The serene silence of the Monastery shattered in an instant when a scream exploded so piercing it could've soured goat milk for miles.
"LORIIIIIIIII!!! IF YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN, I'LL—ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream ricocheted through the marble corridors, sending monks' teacups flying and causing the rooftop birds to scatter in a flurry. Out in the courtyard, Lorianthel paced like a jittery squirrel who'd just lost its stash of acorns.
"She's at it again," he rasped, his voice as worn as a battle-hardened drum, as though his very vocal cords had run a marathon.
"Yep," replied Fror coolly while cracking a sunflower seed between his tusks. "That's the thirty-third time, isn't it?"
"I counted thirty-four," corrected Gror, eyeing a hastily scrawled tally on his palm.
"She's in labour, pal. Part of the package," Fror said, clapping Lorianthel on the back. "Ladies usually have it under control."
"Have you seen the carnage? Blood, steam, incense burning—why is there incense? Is she summoning a demon?"
"She's summoning your child, you elf-man. Breathe," Fror muttered.
Inside the birthing chamber, the pandemonium ruled. Jingfei, her face, a storm of scarlet anger and determination, clutched the wooden bed as if ready to flip the room upside down.
"I FEEL EVERY SINGLE ORGAN IN MY BODY!" she bellowed. "EVEN ONES I DIDN'T KNOW I HAD!"
"Push, Jingfei, push!" commanded Mei-Ling, stationed between her legs like a seasoned general with her hair tied back and sleeves rolled up in battle-readiness. "Light that inner fire, sister!"
"My what? What inner fire? THERE'S LAVA WHERE MY INSIDES SHOULD BE!"
Xueyi sprinkled more herbs into a bowl while Yueli fanned Jingfei vigorously, as if invoking the powers of the sun itself. And then Hoki burst into the room, clutching an empty wooden tub like it owed her a fortune.
"Clear the path!" she shouted, leaving a smoking trail behind her.
Lorianthel, lost in frantic pacing, nearly collided with her. "Hoki! Is she okay?! How's Mei-Ling holding up?! What in the nine hells is happening?! Is she—"
"MOVE!" Hoki barked, her face reddened beyond belief. "You wanna help? Quit asking dumb questions and step aside!"
Stumbling back, Lorianthel watched as Hoki darted off like a comet with a water bowl tucked under her arm. The birthing room door hung open, offering him a glimpse of frenzied chaos—arms flailing, legs scrambling, cloths whirling—yet Jingfei was nowhere in sight.
Feeling impotent, Lorianthel slumped onto a bench, burying his face in his hands.
"I should be in there," he mumbled.
"You'd pass out in three seconds," Fror sympathized.
"Definitely," added Gror with a nod.
Then—
"LORIIIIIIIII! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MEEEEEEEEE?!"
The door trembled with her shout. Birds exploded off the nearby trees.
Fror winced. "Oof."
"Do... do you think she still loves me?" Lorianthel whimpered.
"Not at this very moment, buddy," Gror replied earnestly.
"Depends—if she survives. Or if you do," Fror added with a sly grin.
A cascade of colourful curses erupted—vivid, imaginative, and bursting through the chaos—while Mei-Ling's crisp commands cut through the bedlam like a general issuing orders in the heat of combat. Jingfei's screams mingled with focused instructions like "breathe like a mountain breeze" and "hold off on the stabbing, all right?"
And then... silence.
Lorianthel's head snapped up. "Why is it quiet? Why is it so quiet?!"
Everything slowed, the tumult halted.
Then—a single, incredibly soft cry echoed from the room. A newborn wail, delicate and pure, like the opening note of a grand symphony.
Lorianthel stood, heart pounding.
The door groaned open.
Mei-Ling emerged—a picture of ragged pride and exhaustion. Her sleeves were soaked, her hair frizzed wildly, and she bore the look of a warrior who'd just bested the gods. She wiped sweat from her brow with one hand while gesturing with the other.
"She wants you."
Without another moment's hesitation, Lorianthel charged into the whirlwind of the room, dodging piles of towels, half-eaten crackers, a stray sandal, and—was that a turnip?—until he found her.
There on the bed lay Jingfei, skin aglow with perspiration, hair plastered against her flushed face, but her smile—oh, her smile shone as if moonlight had taken physical form. Cradled in her arms was a small bundle, wrapped in sky-blue linen with a dark tuft of fuzz playfully peeking out.
She was breathtaking.
Lorianthel sank onto the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His trembling hand brushed away a tear from her cheek before pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead.
"You did it," he whispered.
"We did," she corrected with an exhausted grin. "Even if I screamed loud enough to claw the mountains."
"You screamed me into another universe," he chuckled. "I think I left my body at least three times."
"You'll live."
Mei-Ling, already drying her hands on a red-streaked cloth, winked. "Congratulations. It's a girl."
Together, Lorianthel and Jingfei gazed down at their daughter, eyes glistening with wonder.
"She's... just perfect," he breathed.
"Adorable little ears," Jingfei murmured. "Just like yours."
"Strong lungs," Lorianthel grinned. "Definitely yours."
A quiet pause enveloped them as they stared at their tiny miracle.
Then Jingfei broke the silence. "What should we name her?"
Lorianthel blinked, still a bit dazed. "Little Grape."
Jingfei snorted. "What?!"
"I mean—only as a nickname! She's small, purple, and squishy—"
"I just brought her into this world, and you're naming her after fruit?"
"I'm freaking out!" he hissed, then burst into laughter. "No, no. You're right. We need her proper name."
"But we can still call her Little Grape as a pet name," Jingfei giggled. "Just don't let Fror hear you—he'll try to eat her."
