<b>Chapter </b><b>177 </b>
*Jiselle
The world didn’t explode. It didn’t tilt off its axis or scream or quake. It just… stilled.
The nurse’s voice faded before the words were done echoing in my skull. Pregnant. The sybles clung to the air like smoke, curling around me, wrapping invisible vines around my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, not properly. My heart didn’t race, and my skin didn’t flush. It all just stopped.
A strange, tight quiet settled into my bones. Not silence, not absence. But a presence of stillness. Like my body had paused, as if every cell in me had turned inward and whispered, What did she say?
The nurse must have sensed it too, the way the air shifted. She didn’t press. Just nodded once, murmured something clinical and vague, and stepped out. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving only Nate and me in the sterile quiet of the infirmary.
I didn’t look at him. Not yet. My eyes were fixed on the wall opposite, tracing the cracks that spread like tiny lightning bolts across the ster. My fingers curled into the thin nket that covered myp, clutching it like it might anchor me to the moment.
Pregnant.
That word meant life. But all I could feel was the echo of fire.
Nate moved, but the sound of his boots on tile was muffled, distant. He didn’t speak, I didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t, or because he was waiting for me to say something first.
It was me who finally broke.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I whispered. My voice didn’t sound like mine. It was hollow<b>, </b>like it hade from a long way off.
Nate crouched in front of me slowly, carefully, like I might break if he moved too fast. His hands hovered for a second before settling on either side of my thighs, not gripping, just… there. Steady. Warm.
“I know,” he said. Barely more than breath. His eyes searched mine. No fear. No anger. Just a trembling kind of awe.
I shook <i>my </i>head, hair brushing my shoulders. “I shouldn’t be able to…”
He didn’t finish the thought for me, but we both knew what it was.
Ethereal.
Veilborn.
Fire and shadow shouldn’t create life. They were forged in ruin, in realms that weren’t made for nurturing. And yet-
I lowered my hand slowly <i>to </i>my stomach, <i>not </i>pressing, just resting it there. My breath caught.
I didn’t feel anything. No kick. No flutter. But something inside me pulsed. Not physically. Spiritually. Like a slow unfurling. Like <b>a </b>bloom curling open in deep twilight. It didn’t feel like mine. Notpletely.
Nate was still watching me. I finally met his gaze.
“Do you feel it?<b>” </b><b>I </b>asked.
He nodded. Once. Sharp. “I didn’t at first. But when she said it-”
<b>“</b><b>She?</b><b>” </b>
His lips parted<b>, </b>then closed again.
<b>tals </b>
“You think it’s a girl,” I murmured.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It was just the word that came to me. I heard her say you were pregnant and… that was the name my soul answered with
Something shifted in my throat. I wasn’t crying. But my voice had weight now. Thicker, Harder to carry.
<b>“</b>This shouldn’t have happened.”
He flinched. Not like I struck him, but like the words were salt poured over a wound he hadn’t known was still open. He stood, slowly, hands <b>falling </b><b>away</b>. For a second, I thought he might turn. Leave. Maybe he should have.
But he didn’t.
“You don’t want it?” he asked, so quiet I almost missed it.
I looked away, guilt churning in my gut. “I didn’t say that. I don’t even know what I want. I just…”
I pressed my hands to my eyes, squeezing until the ckness behind my lids pulsed. “I didn’t think I could be more afraid than I was in the Gate. I was wrong. So much has happened–is still happening. We just survived a war.” Iughed, but there was no humor behind it.
The bed shifted. I opened my eyes. Nate had sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched.
“You think I’m not scared too?” he said. “You think I don’t feel like the ground just got ripped out from under us again?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands sped together. “This… baby growing inside you. It’s half me. And I don’t know if that should terrify <b>me </b>or give me hope.”
I turned toward him slowly. He didn’t meet my eyes right away.
“What if it’s like me?” I asked. “Touched by the Ethereal. What if it burns everything it touches before it even breathes?”
His mouth pulled tight.
“And what if it’s like you?” I added. “Veilborn. Part of a bloodline meant to keep secrets and open doors that should never be opened.”
Now he looked at me.
“Then we teach her not to fear what she is,” he said. “Just like we’re still trying to teach ourselves.”
My chest rose, then fell. The stillness in me trembled. But it didn’t crack.
We sat like that for a while. No timeline. No answers. Just two people who had been through fire, holding the quiet between them like something sacred.
Eventually, Nate spoke.
“We should tell Eva. And Ethan.”
My fingers curled slightly. I nodded. “Tomorrow.”
His gaze flicked to me. “Not tonight?”
“No. Not yet.” I swallowed. “Let me havé one night. Just one. <i>Wh </i>
Nate didn’t argue. He just reached for my hand again. And until the nurses stopped checking in.
<i>this </i>
news belongs only to us.”
stayed that way until the lights dimmed, until the hallway outside the infirmary <b>fell </b><b>silent</b>,
He helped mey down, tucking the nkets around touch but far enough <i>to </i>give me <b>space</b>.
me
like he was afraid I’d shatter. <b>Then </b>he curled onto <b>the </b>narrow cot beside <b>mine</b><b>, </b><b>close </b>enough <b>to </b>
I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing.
The dream didn’t start like the others.
There was no veil. No fire. No gate or voice calling from the shadows.
It was light.
Just light.
White–gold at first, then deepening. Into me. Into color. A fire that didn’t burn but danced. Not destructive. Not cruel. Beautiful. Warm.
I stood in the center of it. Barefoot. The ground beneath me was made of ash and embers, but it didn’t hurt. My skin glowed faintly, like it remembered the Gate but no longer feared it.
Wind stirred. Not harsh. Just enough to lift my hair, to kiss my cheeks.
And then–a sound.
Not footsteps. Not a growl. A breath. A whisper. Carried like smoke.
Mommy?
The voice was small. Innocent. Unsteady. But it didn’t echo like the others had. It didn’te from behind or above.
It came from within.
I looked down.
The fire parted.
And there–in the space between breath and heartbeat–stood a figure. Small. Wrapped in silver light and flickering edges, like they hadn’t fully formed yet. Not quite body. Not quite soul. But present.
The child didn’t move toward me. Just stared. Their eyes weren’t eyes. They were stars.
I opened my mouth. Tried to speak. But the word caught in my throat.
Mommy? they whispered again, softer this time.
I reached for them.
But the fire rose.
Not angry. Not violent. Just inevitable.
And then I was awake.
Gasping. Shaking. My skin damp with sweat.
Nate bolted upright beside me, hand reaching, voice thick with sleep–rough fear.
“What is it? Are you in pain? Jiselle-”
I grabbed his hand, pressing it to my stomach I didn’t know why. Just instinct.
The room was dark. Only a sliver of moonlight framed his face. His eyes searched mine.
I didn’t speak.
11:21
<b>Sat</b>, 5 <b>Jul </b>
R
Couldn’t.
The fire hadn’t left <ol><li>me. </li></ol>
It was
still there.
Beneath
my skin.
Blooming.
And the voice still echoed in
my ears-
Mommy?
20