But in the midst of this, the firstborn—who had been born healthy and had thus far slept peacefully—stirred not at all. The child, the oldest of the three, remained undisturbed, his face peaceful and his soul pure, as though he had never been touched by the chaos of the world.
The chamber was filled with tension, the cries of the second child still ringing in the air. Emily sank to her knees, and the stream of tears flowed freely. She looked down at her sister, who now lay lifeless on the ritual bed.
Her gaze then shifted to the children. The oldest, his face calm and unmarked by suffering. The middle child, a baby girl, is screaming with all the fury of a storm. And the youngest... a baby boy whose cries cut through the room like a blade.
