Page 56 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

MOLAN

T he months leading up to the birth tested them in ways neither a battlefield nor a council chamber ever had.

Rina, who once commanded fleets and quelled warlords, now fought a quieter war with her own body.

For a few weeks, nausea stalked her from dawn till dusk.

Meals that formerly gave her comfort turned traitor; the spiced lentils and grilled fish she’d chowed down without flinching while on duty, now had her gagging.

Mo kept ginger biscuits and mint tea within arm’s reach wherever she went.

All the while muttering darkly about how he’d rather fight a squad of Stygian mercs than see her retch again.

By the second trimester, her cravings came hard, fast, and tinged with a touch of oddity.

One day, she wanted salted dried fruits from Tansinia; the next, it was doughnuts dipped in chili honey, and the day after that, pickled vegetables at three in the morning.

Mo indulged every request without complaint.

However, he did grumble once when he found himself standing in The Osirian’s kitchens at midnight, bartering with a bewildered cook for the last jar of cured lotus root.

Sleep became a fickle ally as the months wore on.

The heat of Eden II’s nights, coupled with her swelling belly, made rest elusive.

Rina tossed, shifted, kicked off blankets, only to demand them back seconds later.

Mo bore it all with a mix of patience and humor, rubbing her feet when they swelled, fanning her when the temperature grew unbearable.

Telling her that she was the most radiant thing he’d ever seen, even when she shot back with a groggy, ' Don’t patronize me, soldier.’

Still, beneath the banter, there was tenderness.

He washed her hair when she was too tired to do it herself.

He held her through the nights when frustration brought tears, and reminded her that empires bent to her will; so this, too, she would endure.

Together, they carved out joy in small rituals.

The most poignant task was building the nursery, which Mo installed in his Eden II apartment, occupying the fourth bedroom.

Mo, who had once devoted his life to weapons and dark ops, now spent his afternoons with a hammer and brush in hand.

He painted the walls himself, a subtle shade of dusk blue, the color of the skies above Dunia, and set star-lights across the ceiling that flickered in gentle asterisms.

Rina teased him without mercy.

‘You do realize he won’t mind if the stars don’t line up with the actual Pegasi constellations, right?’

Mo grunted, measuring his work with the precision of a general. ‘He’ll care. He’s mine. He’ll know his sky.’

Through it all, nausea, cravings, restless nights, laughter, and bickering, their love deepened.

Soon, however, she was glowing and healthy, free of morning sickness.

Mo took the opportunity to place every kind of possessive lock on her he could, from jewelry to gifting her a new sleek Sable Wraith flyer.

He even flew her on random shopping sprees to Enia’s glittery city, where she picked out baby clothes, cots, and furniture for their now shared apartment.

At first, she tried to tell him she was only window shopping, but he just shook his head and led her into the most expensive boutique.

‘No window shopping, we don’t do the basic, mi kaya ,’ he growled, spoiling her with an extravagant budget.

‘I’m not used to this,’ she countered, with a helpless smile.

‘Then get with it,’ he rumbled. ‘Because I’m so freakin’ addicted to you, so I’ll lace you with jewels and fine things, woman, because I so crave you.’

Surrendering to his possessive extravagance, she selected blankets, soft and hand-woven, and when she was back home, she arranged shelves with picture books of worlds and legends.

Still, they argued over whether the crib should be crafted from Eden II’s obsidian wood or Dunia’s pale oak.

The debate ended with a concession. The baby’s bed was made of polished ebony, while the rocking nursing chair was constructed of the lighter wood.

Through it all, Mo was consumed by love for her, his affection for her reaching its peak during her pregnancy.

He had always known how to protect, but with their child on the way, his possessive need to provide, protect, and defend her had gone galactic.

Rina was his universe, his sun, his moon, and every freakin’ star in between.

He swore he’d give her anything she wanted and even more.

They had both borne wars and secrets, but this was a different kind of campaign. One fought not with blades or treaties, but with patience, devotion, and the promise of a small heartbeat growing stronger each day.

At last, the tide stilled.

The stars no longer demanded their time. The galaxy gave them this pause.

It was time to usher their child into the world.

They were heading to Dunia.

Rina chose to give birth to her baby at her parents’ farm.

