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A Moment of Reflection
Mariah sat in quiet meditation, her breath slow and steady, hands resting gently on her lap. The vast chamber around her was bathed in dim candlelight, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the walls. Seven centuries. Seven hundred years had passed since she conceived her child, and still, the infant remained within her, untouched by time.
She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the warmth, the stillness.
"Why do you not come into this world?" she whispered.
No answer came, only the faint rustling of silk curtains as the wind carried in the scent of the island—salt from the sea, the sweetness of night-blooming flowers, and the ever-present pulse of ancient power that surrounded the land of her birth.
Her mind wandered through time. She remembered when she was sixteen, when she first created life. The four beings she shaped—her first children—were made from her own blood, sculpted with purpose. Unlike her current child, they had been born in an instant, their bodies forming at her command.
This one, however, was different. This one was hers in every way.
---
A Brother's Visit
A gentle knock echoed through the chamber.
Before she could respond, the doors opened, and Rex stepped inside. He carried himself with his usual quiet strength, his long coat flowing behind him as he approached. His presence was steady, comforting—a contrast to the storm raging outside.
"You've been awake for some time," he said, his voice warm yet knowing. "I thought you might appreciate some company."
Mariah gave a small smile but did not move. "You always come when you think I am lost in thought."
Rex chuckled. "Because you always are."
He walked to the window, gazing out at the island. The land had changed so much over the centuries. Where once there were only scattered settlements, now stood a vast nation, Rex's descendants flourishing into a kingdom. And yet, Mariah had remained as she was—unchanging, eternal, waiting.
"The people long to see you," he said at last. "There is a banquet in three nights' time. They wish for you to attend."
Mariah lowered her gaze. "You know I cannot."
"Cannot, or will not?"
Silence stretched between them.
Rex sighed and walked toward her, kneeling beside her seat. His expression was softer now, more understanding. "You do not have to carry this burden alone, sister."
She shook her head. "You do not understand. None of you do."
"Then help me understand."
Mariah turned away, looking once more at the night sky. "I am waiting for something. But I do not know what."
"Perhaps the world is waiting for you."
She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words.
The banquet… the people… the world beyond this chamber.
Perhaps it was time to step outside.
---
Mariah turned her gaze away from the window, her golden eyes dim under the candlelight. "I do not belong in their world, Rex," she murmured. "They see me as something distant… something untouchable."
Rex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That may be true. But distance is not absence, Mariah. You've been here all this time, yet how many have truly seen you?"
She exhaled softly. "And you believe appearing at a banquet will change that?"
Rex chuckled. "No. But letting them see that you are still here—still part of this world—might remind them why they revere you." His voice softened. "They have not forgotten you, Mariah. No one has."
Mariah studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint of deception. She found none.
Finally, she sighed. "Very well. I will attend."
Rex smiled, satisfied. "Good. I'll have something prepared for you."
As he turned to leave, Mariah spoke again, quieter this time. "Rex… do you ever regret it?"
He stopped. "Regret what?"
"Choosing to live among them."
Rex glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Regret? No. But sometimes… I wonder what it would have been like if I had stayed."
Mariah said nothing.
As the door closed behind him, she turned back to the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm forming on the horizon.
She placed a hand over her stomach. Seven hundred years, and still, her child did not stir.
What was the island waiting for?