Echo of The End

Third Person's POV

It was a quiet night, the world outside bathed in eerie stillness, broken only by the howling winds that battered the windows. The cold was brutal—frigid enough that a single breath outside might freeze in the air. But the storm didn’t halt the pulse of life within the hospital walls, where urgency cut through the frozen silence.

The rhythmic pounding of the wind against the windowpanes was a constant reminder of the winter storm, rattling the glass as if the storm itself wanted to break in. Inside, the light was too bright, almost harsh against the pale blue walls, offering little warmth in the sterile space. The shadows of the nurses flickered across the gleaming tiles like whispers of the storm, their movements swift and calculated as they surrounded a single bed.

There, amidst the swirling activity, lay a woman—her platinum blonde hair matted against her damp forehead, her beauty starkly contrasted by the pain etched into her features. Beads of sweat clung to her skin, her breaths shallow and jagged. Every contraction gripped her body with merciless intensity, her fingers clenched tightly around the metal rails of the bed, knuckles turning white as she endured another wave of pain.

Her fiery orange eyes, half-lidded and glazed with exhaustion, darted from the nurses to the doctor, whose steady hands moved with quiet authority. The tension in the air was suffocating, thickened by the laboring breaths of the mother and the murmured orders exchanged between the medical staff.

Each nurse moved with purpose, passing instruments with a practiced grace. Their faces were tense, yet determined. Time seemed to stretch, each second weighed down by the gravity of the moment, until it felt as though the entire room was suspended in a liminal space between life and death.

Outside, the wind lashed against the windows again, more violently this time, as if impatient. Inside, the woman’s body convulsed once more, her lips parting in a silent scream, her back arching in pain. The air grew thick, heavy with anticipation, as if the room itself held its breath.

The doctor leaned forward, her expression one of deep concentration, eyes locked on the task at hand. The lights above gleamed off the silver instruments, their sharp edges glinting as they moved in the doctor’s capable hands. The woman gasped, her breath catching in her throat, her grip on the rails tightening.

Then came the silence.

It lasted only a heartbeat, but in that moment, the world outside, the chaos within—it all seemed to stop. The nurses froze, exchanging glances as the doctor’s hands stilled.

Then, the air shattered with the piercing wail of a newborn.

The sound filled the room, sharp and shrill, echoing against the sterile walls. Outside, the wind howled in response, as if announcing the arrival of this new life to the world beyond. The tension that had gripped the room finally released, the nurses exhaling in unison, shoulders relaxing. The doctor carefully cradled the tiny, wriggling form, holding it up to the light for the mother to see.

The cries of the baby filled the room, louder than the storm outside. To the mother, they were the sweetest sound she had ever heard. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath, her body trembling from exhaustion, but her eyes—bright, fierce—were fixed on the tiny, fragile life in the doctor’s hands.

The wind outside was a distant murmur now, no longer relevant to the moment unfolding within these walls. The mother’s trembling fingers reached out, weak but determined. Her voice, hoarse and barely audible, escaped her cracked lips in a soft, pleading whisper.

"Please... let me hold him."

The doctor’s demeanor shifted as she gently swaddled the newborn in a soft, white blanket. Her hands, steady and practiced, moved with a tenderness rarely seen in such a tense environment, as if aware of the preciousness of the life she held.

Nearby, a nurse adjusted the pillows, helping the mother sit up. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her body, she leaned forward eagerly, arms trembling as they stretched out, waiting for the child she had fought so hard to bring into the world.

With a careful step forward, the doctor placed the newborn in the mother's arms. The weight of the baby settled against her chest, and for a moment, the woman simply breathed. The storm outside, the cold air that clawed at the windows, all of it faded away, leaving only the warmth of the infant nestled close. Her body, still trembling from the strain, seemed to melt into the bed, her grip around the child weak but secure. As the baby’s cries subsided, soft fists curled against her, and she gazed down with awe.

Tears filled her eyes, on the verge of spilling over as she held the baby close, her heart swelling with emotions she couldn’t begin to put into words. Every ache, every sharp pain from before, had been worth it for this moment. Her child, with its tiny fingers and delicate breaths, was real. Alive. Her heart fluttered at the realization, and with it came a fierce protectiveness she had never known before. She looked down at the baby’s peaceful face, and all her fears vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and joy. This was her child, her world, and nothing could ever take that from her.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud crash. Nurses flinched, and the baby, once calm, let out a squeak in response to the sudden noise. The mother’s head snapped up, her protective instincts flaring to life, but her expression softened immediately when her eyes landed on the man standing in the doorway. His tall figure cast a long shadow across the room, his chest heaving from exertion as if he had sprinted all the way there. His black hair was tousled, and his deep blue eyes, wide with a mix of anxiety and relief, locked onto the baby in her arms.

The doctor chuckled softly, sensing the tension in the air shift. "You made it just in time, Master," she said, stepping back to give him space.

The nurses exchanged knowing glances as they quietly gathered their equipment, slipping out of the room one by one until only the doctor remained, watching with a small smile.

The man hesitated at first, his gaze flicking between the baby and the woman who held him. His steps were cautious as he approached the bed, uncertainty tugging at his features. But as he drew nearer, and the full weight of the moment settled in, his face softened.

His eyes landed on the child—jet black hair like his own, and though the baby’s eyes were still watery and unfocused, they held the same piercing blue as his. He reached out slowly, his hand hovering above the baby before finally brushing a trembling finger against the infant’s head. A deep breath escaped him, as though he had been holding it for far too long.

"Look," the woman whispered, her voice filled with pride despite her exhaustion, "he’s got your eyes."

