Chapter 779: Chapter 780: They’re beautiful
She sensed it and opened one eye. "Are you using power again?"
Cyrus paused.
Isabella stared at him.
He looked away slightly.
She was too tired to scold him properly, so she only whispered, "You are lucky I cannot move."
His eyes softened again. "I know."
The babies cried again.
All three of them.
The sound filled the room.
Isabella turned her head weakly toward them. The two women had wrapped the babies in soft warm cloths and placed them close enough that she could see all of them. Two boys and one girl. Three tiny snake babies with soft little horns, tiny moving bodies, and loud voices that seemed far too powerful for creatures so small.
The truth was that the three babies were fresh from birth, so they did not look like the carved little divine treasures people might imagine when speaking of a goddess’s children.
They were wrinkled.
Very wrinkled.
Their little snake bodies were damp even after being wiped clean, their scales still dark and uneven from birth, their tiny mouths open wide as they cried like offended little old men who had been dragged out of a warm cave against their will. Their soft horns were cute, yes, but also a little strange on bodies so small. Their faces were scrunched. Their eyes were barely open. One of the boys kept twisting his tail as if he was angry at the blanket. The other looked like he had already judged everyone in the room and found them disappointing. Their tiny sister cried the loudest, her little red body curling and uncurling with a fierce temper that made the younger woman blink in surprise.
The older woman looked at them with relief and experience.
The younger woman looked at them with tenderness.
Cyrus looked at them and, for one honest moment, saw three newborn babies who had clearly fought a war just to arrive in this world.
Then Isabella looked at them.
Her tear-filled eyes softened so completely that Cyrus forgot every sensible thought in his head.
"They’re beautiful," she whispered.
Cyrus turned to her.
She meant it.
She truly meant it.
In Isabella’s eyes, those three wrinkled, damp, furious little snake babies were the most beautiful creatures that had ever existed. More beautiful than jewels. More beautiful than flowers. More beautiful than all the treasures Fangridge could stack at her feet.
And because Cyrus loved her, because her heart had already decided the truth for both of them, he looked again.
The wrinkled little bodies became precious.
The angry cries became strong.
The strange soft horns became perfect.
The tiny scrunched faces became the faces of his children.
His sons.
His daughter.
Cyrus’s throat tightened.
"Yes," he whispered, holding Isabella closer. "They are beautiful."
Her heart felt too full.
She cried quietly this time.
Cyrus held her while she cried, pressing kisses into her hair and whispering that they were alive, that she was alive, that she had done it.
The older woman wiped her hands and looked at the younger woman.
Then both of them shared a look.
It was time to tell the others.
The younger woman was crying too, but she smiled through it. She moved to the door with shaking legs, pushed it open, and stepped into the corridor.
Zyran turned at once.
Ophelia lifted her tear-stained face from Valen’s chest.
Shelia stood so fast her knees almost gave way.
Luca, who had blood on his sleeve from fighting near the inner stairs, turned sharply.
The older woman came out behind the younger one and lifted her voice so it carried through the hall.
"Goddess Isabella has delivered three babies!"
For one breath, the whole corridor went silent.
Then the sound broke open.
Ophelia sobbed loudly, but this time the sound was full of joy. Valen held her tightly while she cried against him, his own face soft with relief. Shelia covered her mouth, and tears rolled down her cheeks before she could stop them. Luca let out a breath so deep it looked like he had been holding it since the birth began. Zyran stood completely still for a moment, his red eyes fixed on the open door.
Three babies.
Isabella was alive.
The children were alive.
Relief moved through him so strongly that he had to close his hand into a fist at his side.
Then the news spread.
From the corridor to the inner hall.
From the inner hall to the lower palace.
From the lower palace to the guards holding the broken entrance.
A baby had been born.
No, three.
Goddess Isabella had delivered three babies.
The words moved faster than fire through dry grass. Even the frightened women hidden deeper inside began to cry and laugh softly, holding their own children close. The old people lifted their heads. The wounded who were still conscious smiled through blood and pain. The village people gathered in the cold outside heard the news and began repeating it to each other with shaking voices.
Three babies.
She survived.
Their goddess survived.
Even on the battlefield, the news began to reach the fighters.
A guard shouted it while blocking an enemy near the gate. Another beastman repeated it from the wall. Someone roared with relief. Someone else laughed like he had lost his mind and kept fighting harder.
Osiris heard it while holding one side of the chain around Kian.
His fiery eyes widened.
"She did it," he breathed.
Then he laughed once, fierce and breathless. "She did it."
Asael heard it too, and even though his hands were still locked around the chain restraining the raging white lion, his face loosened for one brief second.
Kian, trapped in the poison and the fog, did not seem to understand the words fully.
But his struggling changed.
Only a little.
Only for one breath.
Somewhere inside the madness, the sound of the news touched him.
Isabella was alive.
The children were alive.
The war was slowly turning.
The attackers had lost the surprise. The village had held longer than expected. The mountain ridge beast had taken down several enemies before Zyran put it to sleep. Kian had been chained before he could kill more of his own men. Osiris’s fire still held the western side. The palace had not fallen.
And now, with the news of Isabella and the three babies spreading through the village, the defenders found new strength.
They were still afraid.
They were still bleeding.
They were still fighting in the snow, in the halls, near the gate, and under the dark winter sky.
But now hope had entered the battle too.
The men were still fighting. The women were crying and laughing in relief. The children hidden deep inside the palace were whispering about the three newborns. The wounded lifted their heads when they heard the news. Zyran stood near the birth room door with his eyes closed for one short moment, letting the relief pass through him before the fight called him back.
The war had not fully ended yet.
The danger had not disappeared.
But for the first time that terrible night, it felt like the village might actually survive.
