WARRIOR THE NIGHT WARRIOR’S FIRST AMAZING BIRTH ONE BIRTH
The night was a shroud, stretched taut over the lonely terrain, broken only by the stark brilliance of a renegade moon, hanging low as if it, too, was hiding from something dreadful. A cave extended broad within the hard clasp of the rocks, its entrance dismal and frightening. The wrathful crashing of the sea against the cliffs provided an appropriate backdrop to the drama occurring inside.
She lay here, veiled in the earth’s bowels, a woman of tremendous importance cloaked in peasant attire, her true identity a closely guarded secret, for the blood pouring through her veins was of such royal descent that even the stars seemed to bow in their celestial routes above her.
The beautiful woman, not just in lineage but also in soul, was alone. Sweat streamed down her brow, sparkling like the diamonds she had given up for this moment of vulnerability. Her breaths were ragged symphonies, each inhale a dread note, each exhale an anguish hymn.
She was a fighter in her own right, but there was no steel in her hands this night—her battle was one of body and spirit, as she attempted to bring new life into a world that was oblivious to her predicament. Each contraction was a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm her with unfathomable force. Her fingers grabbed the rough blanket underneath her, a poor substitute for a loved one’s hand, which was gone in her hour of need due to the cruel edict of necessity.
Her sobs were muffled by the stone, the primordial sounds of childbirth as old as the earth itself. Each breath was a cry for help, and each push was a request to the gods. Her body was a hurricane, and her spirit like a lone sailor navigating the storm.
A brief lull in her tempest allowed her to shout a litany for her unborn child, each syllable an ardent cry of hope, a vow of protection. Then the grief storm struck again, this time with a vengeance.
Her perseverance paid off in a single instant carved into her mind’s eternity. The wail of a newborn pierced the silence, a striking indication that life had truly triumphed in the solitary sanctuary of an exiled SELF.
Her face was carved with the basic relief of survival and the huge flood of mother love as she brought the infant—her infant—into her arms. The kid was wrapped in the rough fabric of a disregarded life, its cries an homage to the mother who bore it.
The moon seemed to bless mother and child as it shone dimly through the cave’s aperture, engulfing them in an ethereal brilliance. The great mother saw in her child not just a baby, but a promise—a promise that, despite her perilous journey, the heritage of her family would remain through the years, beginning with the small heartbeat pressed against her own.
With the exception of her child’s soothing cooing, the mother took a moment to herself, her eyelids falling not in defeat but in peaceful triumph. The darkness, once a terrifying phantom, now stood guard over the secret it had witnessed—a secret that would one day rise to decide the fate of kingdoms.
In the silence that followed the delivery, the child nestled into the crook of Eshe’s arm, and her mind began to traverse the realms of the ethereal and corporeal, uniting past and present in a tapestry fashioned by fate’s hands. Eshe was Idia millennia ago. She was Imamu’s beloved wife, who was known as Oba Ozolua at the time. Their bond was the epitome of intimacy, so close that their dreams were shared, a confluence of spirits that could not be easily unraveled.
As the newborn suckled gently, Eshe felt the veil between times close, a diaphanous curtain stirred by her ancestors’ murmuring. The cave walls seemed to melt into the blackness of a long-forgotten night, and individuals began to emerge from the shadows. They were grand and ethereal, dressed in the majesty of Eshe’s birthplace, their eyes filled with age-old wisdom.
The form of her previous incarnation, Idia, a queen revered for her wisdom, arrived first, a sculpted ivory mask on her face recognized throughout the kingdom as a symbol of her power and influence. Her presence was a soothing embrace, a reminder of the ancestry that ran through Eshe’s veins, of the majesty she had once been and would again be.
Oba Ozolua—Imamu in this life—a warrior ruler with immense power stood behind Idia. Though simply a shadow, his spirit seemed to pervade the cave with an ancient force. He nodded to Eshe, his eyes filled with a pride that surpassed mortality.
