Chapter 18

It had gotten dark, and whilst Lois’s newborn cried in a tiny melodic wail, the sound filled the mountain meadow. It was a beautiful noise of softness and urgency—high-pitched, delicate, yet piercing. It traveled a distance, tugging at the heartstrings of a farmer and his daughter, who had wandered into the mountain that evening in search of wild ginseng.

They had just gathered their last roots and were about to leave when the cry sliced through the silence. Both halted, frozen. They looked at one another.

“Father… did you hear that?” the girl whispered, her eyes wide.

The farmer stiffened, shoulders tense. “I heard. A newborn’s cry. But no one would come so far out of the city to abandon a baby here. This could be a lure. A trick to drag fools like us into danger.” He bent down and started gathering his tools, trying to shut the sound from his ears. “Ignore it. We never heard it.”

But the symphonic wails persisted—vulnerable, insistent, echoing against the walls of the mountain. The sound was too real, too raw, not the mimic of evil.

The girl’s brows drew together, her voice sharp with urgency. “Father! That doesn’t sound like a trick. That is a child. Helpless. What if it draws wolves? What if it dies before dawn?!”

Her father’s jaw tightened, his body heavy with reluctance.

“Are you truly this heartless?” she burst out, her voice trembling. “I am a midwifery apprentice—I know the cry of a newborn. This baby was just born, I can tell. If you won’t go, I will. I cannot ignore it!” Without another word she lifted her skirts and bolted toward the cries.

“Wait—!” the farmer growled, cursing under his breath before running after her. He would not let his daughter face danger alone.

The cries grew louder as they neared, and then they saw her—Lois. She lay unconscious in the grass, her body pale, her gown soaked, her belly still swollen. Beside her, a fragile infant cried with all the strength his tiny lungs could give, demanding the world’s attention.

The farmer and his daughter froze, their jaws dropping in disbelief.

The girl gasped, falling to her knees. “Oh heavens…” She scooped the newborn into her arms, rocking him gently. The moment her warmth touched him, his cries stilled into soft whimpers. With steady hands, she tied the cord and wrapped him in her shawl before pressing him close to her chest.

“Father—she’s alive!” she exclaimed after checking Lois’s pulse. Her voice shook with both fear and relief. “We must help her now!”

“Carry her, Father! Quickly!”

The farmer stumbled back. “How? She—she still carries more inside her! I… I don’t know how many—” His voice cracked as he stared at Lois’s beauty, her fragile yet commanding presence, her body fighting death on the forest floor. “How could a woman like this, so… so radiant, be left here? With so many children?” His mind raced with disbelief. “Could she be… a mountain spirit?”

He brushed the hair from Lois’s neck, searching for the sacred wolf mark. But there was none. She was human—too human.

“Father!” his daughter snapped, breaking through his stupor. “You used to carry three sacks of rice on your shoulder without breaking a sweat. She weighs less than one! Move!”

He jolted at her words, and finally, without hesitation, he bent and lifted Lois into his arms bridal-style. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath faint but present. Together, they hurried from the mountain, urgency pushing their steps.

They laid her gently on the grain cart, and the farmer whipped the horse into motion. The night deepened around them, shadows crawling across the road as they raced toward the town.

When they reached their home, the family rushed to greet them, but the farmer ignored their questions, barreling inside with Lois in his arms. He laid her on a bed, his wife and younger children staring in shock.

His daughter was already at work. She fetched her acupuncture kit and swiftly pierced points across Lois’s body with precise hands. Almost at once, Lois stirred, groaning, her eyes flickering open in a blur.

And then came the cry: “Push!”

Her daughter pressed on her belly gently. The contractions surged, tearing a groan from Lois’s lips. Her body arched with agony as she obeyed, pushing with the last of her strength.

A wail cut through the room—another life entering the world. A breathtakingly beautiful girl.

It did not end there. For two hours Lois labored, fainting in and out of consciousness as the midwifery apprentice guided her. One after another, the babies came—four bouncing, strong boys, and two impossibly gorgeous girls. Sextuplets.

When the last was born, Lois collapsed into darkness, utterly spent.

Above the roof, the heavens responded. The full moon bloomed bright and fiery blue, casting silver fire across the sky. Shooting stars fell in torrents, and then—the King’s Star appeared, blazing proud and unmistakable. It was said to shine only when a ruler was born.

The farmer and his daughter stared at the celestial omen, then looked back at the six sleeping newborns nestled against their fainted mother. Their hearts thundered.

“A royal sextuplets…?” they whispered together, voices trembling in awe.

Far away, in his archery field, Alpha Karl stood beneath the same moon. His guards and knights surrounded him in tense silence as the King’s Star burned above.

“Your Majesty!” Wolfe declared, his voice rising with both awe and fear. “This is the day Lady Lois Marrok was destined to deliver. The King’s Star has appeared in the sky, with the fiery blue moon. The heir of Hale Kingdom has been born!”

Karl’s face twisted, his jaw clenched with venom. “She is no Lady. She is my slave. A traitor who abducted my royal heir. A sinner I loathe with every fiber of my being!” His voice thundered, reverberating across the fields. “Search far and wide, scour every city, every mountain. Bring me back my heir!”

His fury crackled like lightning, and his men trembled beneath it.

“Naismith,” Karl growled, eyes narrowing on the trembling officer, “into the dungeon with him! He failed to bring her back!”

The guards seized Naismith. He did not protest. He knew his failure.

Wolfe stepped forward, sweat on his brow. “Your Majesty—the ministers are gathered at the Assembly. They are protesting loudly.”

Karl’s eyes darkened, glowing with raw rage. The ministers—always pressing, always whispering, always mocking him. A cursed king, unfit to produce an heir. Their voices gnawed at his pride.

“To the Assembly,” Karl muttered, his voice low, dangerous.

Wolfe barked the command, and the entourage followed Karl into the grand hall.

Outside, the ministers chanted in fury:

“We’ve never seen such disgrace in the history of Hale! What scandal, if other kingdoms hear that a lowly slave abducted the royal heir of Hale Kingdom?”

“Whirl the world, Your Majesty, and bring back the royal cub of Hale!”

The chant grew louder, heavier, pounding like war drums against Karl’s ears.

“Whirl the world, Your Majesty, and bring back the royal cub of Hale!”

“Whirl the world, Your Majesty, and bring back the royal cub of Hale!”

The words echoed, again and again, rising into a demand that threatened to shatter the night.