Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They say the Empress had a bastard child in secret.

That's what they say, alright.

"You're doing wonderfully, Your Majesty."

Melia seethed as she rocked her head against the soft pillows beneath her. She could swear she'd heard that phrase at least a thousand times since she first went into labor. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with enduring contraction after contraction, she would genuinely consider summoning a Flare and burning anyone who said it to a crisp.

"Deep breaths, in, out…"

Despite her annoyance, the Empress followed the midwife's instructions and copied her breathing pattern. Melia was still rather young as far as the High Entia's rate of aging was concerned, she needed all the help she could get. Her chest heaved as she attempted to steady her racing heart.

"I see the head!"

Melia shrieked in agony. It felt as if her body was being ripped in half as the child she'd carried for the last nine months moved painfully slowly through her nether regions. The quick feeling of two tiny nubs exiting from in between her legs, probably the wings, notified Melia that the midwives were correct in that the head was almost out.

"Just a couple more big pushes and this will all be over."

When her next contraction hit her, she hardly had time to catch her breath. Her lungs burned as a pathetic scream escaped her and she gathered what strength she could in order to push. Melia could feel something start to slip out of her before getting stuck again at the base of her pelvis. Another wave of pain then tore through her, easily the worst one yet. It felt like every muscle in Melia's body became stiff as she gripped the sheets she was splayed across and hunched forward, putting all of her remaining might into that final push.

This time, she screamed until her throat no longer cooperated and the strain became too much on her vocal cords. When her voice died down, however, a new sound pierced the air.

The wailing of a newborn. 

The midwives began to gather around the source of the high-pitched noise, their hushed whispers accompanying it. Melia's head dropped back down to her pillow, completely spent. She tried to peek over at the midwives to catch a glimpse at the babe they were currently fretting over, but even that proved to be too taxing.

Giving up rather quickly, Melia instead tried to focus on what she could hear. The baby's screaming nearly drowned out all other noises around it. The sound was so distressing it made Melia's heart ache. Beneath that, there was some gentle splashing and sloshing. Most likely the midwives getting to work on cleaning the newborn of any fluids. Finally, there were the hushed whispers of the women who delivered her baby. She couldn't make out what they were saying aside from a few numbers here and there. If she had to guess, they were likely evaluating its health as well as noting weight and measurements.

Then there were footsteps, they were coming closer to her.

Bleary-eyed, Melia shifted her head to see one of the midwives standing beside her, a fidgeting bundle of white blankets in her arms.

"Your Majesty. It's a boy."

She hardly registered the woman securing the bundle in her weakened arms, but when Melia finally caught a glimpse at what was nestled within the soft fabric, it felt as if everything around her had stopped. The Empress could no longer hear the murmurs of the midwives, she was barely aware of the exhaustion she felt just a moment ago. All her senses were focused exclusively on her son.

Her son.

His skin was bright pink as he cried his lungs out, contrasted by the small amount of grey hair atop his head. The down feathers on his wings, while usually soft and puffy on High Entian newborns, were slick from the hasty cleaning he'd just received. His wings appeared to be even smaller than hers, and not just because he was a baby. A sign of his parentage, no doubt.

An overwhelming feeling suddenly washed over Melia as she observed the child. She almost failed to notice the hot tears spilling over her eyelids.

"I've been waiting for you…" Melia managed to choke out. "Welcome to the world, my child…"

Tyrea stood firm just outside the delivery room.

The Empress' shadow had tasked herself with keeping a lookout ever since Her Majesty first went into labor earlier that morning. She'd done well to scare off nosy Council members up to that point, but it was hard for her to admit that all of this standing around was starting to affect her. Melia's water had broken, what, fifteen hours ago? Maybe sixteen? For the full duration of the birth, Tyrea refused to leave her position for any reason, meaning she'd completely skipped out on rest and meals.

She'd been through worse, of course. The training Yumea once had her go through back in the days of the Bionite Order was considerably more strenuous and bone-breaking. However, it felt like that time in her life was ages ago at this point, so at times Tyrea felt a little out of practice. Forgoing food and sleep for a lengthy period wasn't something she'd done in a while, so now she was fighting a battle against her own body to stay alert and more importantly, stay awake.