‘Surrounded by family, love, and lushness of nature,’ she insisted.

Mo submitted, not even uttering a word of refusal, happy to grant the love of his life the birthing experience she dreamed of.

Rina curled into Mo’s arms, her breath warm against his collarbone, his embrace steady as the auto nav took over.

He had held her with that same quiet reverence since the moment he learned she was carrying their child.

She was glowing, viscerally, her womb round and ready for birth.

Eight months along, her skin sometimes radiated with a brighter golden shimmer beneath the surface, as if touched by starlight.

Power, subtle and steady, pulsed from the swell of her belly.

Mo eased her into the passenger crash couch and strapped in beside her, eyes following the shifts on her complexion, as always mesmerized.

‘So beautiful,’ he rasped.’

She stroked his jaw. ‘ Sante .’

You comfortable, mi kaya ?’ he whispered, brushing away the wild tresses from her brow.

She chuckled. ‘As I’ll ever be, with our little one doing dance drills in my ribs.’

Her voice was thick with affection. ‘We need to talk about how much Sacran energy they inherited.’

Mo let out a rumble of laughter and pressed a kiss to the dome of her belly. ‘They’re just excited,’ he murmured into her skin. ‘They know it’s our time now.’

Several hours later, Dunia came into view on the navscreen.

The twin suns painted the sky in coral and gold as the corvette slipped through the atmosphere.

Below, the land rolled out in green hills and morning mist, familiar and steady.

Hanna and Reth’s estate appeared, orchards in neat rows.

She sighed at the sight of paddocks dotted with horses and the farmhouse with its expansive terrace.

Clotheslines swayed in the breeze, and in the back paddock a newborn foal stood, still wobbly on its legs.

‘It’s good to be here for the last stretch,’ Rina exhaled. ‘Nothing’s like having your mother close when the baby comes.’

The corvette touched down. Rina squeezed Mo’s hand as they stepped out. He stripped off his boots and crossed the grass barefoot, breathing in the scent of wet earth and hay.

At the fence, he slowed, studying the gardens, paddocks, and the yearling.

‘Looks like Reth has done more planting.’

‘He has, it is almost summer after all. Also, the filly is ours,’ Rina murmured.

His head snapped in her direction. ‘For us?’

She nodded. ‘Mum said she’s ours if we want her. We’ll keep it here, of course, but we can visit as often as we want.

Mo moved closer without another word. The young horse stumbled toward him, trusting, and he reached out with a shaking hand to touch its delicate nose.

He stayed like that for a long time, quiet, until Rina joined him.

Later, they walked into the warmth of Hanna and Reth’s embrace, leaving behind the sounds of night birds and the soft breath of the foal against the fence post.

The following days fell into a rhythm.

Rina pottered in the living area with Hanna humming off-key as she bottled preserves, Reth and Mo coming in and out of the paddocks for iced tea.

Dinners at the farmhouse became ritual: Mo whittling wood, Rina reading in her armchair or barefoot in the kitchen, cooking.

One night, when Hanna and Reth went to the neighbours’ for the evening, they invited Issa and Ki’Remi for dinner.

The pair were on another two-week break and staying at Issa’s family’s farm, not so far away.

The two couples lingered by the outdoor fire.

Rina leaned back in her chair, her hand resting over her belly, while Mo stretched long across from her, firelight catching the glow of his glyphs.

The talk started with peace accords, medical missions, and even the foal that followed Mo around the paddocks.

But Issa turned solemn. ‘You’ve changed, Mo. You carry serenity within you, but likewise a significant gravitas.’

‘That’s because I’ve stopped running,’ Mo said. ‘I’ve also accepted my past and its quirks, I suppose.’

Issa added, ‘How about Sulfiqar’s legacy, your Sacran heritage, have you embraced what comes with it?’

Mo gave her a penetrating look. ‘What does it mean,’ he rasped, ‘to be Sacran?’

‘It means living in two truths,’ Issa said. ‘Forged for war, but meant for peace. Cast out, but not lost. Divine but unholy in seeking justice. The strength is in holding to both opposing paradigms without breaking.’

Mo let her words sink in. ‘I was once cold, unfeeling, trained as a weapon, to barricade away my emotions so I’d commit the worst atrocities.