The man smiled, a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him as he knelt beside her. His eyes never left hers, the tension and worry melting into pure, unfiltered joy. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before glancing down at their child, a glimmer of awe in his eyes.

But her attention shifted to something else. She reached out, brushing her fingers against a damp, dark stain on his robe. “Are you hurt?” she asked, concern flickering in her gaze.

He glanced down, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "As if they could touch me," he murmured, his voice low but filled with quiet confidence.

“I must have stained it because I was in a hurry,” he added, his tone soothing as he reached out to take the baby from her. The mother smiled, her fatigue momentarily forgotten as she watched him cradle their child. The baby, silent, gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes, the tension in the room evaporating as the father’s presence enveloped them both.

The man let out a soft, shaky laugh, the earlier panic now a distant memory. The baby cooed, its tiny body warm against his chest, and the man’s heart swelled with a love so fierce it almost overwhelmed him. The world outside was irrelevant now, the howling winds and freezing air nothing compared to the warmth shared between the three of them.

“Did I scare you, little one?” Novius asked, his deep voice filled with tenderness.

“Yesh, you did, Papa,” his wife chimed in, her voice light and teasing as she mimicked a child’s tone, batting her lashes playfully. The act was so unexpected, so innocent, that the doctor couldn’t help but chuckle softly from her spot by the bed.

But Novius didn’t even blink. He remained calm, his expression neutral as he stared down at his wife. The baby in his arms seemed to mirror his father’s stoic demeanor and looked as if he was making a deadpan face, remaining quiet even as the mother’s playful antics continued.

Finally, with a sigh, she gave up. “I was just trying to lighten the mood,” she muttered, her voice laced with mock irritation, though the humor in her eyes never fully disappeared.

Without missing a beat, Novius responded, his voice flat, “Please stop trying.”

The mother huffed, but it was a gentle sound, more of a continuation of their playful banter. Novius, unfazed by her teasing, shifted his attention back to the baby. The child’s tiny face tilted up towards him, mouth slightly open in wonderment, his small hand reaching out toward his father’s face.

Novius’s continued gently stroking the baby’s cheek, his fingers tracing the delicate features with care. The love he felt for this small, fragile being was indescribable, a bond so strong it took his breath away.

“Master, Lady Xironia, you’re forgetting something,” the doctor said from the edge of the bed. She toyed absentmindedly with a strand of her purple hair, her gaze fixed impatiently on the baby.

Both Novius and Xironia exchanged glances before turning back to the doctor. “What is it, Lia?” they asked, their brows raised in unison.

“A name.”

At the reminder, Novius and Xironia’s eyes drifted down to the baby, his tiny hands curled into fists, and his blue gaze now seemed to have drifted to his own hands. He was so peaceful, so fragile, and to them, he was the most precious thing in the world.

Careful not to disturb the baby, Novius sat beside Xironia, pulling her close in a gentle embrace. Her exhaustion was evident—though her smile remained, her skin was pale, and there were faint signs of fatigue etched into her face. Xironia may act playful and she might look as radiant as ever, but Novius could see the toll the night had taken on her.

“Aurelia,” Novius murmured, glancing at the doctor, “we have a name prepared...” He tightened his arms protectively around his wife and son, his gaze meeting Xironia’s as she eagerly awaited the reveal.

Closing his eyes, Novius let himself drift back to the night they had first discussed names.

---

“A name?” Novius rubbed his chin thoughtfully as they lay together on the soft, well-maintained grass. The night was quiet, the stars twinkling overhead. Xironia was sprawled lazily across his lap, her head resting comfortably against him as she gazed up at the sky.

“Well, do you have one in mind?” Xironia asked, her voice playful as she stifled a laugh. She sank deeper into his lap, her fiery eyes glimmering with mischief.

“I want you to name the child, whether it’s a boy or a girl,” she added, her tone teasing.

Novius frowned slightly, his confidence wavering. “I don’t know… I’ve never been good at this,” he admitted, glancing around for inspiration. But as he looked at the trees, the sky, the distant mountains, nothing seemed to give him the right answer.

“Can I get some time? I really need to think this through,”

 he sighed, unwilling to give up so easily.

Xironia smiled, her eyes closing as she settled into his warmth. “You’ve got a few months,” she whispered, her voice gentle.

---

Novius opened his eyes, the weight of that conversation still fresh in his mind. The name had taken time to settle in his heart, but now, it felt right.

“Alaric,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “How does that sound?”

Xironia’s face lit up with a mixture of joy and relief as she looked down at her sleeping son. Leaning closer, she kissed his soft cheek. “Alaric,” she whispered tenderly. “Welcome to the world.”

Those were her final words before exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted into unconsciousness in Novius’s arms.

Aurelia, noticing Xironia’s state, quickly moved to adjust her on the bed. She carefully laid Xironia down and turned to Novius, holding her hands out in front of her.

Novius blinked at her, confused. He glanced over at Xironia, still resting peacefully, before looking back at Aurelia with a questioning expression. The silence between them stretched until Aurelia finally broke it.

“Master, there’s still some work to do,” she said, her tone flat but firm. She gestured towards the baby, making it clear that she needed to take him for the final checks.

Reluctantly, Novius handed Alaric over. “Stay with Lady Xironia,” Aurelia instructed as she cradled the baby and headed towards the door.

Novius sat back down beside his wife, watching as Aurelia disappeared down the hallway, the sound of her footsteps fading into the quiet. Outside, the hall was well-lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting gentle shadows. As she walked, Aurelia glanced down at the infant, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Alaric, huh?” she whispered, her smile widening as she continued down the hall, the name settling into her heart as much as it had in theirs.