Outside the door, Fror sniffed audibly. "Did someone say grape?"
Inside, Lorianthel pressed a tender kiss to Jingfei, resting his forehead against hers.
"Whatever you name her," he murmured, "I'll love her. And you—forever."
Their daughter let out a soft squeak as she nestled even deeper into Jingfei's arms.
Jingfei leaned back against a mountain of pillows; her tired eyes lovingly fixed on the tiny bundle clutched to her chest. The room, now quiet, had settled into a gentle, sacred calm after the storm.
"She needs a name," she whispered, her voice lighter as a smile danced on her lips.
Lorianthel nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "A name that is strong... yet gentle. Beautiful, like her mother. Fierce, like her scream."
"Like a thunderstorm in a teacup," Mei-Ling quipped from across the room, wringing out a cloth with a mischievous smirk.
Jingfei smiled at her baby. "She looks so peaceful now. It's hard to believe she burst into this world like a banshee with a vendetta."
"Runs in the family," Lorianthel muttered affectionately.
"Hmm... what about something..." Jingfei paused, tapping gentle fingers on the baby's soft blanket. "Something elven from your camp."
Lorianthel sat up straighter, thoughtful. "Alright... in old Elvish, there's a name—Elarinya. It means 'Star-blessed maiden.'"
Jingfei's eyes brightened. "Elarinya," she repeated, testing the syllables like a secret spell. The baby gave a little wiggle of approval.
"Now, for her middle name," she continued. "Something from my roots... something with meaning."
Mei-Ling, busy folding a cloth, suggested, "What about Meilin? It means 'beautiful jade forest'—a nod to her connection to both our worlds."
Lorianthel grinned broadly. "Elarinya Meilin Loriandóttir. Sounds like royalty."
"Or the name of a legendary sword," Jingfei mused. "Either way, it fits her perfectly."
Just then, a gentle knock sounded at the door.
"You're not allowed in unless you're carrying snacks or gold," Mei-Ling called out, still wiping her hands.
Fror peeked in sheepishly. "Er... we brought tea! And Gror here picked a bunch of flowers."
Gror held up a crumpled bouquet that looked like it had tussled with a sheep.
Fror leaned in with a playful grin. "So? May we finally meet the little heir to the grape throne?"
Jingfei beamed. "Come meet Elarinya Meilin Loriandóttir. Though you can call her 'Little Grape' if you fancy."
Fror blinked in mock offence. "You named the baby after fruit?"
"It's a nickname!" Lorianthel snapped playfully. "A wholesome, loving nickname."
"I'd wager two weeks before she starts calling you 'Big Turnip,'" Mei-Ling muttered with a grin.
Gror leaned closer, inhaling the air with a conspiratorial sniff. "She smells of milk and destiny."
"She smells like victory," Fror declared proudly. "And a hint of poop."
Laughter bubbled through the room—even Jingfei giggled—as little Elarinya let out a tiny hiccup and nestled deeper into her mother's arms.
"She definitely has your nose," Lorianthel whispered, his eyes misting again.
"And your flair for the dramatic," Jingfei replied with a wink.
The room simmered into a gentle murmur of pleasant conversation as tea was passed in chipped cups, and Gror valiantly attempted to reconstruct his defeated bouquet into something vaguely floral.
Jingfei cradled little Elarinya closer, her eyelids fluttering with exhaustion yet still glowing with a contented smile. Lorianthel sat beside her, his hand tracing soft circles over the baby's minuscule fingers.
Halfway through retying her hair—a clean cloth draped over her shoulder like a medal of honor—Mei-Ling paused as Jingfei softly called out, "Mei-Ling?"
Mei-Ling turned, raising an eyebrow in curious amusement. "Yes, Empress of the Labour Realm?"
Jingfei chuckled, then glanced at Lorianthel, who nodded reassuringly as his hand slipped into hers.
Taking a steadying breath, Jingfei continued, "We've been thinking..."
"That's dangerous," muttered Fror from the corner, prompting Lorianthel to launch a playful grape at his forehead.
Ignoring the jibes, Jingfei added, "Will you be our little grapes, godmother?"
Mei-Ling blinked, slowly straightening up in surprise.
Lorianthel spoke earnestly, "We couldn't have managed today—any of this—without you. We want her to grow up knowing the story behind her name."
A stunned silence fell, then Mei-Ling pressed a hand to her chest, visibly moved.
"You literally caught her mid-somersault as she emerged from me," Jingfei grinned. "You've been more than a friend... you're family."
"It will be my honour," Mei-Ling replied softly, her voice uncharacteristically tender.
Looking at the baby then at the new parents, her usually irreverent face softened. "I... do I get an official title? Like 'Fairy Godmother of Honour' or 'Supreme Jade Guardian of the Diaper Realm'?"
Lorianthel smirked. "We were thinking 'Fairy Godmother Meilin the Wise, Wielder of Boiled Towels.'"
"I'll take it," she said proudly, puffing out her chest.
Stepping forward, she gently cradled the baby's tiny foot. "Little Elarinya Meilin... I accept the honour. May you grow up fierce, funny, and a bit smarter than your father."
"Oi," Lorianthel protested playfully.
"Too late," Jingfei murmured. "She already has your forehead."
Fror burst into laughter. "She does carry the elvan forehead ridge of destiny!"
Mei-Ling bent down, kissing Jingfei's temple and then Lorianthel's forehead, before whispering to the baby, "Welcome to the world, Little Grape Go move some mountains."
In that moment, new parents, exhausted warriors, and eccentric companions circled together in a bond of warmth, madness, and boundless love.
And outside, the last stray monk finally hung a "No Screaming Beyond This Point" sign on the door.