Now I feel it all: anger, grief, tenderness.

I don’t block it anymore.’ He paused. ‘When I think of fatherhood, I think of what I never had. What Sulfiqar never gave me. I want to be everything he was not, present, giving, here for my woman and children. So count me in as the unholy seeking redemption, in this case.’

Rina took his hand. He held it, kissing the back of it.

He sliced his eyes from Issa to his woman. ‘I won’t let my past bleed into our son. I’ll carry the shadows, but I’ll teach him the light.’

Issa nodded. ‘Then you’re already walking that path. Not just his father, but his example of how to walk that narrow ridge between both paragons of his human and Sacran experience.’

A meteor shower broke over their heads, and both couples paused to stare at the arcing wild lights across the velvet sky.

Issa shot the couple a smile. ‘I think the stars above heard you two, and they approve.’

Two days later, under Dunia’s amber dawn, they welcomed their child.

It happened in the farmhouse, in Rina’s old bedroom, which had been transformed into a makeshift birthing room.

Sunlight streamed through the shutters in golden stripes.

The fragrance of sweet hay drifted in from the paddocks, mixing with the scent of citrus wood burning in the hearth.

Rina’s mother, Hanna, stayed close to her daughter, wiping her brow, whispering encouragement, and steadying her when the contractions grew sharp.

Mo never left her side, his sizable hand wrapped around hers, squeezing through every surge.

Ki’Remi, calm and precise, guided the delivery with a surgical authority, his rumbling bass steady and instructions clear.

Issa moved in tandem with him, in her capacity as assisting physician, checking instruments and watching both mother and child with a careful eye.

Sheba worked as a nurse, assisting the two doctors and holding Rina’s shoulders firm whenever her pain ratcheted.

After much pushing and breath work from Rina, the farmhouse rang with a cry.

The infant’s first utterance cut through the air, strong, fierce, alive.

He came into the world radiant, dark curls clinging to his forehead, his small body glowing with shifting glyphs in silver and gold.

With each inhale, they lit up brighter, pulsing with life.

Rina cradled him first, her eyes shining, before passing him into her man’s arms.

Mo froze. For a man who survived war zones and shadows, nothing prepared him for the awe-inspiring, white hot swell of devotion he felt for this little being.

He held his son as if he were sacred glass, his hands trembling, his jaw tight.

Emotion bloomed as the glow on the boy’s skin echoed his own Sacran markings, including the same pulsing sigil of the Third Eye, a gem-shaped etching that caught the light and fractured it like a prism.

He bent and spoke into his baby’s ear, words only the infant would hear. ‘You and I are no longer from a bloodline that is extinguished. For with your coming, this house shall rise again to glory.’

On the bed, flushed and exhausted, Rina smiled as she observed Mo falling in love with his child.

Hanna wept behind them, her hand pressed to her mouth, Reth holding her close, eyes fixed on their daughter and grandson.

Issa leaned in, running a careful scan, murmuring observations to Ki’Remi. ‘He’s strong. The Sacran resonance is balanced; I find no destabilization in his glyphs. His divine potency is off the charts.’

‘ Sante ,’ Mo intoned in both relief and awe.

Mo bent and placed his lips to the boy’s forehead.

Without warning, words spilled from deep within him, ancient and loaded with meaning.

He never learned them, but his marrow remembered.

Later, Issa would confirm it as a Sacran naming chant.

As he spoke, the glyphs on his arms burned bright, flaring in rhythm with his son’s light.

‘I name you Zev’Mihal Sulahn,’ he whispered.

Zev’Mihal, born of flame, daybreak, and sky.

Sulahn, the soul restored.

His voice cracked.

He gazed at Rina, her hair loose against the pillow, eyes brimming with tears.

‘He’s our dawn, mi kaya . Proof that we are meant to survive. To rise again.’

She reached for them both, her grasp trembling but sure, drawing father and child to her chest.

Under Dunia’s twin suns, in that small farmhouse room, a family was forged.

One rooted in love, bound in light, and marked by divinity, and blessed by a favor older than the stars.

THE END OF ONE BEAUTIFUL STARLIT STORY

I hope you enjoyed ‘Stars in Umbra’. One more thing, lovely one …

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