintly in the dim light.
The moment the bottle touched her lips, instinct took over. She latched on immediately.
Warmth spread through her body with every swallow.
As she fed, her gaze found the woman's.
Pale grey eyes met her own.
Storm clouds captured behind long silver lashes.
The woman's lips curved into a gentle smile.
"Welcome, my dear."
The words drifted over her like a lullaby.
Then the woman added softly, "We have been anticipating your arrival for a very long time, Princess."
Princess.
A faint spark of alarm stirred within her.
Princess?
Surely it was only a term of endearment.
Not a title.
Not—
"Such a serious expression."
A gentle finger brushed her cheek.
"What troubles you, my dear princess? You have been fed, and the Shrouded assured me that you are in perfect health. Ah, perhaps…"
The rest became difficult to follow.
The exhaustion she had been holding at bay finally caught up with her.
Her eyelids grew heavier with every passing moment.
Every sensation drifted further away.
"Oh, Princess," the woman murmured. "Are you sleepy?"
Valeryon fought to remain awake.
Questions crowded the edges of her mind.
Too many questions.
Far too little strength to pursue them.
The woman adjusted her slightly, settling her more comfortably against her shoulder.
"There now," she whispered.
Darkness crept inward from the edges of Valeryon's vision.
The woman's voice followed her as sleep finally claimed her.
"Rest now, Your Highness."
The first months of her life in the new world passed in a bewildering haze.
Existence itself felt overwhelming.
Encased within the fragile confines of an infant's body, Valeryon's thoughts often seemed sluggish and distant. Her memories remained intact, yet reaching them was like trying to grasp objects through deep water. Fragments surfaced when she needed them, only to slip away again before she could fully examine them.
Even maintaining a coherent train of thought proved exhausting.
The world assailed her from every direction.
Light seemed painfully bright. Sounds cut through the air with startling sharpness. Textures she would once have ignored now demanded her full attention. Hunger arrived not as a mild discomfort but as an all-consuming agony, while fatigue descended like a physical weight, dragging her toward sleep regardless of her wishes.
Her adult mind recognised the irrationality of many of her reactions.
Her infant body paid little heed to that awareness.
At first, she attempted to resist. She fought against the overwhelming need for sleep. She tried to endure discomfort without crying. She struggled to maintain the composure and self-control she had possessed in her previous life.
The effort proved futile.
No amount of willpower could silence instincts woven into the flesh she now inhabited. When hunger became unbearable, she cried. When exhaustion overtook her, she slept. When fear seized her, reason was swept aside beneath a tide of emotions she could neither predict nor control.
Each day left her reeling, vulnerable in ways she had never imagined.
Fortunately, she was not left to face those struggles alone.
The silver-haired woman who had greeted her upon awakening remained a constant presence. Though clearly neither mother nor blood relative, she had been entrusted with Valeryon's care and carried out that duty with unwavering devotion.
The woman possessed an almost uncanny ability to interpret needs that Valeryon herself barely understood. Hunger, fatigue, discomfort, loneliness, anxiety. Somehow, she distinguished between them all.
Whenever distress threatened to overwhelm her, comforting arms were never far away.
At first, such attention unsettled her. Being carried, soothed, and tended like a helpless child grated against her pride, even if that was precisely what she was.
Yet time passed, and resistance gradually gave way to reluctant acceptance.
The woman never displayed impatience or frustration. No matter how often Valeryon woke crying in the night or succumbed to inexplicable bouts of distress, she was always met with the same gentle reassurance.
When the woman left the room, even briefly, a deep instinctive panic clawed at her chest. The feeling was irrational, primal, and impossible to suppress. She would struggle against it for several moments before inevitably surrendering to tears.
The moment her guardian returned, the emotional turbulence vanished almost immediately.
A familiar voice. A familiar scent. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat against her ear.
The terror simply melted away.
Valeryon's rational mind rebelled against such dependence, yet the instincts of her infant body clung to it with desperate determination.
It was humiliating.
It was also strangely reassuring.
For a time, life settled into a predictable rhythm. Sleep, feeding, brief moments of wakefulness, and the constant presence of the woman who had become the centre of her world.
Then, without warning, everything changed.
One evening, after a feeding, Valeryon lay nestled against her guardian, drifting toward sleep beneath the familiar rhythm of the woman's heartbeat.