As she internally chastised her eyes for struggling to stay open, the door behind her dematerialized. The poor midwife on the other side seemed to nearly have a heart attack when Tyrea, out of pure habit, spun on her heels and pointed her weapon at the woman.

"L-Lady Tyrea…" she said soon after composing herself. "Her Majesty and the child are both doing well. You may enter now if you wish."

Tyrea almost missed what the midwife had said as the sound of a baby's cry caught her attention. Most walls within the palace were well sound-proofed, so the High Entian woman hadn't heard a lick of anything going on within the delivery room up until this point. While the lack of noise originally made Tyrea feel a bit antsy, it was probably for the best that she didn't have to listen in on the unpleasantness of childbirth, especially considering it was her sister enduring it.

Sheathing her weapon, Tyrea followed the other woman into the room. She resisted the urge to scowl as the wailing was now on full blast for her to hear.

Even with the palace's medical staff occupying a larger chunk of the room, Tyrea's sight immediately singled out Melia. She'd expected to see her in an exhausted state upon entering, among other things, but her eyes widened when she saw something she wasn't expecting.

Melia seemed to have offered her finger to the red-faced baby at some point as its tiny fist was clenching the tip of her pointer finger.

Her Majesty's expression was undeniable, she was smitten.

"Do you see him, Tyrea? Isn't he beautiful?" Melia's voice was hoarse, yet her joy was evident. "Ten little fingers, ten little toes, two teeny-tiny wings… It's all there, I counted myself."

"...I see," Tyrea said plainly.

This… This isn't good.

When the baby loosened his grip on his mother's digit, she lifted that same finger to his mouth. Upon feeling the sensation of something poking against his lips, he instinctively latched onto the object. A giggle left Melia as her son attempted to suckle the tip of her finger.

"Your Majesty, the babe should be having his first feeding soon." One of the winged midwives gently informed the new mother. By her side was an older-looking High Entian woman who stood politely with her hands folded in front of her waist. "As you and Lady Tyrea requested, we've assigned him a wet nurse that will tend to his needs in your place."

As the wet nurse reached out for the bundle in her arms, Melia pulled back slightly, her hold on her son tightening. Even though she'd approved these arrangements herself several months ago, she simply wasn't prepared to let go.

The wet nurse gave her a warm smile in an attempt to ease her nerves. "It's alright, Your Majesty. Your son is safe with me."

There was something almost maternal about the way the older woman was looking at Melia. It gave her the feeling of a cozy blanket being wrapped around her. With a new sense of comfort and safety, the Empress relaxed and carefully handed over the newborn to his wet nurse.

The woman gave her one last reassuring look before leaving with the whimpering child in her arms, a couple of the midwives following her. She wasn't going to feed him right there in front of so many others, of course. Modesty like that tended to be valued among the High Entia.

"Now that that's taken care of," Tyrea began, placing a comforting hand on Melia's shoulder, "you should get some rest, Melia. You look like death."

The following days crawled along like a Caterpile drenched in tree sap. The medical staff overseeing Melia encouraged at least three days of bed rest so she could regain her strength before returning to her duties as Empress. Her Majesty complied, but as the end of the third day approached, so did the end of a certain person's stay in Alcamoth.

"Melia…"

"Oh, stop looking at me like that." Melia waved dismissively as Tyrea gave her a disapproving look. "The wet nurse stepped out and he was making a fuss. I just wanted to do something before he became too noisy, that's all."

She knew Tyrea could see right through her fib, but Melia didn't care. She wanted to cement this image, this feeling of her newborn child feeding from her exposed breast into her brain. Her son's slight coos of contentment, how he pawed at her bare skin, the way his small wings flexed out with every gulp, she wanted to remember all of it. Even if it would hurt her in the long term, the Empress knew she would regret it if she didn't take the chance to experience this moment.

At the very least, it helped to alleviate the uncomfortable swell of her chest that had been bothering her for a good while.

"No matter. I suggest you make yourself presentable, the surrogates will be arriving shortly," Tyrea informed her.