They didn’t say anything because there was no need for words in this communion of spirits. Their very presence was a blessing, an old lineage bearing witness and bestowing the blessings of a bloodline steeped in grandeur and resilience on the newborn kid.
As the visions of her ancestors surrounded her, Eshe felt the combined might of her ancestors pour through her. A flood of warmth flowed from the cave’s walls, enveloping her and the child in a protective halo. Her ancestors’ spirits, her link to the past, endowed her with the boldness of queens and the tenacity of kings.
The ancestors began to fade, their task fulfilled, their legacy secured in Eshe’s child, a little, living testament to their courage. The cave walls mended, the sea’s rhythm resumed its normal course, and the moon continued its silent vigil.
With the dawn, Eshe knew the world would awaken to her child’s screams, and revealing her existence would imperil the safety they had just discovered. But the queen within her, the Idia of old, was unafraid. Her child would rise, shielded by the strength of their blood and the watchful gaze of those who had gone before.
As the first rays of morning entered the cave, Eshe rose up, cradling her infant close. She stepped into the new day knowing that, while the journey ahead would be fraught with the dangers of a dethroned queen, she would never be alone. Her ancestors’ spirits walked alongside her, and within her child beat the heart of a new generation of grandeur, a living legacy of everything that had come before and everything that was still to come.
In the silence that followed the delivery, the child nestled into the crook of Eshe’s arm, and her mind began to traverse the realms of the ethereal and corporeal, uniting past and present in a tapestry fashioned by fate’s hands. Eshe was Idia millennia ago. She was Imamu’s beloved wife, who was known as Oba Ozolua at the time. Their bond was the epitome of intimacy, so close that their dreams were shared, a confluence of spirits that could not be easily unraveled.
As the newborn suckled gently, Eshe felt the veil between times close, a diaphanous curtain stirred by her ancestors’ murmuring. The cave walls seemed to melt into the blackness of a long-forgotten night, and individuals began to emerge from the shadows. They were grand and ethereal, dressed in the majesty of Eshe’s birthplace, their eyes filled with age-old wisdom.
The form of her previous incarnation, Idia, a queen revered for her wisdom, arrived first, a sculpted ivory mask on her face recognized throughout the kingdom as a symbol of her power and influence. Her presence was a soothing embrace, a reminder of the ancestry that ran through Eshe’s veins, of the majesty she had once been and would again be.
Oba Ozolua—Imamu in this life—a warrior ruler with immense power stood behind Idia. Though simply a shadow, his spirit seemed to pervade the cave with an ancient force. He nodded to Eshe, his eyes filled with a pride that surpassed mortality.
They didn’t say anything because there was no need for words in this communion of spirits. Their very presence was a blessing, an old lineage bearing witness and bestowing the blessings of a bloodline steeped in grandeur and resilience on the newborn kid.
As the visions of her ancestors surrounded her, Eshe felt the combined might of her ancestors pour through her. A flood of warmth flowed from the cave’s walls, enveloping her and the child in a protective halo. Her ancestors’ spirits, her link to the past, endowed her with the boldness of queens and the tenacity of kings.
The ancestors began to fade, their task fulfilled, their legacy secured in Eshe’s child, a little, living testament to their courage. The cave walls mended, the sea’s rhythm resumed its normal course, and the moon continued its silent vigil.
With the dawn, Eshe knew the world would awaken to her child’s screams, and revealing her existence would imperil the safety they had just discovered. But the queen within her, the Idia of old, was unafraid. Her child would rise, shielded by the strength of their blood and the watchful gaze of those who had gone before.
As the first rays of morning entered the cave, Eshe rose up, cradling her infant close. She stepped into the new day knowing that, while the journey ahead would be fraught with the dangers of a dethroned queen, she would never be alone. Her ancestors’ spirits walked alongside her, and within her child beat the heart of a new generation of grandeur, a living legacy of everything that had come before and everything that was still to come.
I