Then the heartbeat lurched.
A sharp breath hissed through clenched teeth.
"Oh... gods above…"
Valeryon's eyes snapped open.
The woman had gone rigid.
One hand pressed against the curve of her swollen abdomen while the other tightened around Valeryon. Her eyes squeezed shut as she drew a slow, measured breath through her nose.
For several moments she remained perfectly still.
Then the tension gradually eased.
She released a careful breath.
"No... not yet—"
The words had scarcely left her lips before another breath caught in her throat. A faint grimace crossed her features.
Valeryon felt the muscles beneath her tense and flex. Her guardian closed her eyes and began counting softly under her breath.
When the sensation passed, she relaxed once more.
Several moments later, the counting began again.
And then again.
Each time, the interval seemed shorter.
Drawing a deep breath, her guardian opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then she swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose, keeping Valeryon securely cradled against her.
Crossing the room, she opened the door.
"Hello? Is anyone available to assist?"
Her voice carried down the corridor.
No answer came.
A faint crease appeared between her brows.
After waiting a few moments, she called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Valeryon was not entirely certain what her guardian had expected.
Other than the first moments after arriving in this world, she could not recall seeing another person. Had it not been for the distant sounds that occasionally drifted through the residence during their walks, she might have believed they were its only inhabitants.
Muttering under her breath, her guardian returned to the room and gently settled Valeryon into the cradle beside the bed.
Every instinct urged Valeryon to protest as the woman stepped away. She resisted the impulse with difficulty. Now was hardly the time to indulge such childish desires.
Beside the bed, her guardian paused, one hand braced against the mattress.
She bowed her head and breathed steadily through another contraction.
When she straightened again, grim acceptance had settled across her features.
"No choice, then."
She disappeared behind the changing screen and emerged a short time later in a loose nightgown.
Then she set about preparing.
Fresh linens were stacked beside the bed.
A kettle was placed over the hearth to heat.
Clean cloths, blankets, and swaddling wraps were gathered and arranged within easy reach.
When she had finished, she lowered herself beside Valeryon's cradle. One hand rested against her swollen abdomen while the other stroked Valeryon's cheek.
Soft words of reassurance followed, clearly spoken as much for herself as Valeryon.
Evening faded into night beyond the windows. The last traces of daylight vanished, swallowed by deepening shadows and the warm glow of lamplight.
By then, her guardian's face had grown pale and drawn. Damp strands of hair clung to her temples, and sweat darkened the collar of her gown. The room settled into an uneasy quiet, broken only by the crackle of the hearth and the measured rhythm of her breathing.
Near midnight, labour truly took hold.
The contractions were no longer mere discomfort. Each one swept through her with relentless force, stealing her breath and demanding her full attention.
At times, she knelt beside the bed, forearms braced against the mattress. At others, she paced the room in slow, restless circles between contractions, unable to keep still. Sometimes she simply lay on the bed with her eyes closed and waited for the next wave to come.
Time seemed to crawl.
Valeryon remained awake through it all.
A dull ache settled in her chest as she watched. She had once believed she understood every form of suffering life could offer. Yet there was something uniquely agonising about watching someone she cared for endure torment while being powerless to ease it.
As the night wore on, exhaustion began to overtake her guardian. Her breathing grew ragged. The cries she struggled to suppress escaped more often. Several times she sank onto the bed, seeming moments from sleep, only for another contraction to wrench her upright.
Then, shortly before dawn, the woman suddenly stiffened.
A startled gasp escaped her lips.
A sudden gush of fluid soaked the bedding beneath her.
After that, events accelerated.
Gripping the bedframe with whitening knuckles, she bore down.
Again.
And again.
Exhaustion and strain had transformed her face. Every muscle trembled with effort. More than once, she sagged forward, appearing moments from collapse, yet somehow she found the strength to continue.
Outside, the eastern horizon had begun to pale when the final moments arrived.
One last cry rang through the room.
Then a new sound rose above the ragged breathing.
Small.
Fragile.
Alive.
The cry of a newborn.
A broken sob escaped the woman as she collapsed forward.
For several moments, she remained there, trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. Tears streamed unchecked down her face.
Between her knees lay the infant, slick with blood and birth fluids, his tiny body still joined to hers by the pale umbilical cord.