Ah, yes. The surrogates. Yet another arrangement she and Tyrea had discussed months in advance, and the one Melia had been dreading the most.

When her son was finished feeding, Tyrea helped Melia change into a more formal dress. It had been quite a while since she's been able to wear a dress like this, one that was more form-fitting and tight around her torso. For the majority of the previous nine months, she was stuck wearing loose maternity gowns, very few of which she thought were flattering.

Soon enough, the three of them were on their way to the designated meeting room. Once there, Melia gingerly laid her sleeping son down in a bassinet before taking a seat. Tyrea kept some distance, but just enough so she wouldn't be intruding on any discussions once the surrogates arrived.

With impeccable timing, a pair of guards announced their arrival before entering. Behind them were two people, a man and a woman.

The woman was a full-blooded Homs, a commoner as Melia could tell from her simple dress made of basic fabric. She appeared more youthful at first glance, but as she moved her long brown hair out of her face, it was easier to see the wisdom behind her eyes and the tired lines that accompanied them. She showed Melia a kind smile.

The man beside her was of mixed Homs-High Entia heritage, made obvious by the short wings atop his head of silver hair. They weren't quite as small as hers, his white feathers almost reaching as far down as his elbows. He stood more formally than the woman, almost rigid. It took Melia a few seconds to notice that he was carrying something tucked inside a sling across his chest.

The masked guards bowed to their Empress before stepping out to give the group some privacy.

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty." The Homs woman copied the guards' actions and bowed discreetly. "Oh, I haven't properly introduced myself, have I? My name is Helga. This is my husband, Morael."

"And this little one is our daughter." Morael lifted a hand to the sling he wore, gently running a thumb over the light brown hair of an infant. Catching the side-eye Tyrea was currently giving him, he let out a nervous chuckle. "She's only a few months old, so I wouldn't worry about her remembering any of this."

"Such a beautiful child," Melia spoke. "What is her name, if you don't mind me asking?"

"But of course. Her name is Eunie, our little fighter…" As Morael tickled under the baby's chin, causing her to giggle and flutter her wings, Melia pondered the name. It was most likely of Homs origin as she'd never heard of its use among the pure-blooded High Entia or within her history books.

"How lovely. Does it hold any kind of meaning?" At this point, Melia couldn't tell if she was genuinely interested in learning more about this family or if she was just stalling for whatever extra time she could get.

There was a short pause as Helga shared a look with her husband as if quietly deciding what to say. The woman nodded before meeting Melia's gaze. "It essentially stands for 'victory'. We were originally expecting twins, you see. They came early and, unfortunately…Eunie's brother didn't make it. But our girl held on until she made a full recovery, didn't you?" Helga took a moment to coo at her daughter. "That in and of itself felt like a great victory, so we wanted to grant her a name that reflected that feeling."

As she finished speaking, Morael solemnly intertwined his fingers with hers, giving her hand a firm squeeze.

"Oh, my… I'm so sorry, I couldn't imagine losing a child in such a way…"

"No need to apologize, Your Majesty." Helga shook her head before putting up another kind smile. Possibly looking to change the subject, her eyes fell on the lacy bassinet to Melia's side. "Is this the little one we've heard so much about? So handsome, he is!" she spoke as she and her husband moved in closer.

"You see, Eunie? There's your new brother," Morael spoke softly with a grin.

Eunie cooed, blue eyes blinking at the sleeping boy in front of her.

Melia watched as the small family fawned over her child. Clenching her jaw, she hoped not to show the pure envy bubbling up inside of her. In front of her were people who had everything she wanted and more. A spouse, a family, and the freedom to show her son the love he deserved.

"What's his name?" Helga asked, bringing Melia out of her thoughts.

Melia cleared her throat. "I've chosen to abstain from naming the child. As you will be his surrogate parents, I felt it right to leave the privilege to you." The High Entia wouldn't deny that she'd thought up a few names in the months leading up to her baby's arrival, as she was sure most mothers would, but at the end of the day, that luxury simply wasn't in the cards for her. Cut off any connection between them as much as possible, for he didn't deserve to live with her shame. For she did not deserve him.

Helga and Morael's eyes both widened as they shared another look.

