"Eh…! So much malice! So-so many!"
"Where is it?"
"Where is it stemming from?"
A pair of eyes hidden deep within the underground shadows, darting around like a jackrabbit. The eyes pierced through the overcast that formed the above barriers of the underground lair.
Above and beyond the open space of the lair, lay countless canyons stretching wide and endless across a barren, lifeless desert. It was there the eyes came to a momentous halt.
"Ha! Ha...!" A sudden, sharp laugh shattered the silence of the vast, desolate horizon. From the depths of an underground lair, a shadowy figure emerged, wreathed in a thick, swirling mist that cloaked its features in mystery. Echoing footsteps rang out, each one drawing the figure closer into view, like an eminence coming out from its shadow.
It was an old woman. The same sharp eyes that had watched from the shadows now gleamed with a cold, piercing light, her blue, crystal-like pupils cutting through the gloom. Wisps of white hair clung to her scalp, and she leaned on a staff as she moved. Though time had stolen her youthful looks and left her hunched, she moved with a surprising swiftness—light and fast, like the wind.
The sun was just beginning to rise beyond the distant canyons, casting its first soft golden rays across the arid landscape as they fell upon the old woman that strode with purpose and came to a firm standstill on a canyon. Not far from where she stopped lay an unconscious little girl, no older than fourteen. Her petite frame had only just begun to emerge from a swirling, receding patch of disturbed earth.
Perplexed by the sight, the old woman muttered something indistinct to herself, squinting as she stepped closer, shielding her eyes against the lingering dust. To her astonishment, the malice in the air intensified with each step she took. And when the swirling remnants of earth fully cleared, she could feel it—pure malice, almost tangible, oozing from the girl like a gushing fountain.
"Hm… Wonderful. This is particularly wonderful!" the old woman exclaimed gleefully, absentmindedly stroking an imaginary beard on her chin.
She leaned in to observe the unconscious girl more closely, retrieving a small, transparent pearl from a hidden stash. Without hesitation, she raised it to her eye—one eye closed, the other peering through the pearl to examine the girl.
Suddenly, her breathing hitched and quickened uncontrollably in her chest.
"Lucky me… Ah, Mama! What a lucky me!" she cried out, throwing her arms into the air in ecstatic delight. The pearl slipped from her hand unnoticed, landing softly beside her.
"That is a hundred malice!" she shouted, her voice trembling with disbelief. She instinctively reached for the pearl again, only to find her hand empty.
"Eh?" She frowned, quickly glancing around until she spotted the pearl lying on the ground next to her.
"Tch. How rusty, how careless," she scolded herself, picking it up and wiping it clean with the hem of her robe. Once more, she peered through it at the unconscious child.
"W-What in the blazes…?" she gasped, yanking the pearl away from her face and staring at the girl with her bare eyes—finding nothing out of the ordinary. Confused, she looked through the pearl a third time, this time counting softly with dampened lips. Then she whistled under her breath. Her steps staggered backward as her breathing grew louder, nearly erratic. She glanced to both sides and behind her, warily watching for a presence unseen to avoid her catch being stolen.
"Oh my Devil… I counted a hundred malice before… then a thousand… now ten thousand?" she whispered, trying to suppress the panic rising in her voice.
A menacing giggle escaped her lips, curling through the air like a chilling breeze.
After a long pause, once she had regained her composure, her gaze returned to the unconscious little girl. This time, her eyes glowed with unmistakable affection—though whether it was love for the girl or the malice within her, only the old woman could say.
She briefly pondered how such a young girl could harbor and conceal so much malice. But the thought didn't bother her for long. This was an opportunity delivered straight to her doorstep—and she had no intention of letting it slip away.
She ran her tongue slowly across her withered lips and began counting on her fingers. "Ten… ten thousand… a hundred thousand… A million and five hundred thousand," doing a quick estimate, this should be the potential of the malice when she nurtures it to full maturity. She murmured to herself, her body trembling at the staggering realization of what this discovery could serve her.
"So much…" she whispered. "It could…" Her voice drifted off into the depths of a wild imagination, a plain wicked and sly grin curling at the corners of her mouth.
"Anyway, it's still too early to drown in fantasies. I should check if she's even alive. She looks dead," the old woman muttered. She leaned closer and prodded the girl gently at the waist.
"Better not be dead and waste Mama's little treasure," she grumbled.
With a swift motion, she swiped her hand through the air, conjuring a gust of wind beneath the girl's body and lifting her effortlessly into the air. The old woman tapped her foot lightly on the ground—and in the next instant, both she and the girl vanished.
---
A baby's cry echoed from within the tent.
"I-It's a boy—a baby boy!" Maria's voice trembled with excitement as she lifted the newborn into the air. Carefully, she rocked him back and forth, a joyful smile spreading across her sweat-soaked face.
"Ahhn!" Abigail groaned, her body writhing in pain as the tug from the still-attached umbilical cord shot through her.
"Ah!" Maria gasped, realization hitting her like a jolt. In her excitement, she had forgotten to sever the cord before lifting the baby.
"S-Sorry! I'm so sorry!" she cried apologetically, hastily reaching into her pouch and retrieving a short bamboo knife. It was a tool she had used many times to assist in childbirth. Though she couldn't perform the traditional cleansing rituals due to their current circumstances, she had no choice.