With shaking hands, she gathered him into her arms. She rubbed his back and pressed her cheek against his damp head, weeping openly as she listened to his cries.
Yet the ordeal was not quite over.
Several milder contractions followed. Exhausted though she was, she remained upright long enough to deliver the afterbirth.
By then, she could barely keep her eyes open.
After checking the infant's breathing and wrapping him in the cleanest linens within reach, she turned her attention to the cord. Using strips torn from nearby cloth, she tied it in two places before carefully severing it with a small knife.
A brief pulse of green light sealed the infant's navel and stemmed the bleeding.
Only then did she allow herself to rest.
Cradling the child against her chest, she leaned back among the pillows. Tears still glimmered on her cheeks as she whispered soft words meant for no ears but his.
Eventually, she guided him to her breast.
The newborn rooted instinctively, fumbling for a moment before finding the nipple and latching. A faint smile touched her lips.
Then, at last, her body surrendered.
Still holding her son against her chest, she drifted into exhausted sleep.
Valeryon considered the situation with what little clarity her infant mind could muster and made a decision.
Summoning every ounce of strength her tiny body possessed, she pulled herself from the cradle and onto the bed.
The journey, while short, felt monumental.
The mattress rose before her like a cliff face, and hauling herself over its edge demanded far more than her undeveloped muscles should have been capable of. By the time she reached the blankets, every limb ached and trembled with exertion.
The newborn stirred at her approach and turned to look at her.
Valeryon froze.
Bright amethyst.
Those were familiar eyes.
For a moment, memory eluded her. The past several Periods of infancy had eroded parts of her recollection, blurring names and faces beneath the fog of undeveloped cognition.
Then recognition struck.
Laurel.
The revelation threatened to consume her thoughts, but concern for her guardian's condition forced her to set the matter aside.
There would be time to dwell on the matter later.
Valeryon crawled across the bed and settled beside the sleeping woman.
She raised trembling hands over her guardian's abdomen. A faint green radiance gathered around her fingertips, casting soft light across the rumpled blankets.
Carefully, she guided healing magic into the exhausted body beneath her touch.
Torn tissue mended.
Bruised muscles loosened.
Inflammation receded.
At the same time, she extended her awareness deeper, searching for injuries hidden beyond the reach of ordinary sight.
The process itself was simple.
The price was not.
Her new body was far too immature to safely channel such potent power.
Agony spread through her limbs like liquid fire.
Her vision blurred.
The green glow wavered.
Dimmed.
Flickered again.
Still, she persisted.
Only when she was certain no injury remained did she allow the power to fade.
The backlash struck at once.
Exhaustion crashed over her.
Darkness crept inward from the edges of her vision.
The last thing she felt before consciousness slipped away was the warmth of her guardian's arm shifting in sleep and curling protectively around her.
The purple-eyed infant proved to be an unusually quiet child.
When he woke hungry, he rarely cried. Instead, he lay awake in his cradle, solemnly waiting until his mother checked on him. If discomfort finally became too much to bear, he fussed softly rather than wailing.
He spent most of his time sleeping or quietly observing the world around him. His gaze tracked movement with an attentiveness no infant his age should have possessed.
It was not normal behaviour.
Either this truly was her teammate Laurel, another Trainee entirely, or he was the strangest naturally placid infant Valeryon had ever encountered.
Not that she had encountered many infants before.
Still, she knew enough about human development to recognise that much.
Their guardian reacted exactly as any loving parent would.
At first, she simply checked on him more often than necessary.
Whenever a room grew too quiet, her eyes drifted toward his cradle. If he slept longer than expected, she would cross the room and slip careful fingers beneath his nose, seeking the reassuring warmth of his breath.
Time passed.
The boy grew steadily, meeting every milestone expected of him. He gained weight, learned to grasp fingers and toys, and eventually to sit upright with support. Yet he remained remarkably quiet.
The woman began hovering without quite noticing it at first. She held him longer after feedings, rocked him well past sleep, and whenever he was out of sight for more than a few moments, she found herself inventing reasons to check on him again.
Valeryon watched in silence as the woman adjusted the boy's blankets with meticulous care, brushed gentle fingers across his cheek, or paced the room with him tucked securely against her shoulder.
None of it was unreasonable.
