10. Zylpha

10

ZYLPHA

I scrub the deck, my hands raw and blistered from the coarse rope and salt water. The ship pitches beneath me, a constant reminder of my captivity. But I've learned to move with it, to anticipate its rhythms like I once anticipated the cruel whims of my dark elf captors.

"Faster, wench!" The minotaur nudges me hard in the ribs, and I grit my teeth, biting back the urge to spit in his face.

Instead, I focus on the task at hand, letting my mind wander to Aurelius, to Volezimir. The memory of his touch, his gentle golden eyes, fuels the rage simmering inside me. I'm not the same frightened girl I once was. This time, I have something – someone – to fight for.

As I work, I watch. I note the guard rotations, the way the Captain favors his left leg when he walks the quarterdeck. Every scrap of information is a potential key to my freedom.

Night falls, and I'm herded below deck with the other captives. The stench of unwashed bodies and fear is suffocating. But even here, I find purpose.

In the dark hours before dawn, when even the guards grow drowsy, I practice. My fingers, once soft from gardening on Aurelius, now calloused from ship work, deftly manipulate a bit of wire I've secreted away.

Lock picking is a skill I never thought I'd need again and now I'm having to find ways to fashion a way out of the new chains they put me in. My little pin broke weeks ago after the transition to the mobile manacles, leaving me no way out.

Days bleed into weeks, into months. The anger that once threatened to consume me has hardened into resolve. I will escape. I will return to Aurelius, to Volezimir. And I will make these bastards pay for every moment of freedom they've stolen from me and the others.

As I haul water from the hold, muscles straining, I catch a glimpse of land on the horizon. My heart races. Soon, we'll make port. And with it comes opportunity.

I may be trapped for now, but my spirit remains unbroken. They think they've caged a helpless girl. They have no idea of the storm they've unleashed.

I lean over the ship's railing, emptying another bucket of grimy water into the churning sea below. The morning sun glints off the waves, momentarily blinding me. As I straighten up, a wave of dizziness washes over me, followed by a strange fluttering sensation in my belly.

I pause, frowning. It's not the first time I've felt off these past few days. At first, I chalked it up to the poor diet and grueling work. But now...

My hand drifts to my stomach, and a wild, impossible thought flashes through my mind. No. It can't be.

Over the next few weeks, my suspicions grow stronger. The constant nausea, the tenderness in my breasts, the missed cycles I've been trying to ignore. Each sign points to a truth I'm terrified to acknowledge.

I'm pregnant. With Volezimir's child.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless. Joy and fear war within me, threatening to tear me apart. A child. Our child. A piece of Volezimir growing inside me, a reminder of our love and the life we shared on Aurelius.

But the joy is quickly overshadowed by crushing fear. I'm a captive on a minotaur ship, surrounded by danger. If they discover my condition...

I've seen how they treat pregnant slaves. Worked to death or sold off to the highest bidder. I can't let that happen. I won't.

Every morning, I wake with a renewed determination. I force down the meager rations, choking back bile, knowing I need to keep up my strength. I work harder than ever, ignoring the aches and fatigue, desperate to avoid drawing attention to myself.

At night, curled up in my narrow bunk, I whisper promises to the tiny life growing within me. Promises of freedom, of safety, of a father who will move heaven and earth to find us. I imagine Volezimir's face when he learns he's going to be a father, and it gives me the strength to face another day.

But the fear never leaves me. Each time the Captain's gaze lingers on me, each time a guard roughly shoves me aside, my heart races. Do they suspect? Have they noticed the subtle changes in my body? The rags that I wear hang loose enough off my body to conceal it, and I have to hope it stays this way

I know I can't hide this forever. Soon, my condition will become obvious. But until then, I'll guard this secret with my life. For my child. For Volezimir. For the future I refuse to give up on.

I bite down hard on the rag stuffed in my mouth, muffling my screams as another contraction rips through me. The ship's hold is pitch black, the air thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and fear.

I'm huddled in the farthest corner, hidden behind crates and barrels, praying to any god who'll listen that no one hears us. The wooden planks beneath me creak with each roll of the waves, and I can feel the splinters digging into my skin.

"Push, Zylpha," Mira whispers, her calloused hands supporting me. She's a fellow captive, a midwife in her former life. "The baby's coming. You're doing great, just breathe."

I bear down, sweat pouring down my face and soaking through my threadbare shirt. The pain is indescribable, worse than any torture I've endured. It feels like I'm being torn apart from the inside out.

But I can't stop. I won't. This child is my hope, my future, my link to Volezimir. I cling to thoughts of him, his strength, his golden eyes, as I fight through each contraction.

Months of hiding my growing belly, of layering rags and staying hunched over my work, have led to this moment. I've lived in constant fear of discovery, of what the minotaurs would do if they knew.

Every sideways glance, every bark of laughter from the guards, sent my heart racing. But now, as I fight to bring my child into this world, that fear is eclipsed by a fierce, primal determination. I won't let them take this from me. I can't.

"I see the head," Mira murmurs, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "One more push. You're almost there, Zylpha."

I gather every ounce of strength left in my battered body and push. There's a moment of searing agony, like nothing I've ever felt before, and then... relief. A tiny cry pierces the darkness, quickly muffled by Mira's quick thinking. I reach out blindly, desperate to hold my child, to know that this miracle is real.

"It's a boy," she says, placing the squirming bundle on my chest.

I look down at my son, this miracle born in the bowels of a slave ship. I want more for him, more than I ever had. But if nothing else, I'll give him this — someone to fight for him, to protect him.

"Hello, Kaelox," I whisper, the name we'd chosen together feeling right on my tongue. "I'm your mama."

I cradle Kaelox against my chest, my heart swelling with a love so fierce it threatens to consume me. As I gaze down at his tiny face, I notice details that send a shiver of both fear and pride through me.

Beneath the soft fuzz of his hair, I feel two small bumps - the beginnings of horns. His eyes, when they flutter open, flash with an otherworldly light that reminds me so much of Volezimir.

"My little demon," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "We're going to get out of here. I promise."

With Kaelox's arrival, my resolve hardens into something unbreakable. I can't afford to wait for rescue anymore. We need to escape, and soon.

I start by watching the crew more closely. There's a young minotaur, Houma, who seems less hardened than the others. When he brings our daily rations, his eyes linger on the huddled masses of captives with something that looks like guilt.

One day, as he's passing out moldy bread, I catch his eye. "Thank you," I say softly, making sure to sound grateful rather than defiant. He startles, unused to being addressed directly by a captive.

"You're welcome," he mumbles, then hurries away.

It's a small start, but it's something. Over the next few weeks, I make a point of engaging Houma in brief conversations whenever possible. I learn that he's new to the crew, that he joined to support his ailing mother. Slowly, I see his guard lowering.

Meanwhile, the other captives rally around Kaelox and me. They take turns holding him when I'm called for work, passing him from person to person to keep him hidden from the guards' view. Old blankets are torn into makeshift diapers, and the women who still produce milk offer to help feed him when my own supply falters due to poor nutrition.

Every decision I make now revolves around Kaelox. When I'm on deck, I'm constantly noting potential escape routes, analyzing the crew's routines for weaknesses. I hoard tiny scraps of food from my meager rations, tucking them away for emergencies. At night, I whisper stories to Kaelox about Aurelius, about his father, painting pictures of the life that waits for us if we can just get free.

As Kaelox grows, it becomes harder to keep him hidden. His cries, though quickly muffled, risk drawing attention. His demonic features, while subtle, become more pronounced. I know our time is running out.