"Oh, my…" the winged man muttered. "A-are you sure, Your Majesty?"

Melia nodded as her gaze returned to the bassinet. "May I…have a moment? To say goodbye?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need," Helga said gently.

Melia watched her son's small chest rise and fall with each breath he took as he slumbered in a white onesie that coincidentally matched the bassinet, even having similar little frills along his collar and wrists. She remained motionless for a few seconds, wondering if it would be worth it to disrupt his peaceful nap. Ever so gently, she moved her hands beneath the boy's sleeping form and lifted him from where he slept, her arms settling into a cradling position as he was brought close to her chest. The movement was enough to jostle the infant awake, causing him to whine and squint his blue eyes up at his mother.

The Empress made a soft shushing noise as she began lightly rocking the boy in an attempt to soothe his crying. Looking down at her son, there were so many things Melia wanted to tell him even though he wouldn't be able to remember any of this in the years to come. But her goodbye couldn't last all day.

"Perhaps someday…we will meet again. Until then, be safe, little one."

Lowering her head, Melia planted a single kiss on her son's forehead, feeling how soft his skin felt against her lips. She beckoned over Helga and as her trembling hands placed the baby into the Homs' arms, his cries intensified.

Please… Don't make this harder than it needs to be… Melia kept her composure, but she felt as if she was breaking internally.

Helga tried to calm down the child as best as she could, though her movements seemed more…experienced than Melia's if only just a little. Of course, her daughter was a few months older than the boy, so she likely had plenty of practice soothing her.

The Homs woman opened her mouth as if to say something to Melia, but before she could get anything out, the same guards who guided the couple to the Empress appeared once more and began urging them out of the room. They weren't exactly being aggressive, but they did seem to want them to leave as soon as possible. Helga and Morael looked somewhat displeased with the forceful way they were being led out until Melia saw their faces no more. She hoped the guards didn't spook Eunie.

And just like that…it was over.

Her son was gone.

A peaceful quiet settled in the room, though it didn't last. It only took a few seconds for Melia's sobs to reach Tyrea's ears.

"I'll step out to give you a moment-"

"No! Please, Tyrea, stay… I don't want to be alone…"

"...As you wish, Melia."

Chapter Text

Just outside the walls of Colony 9's military district, the sound of a child's voice rang out in distress.

"Hey! G-give it back!"

A young, green-haired Homs hopped and extended his arm in vain as a stockier boy held a book with pages upon pages of drawings out of his reach.

Tch, they oughtta see the looks on their faces!

As Hoope managed to hold the book in one hand and push Joran away with the other, the runt's gaggle of friends were caught unawares by their sudden drop-in. Lanz, unsurprisingly, immediately put up his tough guy act, baring his teeth and tensing his arms as if getting ready for a fight. Eunie seemed more annoyed than anything else, as per usual, though her concern for the boy was still clear.

"Ooo, lemme have a look!" A Machina girl plucked the sketchbook from Hoope's hand.

"Yikes, did a Tirkin scribble these?" A red-headed Homs boy looked over his friend's shoulder as she flipped through the pages.

The girl cocked her head at one page in particular. "What's this even supposed to be? A Nopon with a broken wing?"

"Looks like shite to me," the taller Homs boy said, causing the two others to snicker.

Looking down, Joran's face grew red with humiliation.

Quickly becoming fed up, Eunie was the first to stand up for her friend. "Call off your goons, Garvel!"

"Goons?!" Hoope, Layla, and Kite shouted in unison, clearly taking offense to Eunie's choice of words.

Spectating not so far away, a grey-winged High Entian boy moved away from where he'd been leaning against the stone wall of the military district. The ringleader of the group approached slowly with his arms crossed. His apathetic expression showed just how little he cared about what happened to his sister's friend.

"Sure, I guess I could… if you lot get out of our spot," Garvel said casually.

"...You've go'a be jokin'..." Eunie responded, resisting the urge to pinch her forehead.

"This ain't school, Garv, " Lanz barked out, purposefully using the nickname he knew would get under the boy's skin. "We're outdoors, ain't no assigned seats out here."