But…
The nursery dining alcove glowed with the muted warmth of early morning. Rain whispered against the tall windows, tracing silver threads down the glass while wind sighed through the outer courtyards beyond. Inside, the hearth burned low, painting the stone walls in amber and gold. Steam curled from bowls arranged along the table, carrying the earthy scent of mashed vegetables, oats, and warm milk.
Valeryon sat strapped into her high chair beside him, small legs kicking restlessly against carved wood. A silver spoon rested awkwardly in her fist. Her fingers still lacked the strength and coordination to manage it properly, so each attempt demanded sharp concentration.
She lifted a spoonful of porridge with painstaking care.
It slid sideways before reaching her mouth, smearing across her cheek and dripping onto the tray with a soft splat. She stiffened, fingers tightening around the spoon.
Again.
She dipped it back into the bowl, wrist held rigid.
This time, a small bite reached her mouth.
Victory.
Not a graceful one. Porridge still clung to her chin, and a streak marked the front of her gown, but she had done it.
Beside her, the boy refused every attempt to be fed.
"My son, please," their guardian coaxed, carefully scooping a portion of vegetable mash onto the spoon. "You must eat something. Just one bite for me."
The boy turned his face away at once, lips pressed shut in stubborn refusal.
The woman exhaled softly, waiting before trying again.
"No?"
Another refusal.
On the third attempt, the child gave a sharp whine and pushed weakly at her wrist, nearly knocking the spoon aside.
Valeryon kept eating, watching from the corner of her eye as she dragged another spoonful toward her mouth with a faint frown.
How ungrateful.
That morning she had watched their guardian prepare the meal herself in the kitchens.
The woman had looked exhausted. Loose strands of silver hair had escaped her braid and clung damply to her temples, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the hearth. She moved more slowly than usual, though her hands never stopped.
Valeryon remembered the steady scrape of wood against iron, the thickening scent of boiling vegetables, steam curling toward the rafters as the woman stirred patiently to prevent anything from scorching.
When the vegetables had softened, she carried the pot to the worktable and worked it by hand. Over and over, she pressed the spoon through the mixture until no firm pieces remained. She tested the texture between her fingers before thinning it with broth, ensuring it would be smooth enough for them to swallow safely.
The boy had slept through nearly all of it in his basket beside the hearth, cocooned beneath wool blankets. Every so often, he made a small restless sound, and each time the woman's attention snapped to him instantly. She would pause just long enough to confirm he was breathing comfortably before returning to her work.
And after all that effort, he refused the meal as though it were an insult.
Something hot twisted in Valeryon's chest.
She wanted to fling her bowl onto the floor.
Wanted the woman to hurry to her side.
Wanted those gentle hands and worried eyes turned entirely toward her.
She forced the feeling down and took another bite instead.
The spoon trembled halfway to her mouth. A glob of porridge slipped free and landed on her sleeve. She continued anyway, stubbornly guiding what remained to her lips.
The guardian's attention did not shift from the boy.
"Please," the woman murmured, exhaustion finally thinning the warmth in her voice. "Just one bite."
The boy frowned at her.
For a long moment, he simply stared, expression solemn and unyielding.
Then, at last, he relented with a small huff and opened his mouth.
Relief transformed the woman's face.
"There we are," she whispered, brushing her thumb across his cheek. "That's my good boy."
Valeryon lowered her gaze to the porridge smeared across her tray.
Swallowing suddenly became difficult.
Her throat tightened around something she could not name. Heat stung behind her eyes. She blinked hard, but the blur only deepened.
A small sound slipped out before she could stop it.
A sniffle.
"Oh, my dear princess." Concern returned to the woman's face at once. "What has upset you so?"
Silver eyes settled on her fully at last.
The woman rose without hesitation and crossed the short distance between them. Kneeling beside the high chair, she dipped a cloth into a basin of clean water and gently wiped the porridge from Valeryon's cheek.
"There now," she soothed. "You've made quite a mess of yourself."
There was no irritation in her voice.
Only tenderness.
Somehow, that made everything worse.
Valeryon's lip trembled.
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
The woman set the cloth aside at once and gathered her into her arms.
"Hey now," she murmured, rocking her gently. "You are all right. I have you."
The warmth of the embrace broke what little restraint remained.
Valeryon buried her face against the woman's shoulder and sobbed in earnest.