Chapter 3: The First Cry in the Shadows
The caretaker's footsteps echoed faintly as she opened the door and stepped out into the dim corridor. The heavy wooden door creaked softly behind her, closing with a low thud that seemed to seal them away from the rest of the church.
Ruth turned back to Noa, her voice gentle yet steady. "What's your name?"
Noa blinked, surprise flickering in her tired eyes. "Noa. And yours?"
"Ruth," the princess replied with a small, tired smile. "Thank you for trusting me."
Noa's lips curved faintly. "I don't have much choice, do I?"
Ruth's gaze softened. "No. But you're not alone."
The two women sat quietly for a moment, the silence between them less heavy now—two strangers bound by fear and fragile hope.
Noa lay on the straw pallet, her body suddenly shaking with waves of pain she didn't understand.
She gripped the rough blanket tightly, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
Ruth noticed the sudden shift in her expression, stood up, and knelt beside her, her pale blue eyes full of worry. The princess held Noa's clammy hand firmly, trying to remain calm, though inside her heart pounded with fear. Here in this cold, empty church, she felt powerless.
Noa's eyes fluttered open, glazed and wide. A warm wetness spread slowly beneath her, soaking the coarse fabric of her dress. She looked at Ruth, panic rising in her throat, unable to find the words. She only knew something was wrong—urgent—and she was afraid for her baby.
Ruth's voice was gentle but steady. "Try to stay calm, Noa. I'm going to call for help."
She rose quietly and slipped from the room, careful not to disturb the fragile moment. "Liora," Ruth called softly, "please, go find the caretaker. Tell her Noa needs help—she's in trouble."
Liora's eyes widened with alarm, but she bowed quickly and hurried off.
David, standing nearby, looked uneasy. "Are you sure this place is safe for this? For her?"
Ruth met his gaze firmly. "It's all we have. We have to stay."
Minutes passed slowly. The candle flickered as Noa's breath grew shallow and quick.
The door creaked open. The caretaker, a thin woman with sharp, kind eyes, stepped inside. She said nothing at first, simply watched Noa closely. Then, in a low voice, "She's close. I'll go get Doris—she's the one who knows how to help with births."
Ruth nodded, relief mixing with fear.
Not long after, Doris arrived—a solid woman with silver streaks in her hair and hands worn from years of work. Her eyes were steady as she looked at Noa. "Let's get ready," she said quietly. "The child will be here soon."
The small room grew tense, filled with quiet prayers and heavy breaths.
Noa's body tensed suddenly, a sharp wave of pain twisting through her. She gripped the blanket, eyes squeezed shut. "I don't understand… this can't be… the baby's not ready," she gasped.
Doris bent closer, her voice calm but certain. "Babies come when they want. We don't choose."
Ruth squeezed Noa's hand, her own heart beating fast.
The first cries shattered the silence—a tiny, fierce sound from the infant's lips. Ruth blinked back tears as Noa weakly reached out and touched the baby's small face.
"Hello, little one," Noa whispered, her voice soft and full of wonder. "You're here."
Suddenly, the room lit up with a bright golden glow, oozing out from the baby. His little eyes shone gold, filling every corner of the church.
Doris stepped back, eyes wide. "This is no ordinary child. A Xant's light."
The caretaker gasped. "I've only seen this once before. It's a blessing… and a danger."
Noa's body jerked with another wave of pain. She gripped Ruth's hand tighter, her voice trembling. "The pain has come again… why?" she gasped, struggling for air.
Ruth swallowed hard. "What does it mean?"
"It means we have to be ready," Doris said. "There's more—another baby is coming."
"What?" Noa cried, both in pain and shock. "Another?"
Suddenly, the door burst open and a breathless David called out, "I went out to check on the carriage and noticed the hunters nearby—they're coming this way. I managed to send the carriage to the back, but they're really close."
"I think they were drawn by the bright light pouring out of the church," David added.
"Oh no… it means we have to hurry," Ruth said.
"No, child—you can't rush childbirth," Doris replied firmly, before turning back to Noa. "Push."
"But how do we hide from the hunters then?" Ruth asked, looking desperate.
A pain-stricken Noa, groaning, said, "I can't run. But you can… you can save him… my firstborn." She stared at the little bundle the caretaker was holding, whose once golden eyes had now changed to a rare violet colour.
Ruth, lost in her thoughts, suddenly felt shaken. "No—we could hide you somewhere. We could do something. They won't find you."
Noa shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, just him—for now. Hide him. Promise me. Like you promised to protect us. They don't know the babies are twins."
A reluctant Ruth searched for another option but found none. Finally, she said, her own eyes wet, "I promise."
The caretaker walked to Ruth's side and handed her the baby. Ruth, with trembling hands, struggled to hold the child properly, but within seconds she had the hang of it.
She cradled the baby close and looked at Noa one last time. With a nod from Noa, she left the room.
David and Liora, seeing Ruth emerge with the baby, gasped in shock and confusion.
"We have to move," Ruth said urgently. "Please."
The caretaker followed them, opening a hidden door behind a chamber. "This way—quickly."
Ruth wrapped the violet-eyed infant close and slipped through the narrow passage with David and Liora close behind.
Inside the chamber
Noa took a shuddering breath and pushed through the pain. The room filled with a deep violet light—darker and stronger than before. The second baby was born quietly but powerfully, the twin's arrival casting long shadows over the cold stones.
Outside, heavy footsteps thundered as the hunters drew near, drawn by the strange lights.
Ruth pressed forward, the firstborn's fragile life in her arms—hope flickering in the darkness.
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