Chapter 16

Emjay

"In the shadow of despair, even the faintest glimmer of dreams can ignite a fierce determination to fight against the darkness." ~ Emjay

Georgia holds the tent flap open for me. I stifle a gasp.

In the dimly lit home—barely a home—a beautiful woman lies on her deathbed. Her once radiant features are now shrouded in a pale, ghostly hue.

The scent of approaching death hangs heavy in the air, a somber, acrid smell of decay.

Her breaths come shallow and infrequent, each one a laborious struggle, a whispered reminder of the life slipping away from her fragile body.

Her long, dark hair, once lustrous and full, cascades in tangled waves over the straw placed under her head as a pillow, framing a face marked by the cruel life she's lived and her illness. High cheekbones stand out starkly beneath her delicate and translucent skin. Her lips, once full and vibrant, have faded to a pale, almost bluish tint. Despite the ravages of her condition, a lingering trace of her former beauty remains, a haunting reminder of the vitality that once coursed through her veins.

A young boy no more than three years old clings to her frail, lifeless hand with his chubby little fingers. He stares intently at her face with his tear-filled eyes, as if willing her to wake up and smile at him one last time. He hasn't taken his sights from her to see who's entered the habitat.

The room is silent except for the occasional soft wheeze of her breathing and the quiet sniffles of the boy. A single tear escapes his eye, slowly tracing a path down his cheek before falling onto the woman's hand and glistening like a tiny jewel.

He leans closer, resting his head against her tummy. He whispers softly.

"Momma, wake up," he murmurs. His words were a fragile thread in the stillness. But there's no response. The woman lies still, her spirit hovering on the precipice between life and death, while the boy remains by her side, a tiny beacon of love and hope in a world that seems to crumble around him.

"What's her name?" I ask Georgia. The weight of the scene presses down on me.

"Lena. And that's her son Serafim," Georgia replies. Her tone soft with unspoken sorrow.

"How?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

Georgia pulls me back outside, away from the delicate scene and the ears of the child. "The witch who cursed me reminded the men that we can produce half Minotaur sons with humans."

I gasp at the implications. She doesn't need to give any more details for me to imagine what they forced these women to do. The weight of their suffering is almost unbearable.

"Do you know what ails her?" I ask, desperate to understand—to help.

Georgia shakes her head, and her look reflects a deep sadness. "No one knows for sure. We've lost too many already."

"Will the women be okay with an unmated male tending to her?" I ask, worrying about the reaction of the camp.

"They'll suffer anything to see our sister survive. We've lost too many," she repeats firmly.

I take my phone out of my pocket and call Willow.

"Hello," she answers in a calm timbre amid the chaos.

"We need the one who brought the medical supplies." I should learn his name, but now is not the time for formalities.

"Frank?" Willow questions, her tone shifting to concern.

"Yes, one of them is dying, and we don't know why."

Willow is silent. The quiet drags on long enough that I pull my phone away from my ear to check the connection.

"It's a rotten tooth," Willow finally speaks.

"What?" I ask incredulously.

"Sorry. I had a vision just now. I'll let Frank know what I saw. She'll need her mate too, if she's going to stand a chance. The infection is in her blood."

"How do you know she has a mate?" I ask, puzzled.

"Besides the fact that he's hovering over me as if he witnessed my vision too, I saw him," Willow replies, her voice unwavering.

"Georgia said they will do anything to save her, so I guess he comes with Frank."

"They're already on their way," Willow assures me.

I turn to Georgia. "You heard."

She nods. "I'll prepare the others, so they don't panic."

That's probably a good idea. I can't imagine the storm coming when this mate sees her condition.

Georgia steps away to inform the other women, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I look back at the tent, at Lena and Serafim, and feel a surge of determination. We must save her, for the boy's sake and for the sake of everyone who's suffered in silence.

As I wait for Frank and Lena's mate to arrive, I can't help thinking of the larger fight ahead. This is just one battle in a war against cruelty and despair, but it's a battle we must win. The stakes are too high. The cost of failure is too great.

And so, with renewed resolve, I prepare for what's coming, knowing that in this fight, every life saved is a victory against the darkness.