Chapter 8: Mira's Outbreak

The incense had burned low. Thin threads of smoke still curled in the corners of the chamber. Most of the sticks were ash now.

A few glowed faintly, their light flickering against the stone walls.

Seriya stood beside her son's body. She hadn't moved since dressing him. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, refusing to blink, and turn away.

One of the old men stepped forward, his head bowed low.

"My king. My queen. The rites must continue. Before the incense dies."

Seriya moved first.

She stepped into the spring. Her robe floated briefly before soaking through and dragging at her knees. She knelt, hands braced on her thighs, her shoulders trembling.

Kaivan followed. He did not kneel. He stood with the water brushing his ankles, staring at the far wall.

Not at Aariv.

Not at anyone.

A servant approached, carrying the first bucket of water.

He poured it gently over Seriya's head. She bent her head forward, accepting it.

Another bucket over Kaivan.

He didn't move.

Bucket after bucket.

The water poured down their backs, soaking their robes, their skin and their grief.

At the edge of the chamber, a sound broke.

A soft, broken wail.

Mira, the old maid, wept behind her hands. Her shoulders shook, but she did not step forward.

A few guards wiped at their faces. The tall one with the scar turned away, but his body betrayed him.

Even Varyan, who had never cried in war, blinked hard and looked down.

Still, Kaivan stood as he was.

He did not flinch when they lifted Aariv from the stone.

He did not move when she collapsed beside their son.

He watched.

He listened.

He bore it all in silence.

And somehow, that made it worse. Because everyone knew—he was holding it all in.

The last bucket of water fell.

The priest brought forward two white mourning robes.

Seriya changed first. Her hands fumbled with the cloth, but she managed it without help. Her hair hung down her back, dripping water, sticking to her skin.

Kaivan changed after her. He pulled the robe over himself, careless of the clinging fabric, the soaked weight.

The old priest stepped forward again.

"The rites are complete," he said. "He is ready to be carried."

For a breath, no one moved.

Then Mira broke.

A soft, shattered cry escaped her as she stumbled forward, falling to her knees beside Aariv.

She touched his feet with trembling hands.

"Little lord," she whispered, pressing her forehead against them. "You used to laugh when I chased you through the kitchens..."

Her voice cracked, her body shaking.

"How can I—" she tried, but the words choked and collapsed inside her.

Kaivan stepped forward.

He knelt beside her, voice almost too soft to hear.

"Mira," he said. "Come. Let him go."

But Mira clung to Aariv's feet, her sobs tightening in her throat.

"I held him first," she whispered, shaking her head. "I held him first when he came into this world..."

Her tears fell onto his cold skin.

And the world around her blurred—

Her broken cries blurred into the high, wail of a newborn.

The walls changed. The heavy chamber dissolved into a room, thick with the scent of herbs.

Seriya lay weak and trembling on the bed.

Mira, younger, her hands trembling not from grief but from joy, cradled a tiny body against her chest.

"My lady," Mira said, her voice filled with happiness. "It's a prince!"

The newborn let out another strong, piercing cry—a cry that filled the room with life.

Seriya reached out with shaking arms, and Mira placed the tiny boy onto her chest, where he instantly quieted, his tiny hand curling into Seriya's gown.

Mira knelt low, tears running freely down her cheeks.

She took the baby's fragile foot and kissed it with trembling lips.

"Welcome, Prince of Sagnik," she whispered. "I am Mira, your mother's maid. And I will be yours, too."

Seriya smiled, a soft, tired laugh.

And then silence.

The memory collapsed.

The baby's cry faded into the heavy, suffocating stillness of the cold stone hall.

Mira's sobs had faded, too. Only the sound of breathing, ragged and strained, filled the space.

Kaivan swallowed hard and gently pulled Mira's hand away from Aariv's foot.

"That's how life is," he said. "If we cling too much, it holds his soul back."

Mira wiped her face blindly, leaned down, and pressed a last, broken kiss to Aariv's legs — a goodbye across all the years.

Then a younger servant gently took her arm and led her away, her shoulders shaking with silent grief.

The silence she left behind was heavier than before.

A silence thick with everything left unsaid.

Seriya knelt by Aariv again.

"I want to carry him myself to the Moon Chamber," she said.

Her voice was steady. Too steady.

A murmur rippled from the old men.

"My queen—"

Kaivan turned.

One look.

Enough.

"Varyan!" he said.

The Varyan and four guards moved forward. They bent low, lifting Aariv carefully onto a white cloth. They folded it beneath him, securing it in careful knots, leaving his face visible.

His hands crossed over his chest. The moonstone pendant rested against his heart.

Varyan lifted Aariv. Placed him into Seriya's arms.

She staggered, just slightly. Then tightened her grip.

The heavy doors groaned open.

A cold draft swept into the chamber, scattering some of the incense ash.

She looked at Aariv's face.

Slowly, she bent her head down and pressed her face into his hair, breathing in the last fading trace of him.

For a long, fragile moment, she didn't cry. She didn't speak.

Only a slow, shaking breath, as she rocked him once, twice, as if somehow, somehow, he might wake again.

Then, as if pulled by invisible threads, she moved forward—slow, deliberate, each step a lifetime.

Kaivan walked behind her. The old men, the warriors, the servants—all who had witnessed the rites, followed in silence.

They passed through the door, out into the corridor where the sun burned low.

Not a footstep echoed.

Not a voice spoke.

And at the far end of the hall, the Moon Chamber waited.