Kneeling beside Abigail, she brought the bamboo knife to the umbilical cord, glancing briefly at Abigail's face, which was contorted in pain. With a precise motion, she sliced through the cord. Holding the newborn securely in one arm, Maria used her free hand to take a smooth pebble from her pouch and briskly struck it against a shallow sitting boulder nearby. Sparks flew, and once the pebble was warm, she used it to cauterize the baby's navel, then gently pressed it to Abigail's abdomen to ease the bleeding.
The pain eased, and Abigail opened her eyes.
"Maria," she called weakly, stretching out a trembling hand. "My baby… let me hold my baby."
Maria helped her sit up from the thin quilt spread on the ground.
"Of course," she said softly, placing the newborn in Abigail's arms.
As Abigail cradled her son, her eyes glistened with tears. The moment she looked into his face, they began to fall.
"It's a boy," Maria said, rubbing Abigail's back comfortingly.
"Yes… he is," Abigail whispered with a nod, sniffling as tears streamed down her cheeks. A worried look clouded her delicate features.
Maria sighed. In the joy of new life, she had almost forgotten the painful events that had led to this moment—and the even more uncertain future that awaited both the mother and the child.
Will he survive? Abigail wondered, gazing at her son with the deep, instinctual affection only a mother could feel.
"He's beautiful," she murmured, her voice as soft as the night wind.
"Mhm," Maria agreed with a quiet nod.
Abigail turned to her. "Thank you," she said sincerely.
"Oh, come on," Maria waved dismissively. "We're sisters, aren't we? No need for pleasantries between us. It's my duty to look after you."
"Sisters," Abigail echoed with a faint smile, the unspoken gratitude still lingering on her face.
"What are you going to name him?"
Abigail looked thoughtful. "What do you think his name should be?"
Maria shrugged. "He looks more like you… definitely wouldn't be right if he ended up with the face of one of those men who might be his father."
As soon as the words left her lips, Maria's face froze.
Abigail's brow furrowed, her expression flickering with pain.
"Ah! I—I didn't mean it like that…" Maria stammered, covering her mouth in regret.
Abigail exhaled slowly, then nodded. "It's okay. You're right. It would be painful to see my son bear the face of one of those men."
Maria let out a breath of relief. "So… any names come to mind?"
Abigail shook her head. "Good names elude me. I can think of many I don't want—but the right one will come, someday."
"That's fine too…" Maria said, beginning to gather the tools scattered around and placing them back into her pouch.
Abigail gazed at her son. When he smiled at her, her heart bloomed with warmth. What a beauty, she thought, her lips curving into a rare, delicate smile.
She wondered how long her child's innocence would last—whether it would survive the cruel world that awaited him. But one thing she was certain of: whatever the future held, she would always be by his side.
Maria's sudden voice cut into her thoughts. "Have you thought about what to do if he finds out?"
Bang! Abigail's heart dropped as if a stone had crashed through her chest.
"Him…?" she whispered, though she already knew.
When she had first discovered her pregnancy, she had begged Maria to help her keep it a secret. Maria had warned her—told her it would be better to end it early, to abort, in order to avoid future suffering. But Abigail had refused. She couldn't bring herself to abandon the life within her. In the end, Maria had helped her, using methods unknown to anyone else, which had perfectly aided in the concealment.
Now that she had just given birth and the secret could no longer be hidden. And even if she never went looking for him, it was only a matter of time before he discovered the truth.
Her breathing quickened, and anxiety rippled through her. The baby, sensing her distress, began to wail, his cries echoing through the quiet evening.
"Hey, calm down," Maria said quickly, trying to soothe both mother and child. "There's no need to panic. We'll figure something out."
She gathered the soiled clothes and the bowl of filthy water and made her way toward the tent's entrance.
"I'll dispose of this first. I'll be back soon," she said, stepping into the fading sunlight. She squinted, shielding her eyes as she adjusted to the light.
She headed toward a familiar direction but suddenly stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two men approaching the tent—entering the very place she had just left.
"What…?" Maria froze. "No… not this soon," she whispered. Panic surged through her as she dropped everything and sprinted back.
Just as she reached the entrance, the two men emerged. One of them was gripping a chain clamped around Abigail's neck, dragging her behind them.
Maria's instincts kicked in. She spread her arms wide, blocking their path.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded furiously.
One of the men gave her a cold snort and looked away. The other didn't even acknowledge her, continuing on without pause.
Infuriated, Maria moved to block them again.
"I said stop!" she shouted.
This time, the second man flared in anger.
"Try that again, and you'll regret it," he growled. Without warning, he shoved her aside. The casual shove caused Maria's body to fly away like a feather in the wind, crashing to the ground with a painful thud. She groaned, clutching her side—but forced herself up and ran after them.
Tears streamed from Abigail's eyes like a waterfall as she watched.
"Don't worry about me! Take my baby and run!" she cried, reaching out with the infant in her arms.
Maria reached out instinctively, but just as she was about to take the baby, a sword slashed down, grazing the space her hands had just occupied.
The man holding the sword glared at her. "The baby comes too," he said coldly.
And just like that, they moved on with Abigail in chains, her child in her hands and Maria, defeated but determined, followed behind.