The Midwife's Lament: The Golden Throne's Child

In the heart of the ancient kingdom of Luminara, where the sun kissed the golden throne every morning, there was a midwife whose name was whispered in reverence. Her name was Elara, and she had delivered more than a hundred royal infants, but none so significant as the Child of the Kingdom, the one destined to sit upon the Golden Throne and rule the land with wisdom and grace.

The Child of the Kingdom was not like other infants. From the moment of his birth, he had been bathed in the light of prophecy, and the people of Luminara believed that he would bring peace and prosperity to their land. Elara, with her silver hair and eyes that seemed to see through the veil of fate, had been chosen to be his midwife, a role she embraced with a solemnity that matched the importance of the task.

The night of the Child's birth was unlike any other. The palace was filled with a hush, as if the very air held its breath. Elara stood at the birthing chamber's threshold, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear. The Child's mother, the Queen, was a woman of great beauty and regal bearing, but her eyes were filled with the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

As the Queen's labor progressed, Elara felt the room's energy shift. It was as if the very fabric of time itself was being torn asunder. The Child's arrival was not a mere birth; it was a moment of creation, a moment that would change the course of history.

The Child was born, and with him came a voice that echoed through the palace, a voice that seemed to carry the wisdom of ages. The crowd fell to their knees, their eyes wide with awe and disbelief. Elara, however, felt a chill run down her spine. The Child's voice was not the voice of a newborn; it was the voice of a man, and it spoke of a destiny that was not his own.

Days turned into weeks, and the Child grew at an extraordinary rate. He learned to walk and talk before the age of two, and his intellect was so vast that the kingdom's scholars were baffled. The Child's mother, the Queen, grew increasingly concerned, her own voice growing hoarse with worry and whispers of madness.

Elara, the midwife, had noticed something else. The Child's eyes were not like those of a human; they were the eyes of one who had seen too much, of one who understood the shadows that danced at the edges of the world. She found herself drawn to the Child, as if his destiny was entwined with her own.

One evening, as the Child played with his toys, Elara approached him. "You are not like other children," she said softly. The Child looked up at her, his eyes filled with a depth that belied his age. "I know," he replied, his voice a strange mix of innocence and maturity. "I am not meant to be a child. I am meant to be the savior of Luminara."

Elara's heart sank. The Child's words were a betrayal, a betrayal of the Queen, of the kingdom, and of her own role as midwife. She knew that she must act, but what could she do? The Child was the future, and to harm him was to bring about the end of the world as they knew it.

As the Child's sixth birthday approached, Elara made her decision. She would leave the palace, take her secrets with her, and leave the Child to his fate. The night before his birthday, she crept into the Child's chamber, her heart heavy with the weight of her actions.

"I am coming for you," she whispered, placing a small, ornate box on the Child's bed. The box contained a scroll, a scroll that held the secret of the Child's true nature and the prophecy that bound him to the throne. Elara knew that once the Child read the scroll, he would understand his true destiny and the role he was meant to play.

The next morning, the Child's birthday, was a day of celebration. The palace was filled with laughter and music, but Elara knew that the true celebration was to come. As the Child opened the box, his eyes widened in shock and realization. He read the scroll, and the weight of his destiny settled upon his shoulders.

Elara watched from a distance, her heart aching with the knowledge that she had played a part in the Child's awakening. She turned to leave, her path cleared by the Child's mother, the Queen, who had witnessed the entire exchange.

"Thank you, Elara," the Queen said, her voice trembling. "You have done what you must. Now, go in peace."

Elara nodded, her eyes filled with tears. She left the palace, her heart heavy with the burden of her choices, but also with a sense of relief. She had done what she could, and now the Child was free to choose his own path.

The Child of the Kingdom, with the scroll in his hand, would go on to rule Luminara, but not as the savior of the land. He would be the one to bring about its end, a fate that Elara had tried to alter, but could not. And so, the legend of the Midwife of the Golden Throne was born, a tale of loyalty, betrayal, and the weight of prophecy.