Hearing that version of his name made Garvel's eye twitch. "And? The soldiers always do their muscle trainin' this time of the week, and we always watch 'em from this spot. So how 'bout you mudders beat it and we'll consider givin' the lame duck his shite back."

"Come off it, Garvel!"

Gritting his teeth, Garvel was coming dangerously close to losing his composure. If there was one sound in the world he hated above all others, it was the sound of that black-haired, poniotail-wearing, big-headed brat's voice.

"Lanz is right, you know. You're not entitled to any "spot", so just leave Joran alone!"

"Noah…" the winged boy said the name with venom in his voice. "Y'think you're so high and mighty just 'cause your family's a buncha hotshots?"

Noah took a step back, eyebrows furrowed. "What? That's not-"

"Shut it! I don't need you to admit it to know how you think. Well, your pops ain't around to save your arse now, is he?"

By the group leader's side, Hoope gained a thoughtful look. "Oh, yeah. Come to think of it, the soldiers in the district can't hear us either, can they?"

"And I don't see any other adults around!" Layla added gleefully.

"We might just hafta teach you all a lesson, right Garvel?" With an over-confident grin, Kite listened for the older boy's approval. When he was met with silence, however, his smile fell as he turned his head. "...Garvel?"

All eyes fell on Garvel as the silence stretched out to the point where it became uncomfortable. Rather than paying attention to the situation he created, he appeared to have gotten distracted at some point along the way. Eyes closed and one hand against his hair, the child was putting much more effort into scratching than listening.

Damn itchin'...

"Oi, Garvel," Lanz chuckled with a devious look on his face. "You know what it means when you get that feelin' in the back of your head, right? Means you're bein' watched by vengeful ghosts, waitin' to snatch y'up when you're least expectin'..."

"Lanz…!" Eunie whined at her friend, the crease between her eyebrows and puffed-up feathers making her discomfort clear.

Unlike his sister, Garvel wasn't so convinced by the Machina's ghost story. "Where'd ya pull that one from? Your arse?"

"Everyone knows there ain't no such thing as ghosts," Hoope added.

"Y-yup! Everyone!" Layla squeaked, trying her best to sound as confident as her pals.

One sound in particular caught Garvel's attention just then. A small sound, easily missed, but he couldn't ignore it just from how much it set him ablaze. Noah had tried his best to hide it, but he was laughing. The brat was laughing.

"The hell you smirkin' at, Noah?!" Garvel yelled.

The boy shook his head, his grin only barely fading. "Nothing. Not everything's about you, anyway."

"Yeah, sure, "nothing"." His footsteps were heavy as he moved closer. He tried to make his body language more aggressive, puffing his chest and clenching his fists and the like, but Noah didn't even flinch. "What, y'think it'd be funny if someone came and took me away?"

"Geez, Garvel, you look a little stressed. You sure you don't believe in ghosts?"

"SHADDUP!"

When Garvel threw his fist at the boy in front of him, he envisioned his knuckles connecting with his face, knocking him down to the ground. Once Noah was at a disadvantage, he'd have even further opportunity to punch his lights out.

But none of those fantasies came to fruition as his fist was prematurely stopped by a solid left arm dressed in white.

As if out of nowhere, Noah's wide eyes were replaced with the firm stare of a grownup.

"That's enough. All of you."

Even as those around him gasped in admiration, Garvel was left too stunned to move.

Sparks, he forgot just how fast Noah's uncle was.

"It's him! It's him!" Layla squeal-whispered.

"Dunban, the Hero of the Homs!" Kite fanboyed alongside the girl.

Ignoring the excited whispers coming from his friends, the muscles in Garvel's outstretched arm tightened as his frustration grew by the second.

Eyebrows arched in a way to make his fury known, the High Entian boy held Dunban's gaze. As if they were locked in their own battle of blue versus grey, neither one blinked as their eyes fought for a quiet dominance over the other. At least, that's how it felt from Garvel's perspective.

As the boy could feel the breeze fight against the moisture of his eyes, Dunban watched him. Not with contempt for nearly decking his nephew, but with quizzical wonder. Only when his face scrunched up did Dunban's gaze falter as well.

