Page 54 of Dragon's Captive

The emerald-scaled healer who's been treating his burns stares at me with wide-eyed shock. "But she's only?—"

"Twenty weeks," I confirm, grimacing as another contraction builds. The accelerated dragon-hybrid gestation should have given me seven months instead of nine, but even that timeline put full-term at twenty-eight weeks—still two months away. "Too early."

"The combat," the healer murmurs, understanding dawning in her expression. "The power surge. It's triggered accelerated development."

Great. Magical labor. Because regular labor wouldn't be terrifying enough.

What follows is chaos dressed in ceremonial efficiency. Servants flood our chambers, transforming the space with practiced movements that suggest they've been preparing for this possibility all along. The healing pool where Kairyx was recovering is drained and refilled with different solution—this one steaming gently with earthy scent that somehow eases the building pain in my lower back.

A birthing platform appears—not the cold medical table I half-expected, but something closer to nest, with raised edges and soft material that cradles my body as the contractions increase in frequency and intensity. My ceremonial garments are removed, replaced with simple shift that provides necessary access while maintaining some semblance of dignity.

Through it all, Kairyx refuses to leave my side. His massive form, still closer to dragon than humanoid despite healers' clear preference that he shift to less intimidating shape, crouches protectively beside the birthing platform. His wounds clearly pain him—scales still smoking occasionally when he moves too quickly—yet he positions himself between me and the chamber entrance, golden eyes tracking every being who approaches with predatory assessment.

"The fire," I gasp between contractions, remembering the battle that feels simultaneously hours and seconds ago. "Your burns—you should be resting."

His rumbling laugh holds more pain than humor. "You birth our young. My discomfort is irrelevant."

The head birthing healer arrives—an ancient dragon with scales so pale they appear almost translucent in places. Her movements carry deliberate grace that suggests centuries of practice at bringing new life into the world. When she approaches the birthing platform, Kairyx tenses visibly, small flame escaping between gleaming teeth as instinct wars with reason.

"Commander," she addresses him with calm authority that somehow cuts through alpha protection instinct, "I must examine the omega to assess the young."

I've never seen Kairyx yield to another being before. The sight is both unsettling and oddly comforting—evidence that even apex predators recognize higher authority in specific domains. He shifts slightly, allowing her access to the birthing platform while maintaining defensive position.

Her examination is both clinical and strange—clawed hands gentler than I would have thought possible, moving across my abdomen with light touch that somehow sees beneath skin and muscle to the lives within. "The young come swiftly," she confirms, eyes shifting to vertical slits as she concentrates. "Their development accelerated by both combat energy and biological imperative."

"Are they okay?" The question tears from my throat as another contraction builds, stronger than the last. "It's too early—they can't possibly be?—"

"Dragon-human hybrids develop differently," she explains, voice carrying calm certainty that cuts through my panic. "When conditions threaten carrier or young, development acceleratesto ensure viable birth. The combat energy you channeled has provided necessary strength for this adaptation."

My mind struggles to process this information through the haze of increasing pain. Apparently my magical moment during the combat did more than distract Vorthrax—it somehow gave the twins extra developmental boost, pushing them toward birth-readiness in matter of hours rather than weeks.

The ancient healer's expression shifts to something approaching wonder as her hands continue their gentle assessment. "Most remarkable. These young are unlike any hybrid I've encountered. Their integration is..." She pauses, searching for words. "Perfect. Balanced between bloodlines in way rarely achieved."

Before I can ask what exactly that means, another contraction hits—this one so powerful it arches my back off the birthing platform, drawing cry from my throat that echoes off stone walls. The pain is beyond anything I've experienced—beyond claiming, beyond heat, beyond even the terror of capture. It feels like being torn in half from the inside out.

"The first approaches," the healer announces, moving to position herself at the foot of the birthing platform. "Breathe, omega. Your body knows what to do even if your mind does not."

Easy for her to say. She's not the one being split apart by hybrid dragon babies apparently eager to make dramatic entrance into the world. But instinct takes over where conscious thought fails, my body somehow knowing rhythm of breath and push despite lack of any preparation for this moment.

Kairyx moves closer, his massive head level with mine, golden eyes fixed on my face with intensity that cuts through pain. One clawed hand extends toward me with uncharacteristic hesitation. Without thinking, I grab it, clutching scaled digits with desperate strength as another contraction builds. His skin burns hotter than human could tolerate, but after months ofadaptation to his draconic heat, it feels like anchor rather than injury.

"I can't do this," I gasp between contractions, fear finally breaking through determination that's carried me this far. "I can't—it's too much?—"

"You can," he rumbles, certainty in his voice steadying me despite everything. "You are the strongest being I have encountered in centuries. These young could have no better bearer."

The strange compliment—acknowledgment of strength rather than mere biological function—somehow helps more than platitudes would have. I tighten my grip on his hand as the next wave hits, bearing down with newfound purpose.

What follows exists outside normal time perception. Hours collapse into moments that stretch to eternity; pain peaks beyond measurement then recedes just enough to catch breath before next assault. The birthing pool's solution helps, its properties clearly designed for this specific purpose, easing discomfort without dulling necessary sensation.

Throughout the ordeal, Kairyx remains constant presence—his injured form positioned to allow both protection of the birthing space and direct connection to me. When other healers approach too quickly, small warning flames shoot from his nostrils, the message requiring no translation: approach with proper reverence or don't approach at all.

"The first young emerges," the ancient healer announces, her voice cutting through pain-hazed consciousness. "One final effort, omega."

I dig deep, finding reserves of strength I didn't know existed. With one last tremendous push, I feel the unmistakable sensation of something—someone—leaving my body. The relief is immediate and overwhelming, tears springing to my eyes as pressure eases.

"A male," the healer pronounces, her clawed hands moving with practiced efficiency to clear tiny airways. "Strong. Healthy."

The cry that follows doesn't sound fully human or fully draconic—something in between that tugs at places in my chest I didn't know could be touched. Instinct overrides exhaustion, my arms reaching automatically as the ancient healer places tiny bundle against my chest.

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