Having been finally stared into submission, Garvel yanked his fist away. He didn't say a word as he tilted his head down in defeat.

Dunban now stood silently, looking between each of the awe-struck children around him. His stern eyes suddenly landed on Layla, and the young Machina's body stiffened up with an "Eep!" Quickly realizing what he wanted, she held out the sketchbook she'd been holding. The man carefully took the stolen item before returning it to the green-haired boy.

"Thank you, mister…" Joran muttered.

Casting one last glance at the High Entian boy in front of him, Dunban turned as if to leave right then.

"Say goodbye to your friends, Noah. We're going home."

The Homs boy's gaze snapped up to him indignantly. "B-but Uncle, they were the ones who-"

Dunban cut off Noah with a silencing wave of the hand.

"I suggest you all run home to your parents," the older Homs said simply as if he was giving instructions instead of reprimanding the children. "...Unless you want me to tell them that I caught you out here picking fights with each other."

Now that got the kids' attention. Glancing at each other in alarm, they realized that getting punished by their parents would be much worse than any scolding Dunban could give them. The man really knew how to use that to his advantage sometimes.

Hoope and Layla were the first to scurry away, quickly followed by Kite after squeaking out a "s-s-sorry!" Lanz quietly said goodbye to Noah before trudging off. Joran gave his friends a timid wave before hurrying home, clutching his sketchbook extra tight so he wouldn't lose it again.

"You always do this, Garvel!" Eunie huffed, stomping up to her brother. "Do you and your lackeys really have nothin' betta to do than pick on us?!"

Even as the girl in front of him was becoming red in the face, Garvel remained stoic. This was far from the first time she'd gotten this angry with him. "Hmph. Well, you and your lame-arse friends shouldn't have been in our spot."

"Why, you-!" Eunie grabbed a fistful of Garvel's grey plumage to hear him yelp, giving his wing a harsh tug for good measure. "You sparkin' jerk!"

Her brother's retaliation was swift as she soon felt her feathers nearly getting plucked. Tears quickly began to prick at both of their eyes as they went back and forth yanking their wings, hurling obscene insults at each other all the while. Anyone familiar with the two High Entian children would recognize this kind of feather-pulling as it always ended up being their default method of squabbling.

The Hero of the Homs sighed as he shook his head. These kids and their bickering were starting to give him a headache.

"Language." Dunban raised his voice slightly to get their attention. Once he was sure the siblings were looking, a hint of a smile appeared on his face as he winked. "It'd be a shame if word got to your mother and father that you were saying such things, you know."

Eunie and Garvel went pale. They'd already committed the moral crime of being a couple of potty-mouths in front of their parents once before and paid for it with quick yet unpleasant swats on the bum. Their original punishment technically got them to stop using such language, but only when Mum and Dad were around.

Releasing the wings they'd been holding hostage, the kids stood with their fists clenched, grumbling to themselves. When they managed a half-baked apology, Dunban gave them a small nod. Without another word, the man took his nephew's hand and guided him away toward the residential district of Colony 9. Noah turned his head and waved one last time at his friend. Eunie waved back, her pouty expression lightening up slightly.

Once Noah and his uncle were far enough away, Eunie kicked her foot into the dirt. "Snuff it all. How'd I ever end up with a brother like you…"

"Tch…"

Casting one last glare at her brother, Eunie marched off. Though she said nothing else, the erratic flapping of her wings made her anger obvious. While it would make sense for the behavior of Garvel's wings to reflect his sister's, his lacked the same energy and could do nothing but droop in that moment.

As he was trailing behind, Garvel suddenly froze as the strange sensation on the back of his head returned. He resisted the urge to scratch it like he'd done previously. It almost felt like it was itching or burning, but at the same time, he knew that couldn't be it.

"Ghosts…" he murmured under his breath, remembering Lanz's teasing from earlier.

…

…

…

Not quite the behavior I would've hoped for…but the boy's an adolescent, what did I expect? I'll have to make it work.

From her distant hiding place, the supposed phantom in question thought begrudgingly. Through the foliage, she watched as the boy continued dragging his feet behind his sister.

Our paths will cross again soon enough, young Prince…