The doctor’s announcement rippled across the planet like a lightning bolt:
“The pregnancy will last one full year. A special case—the children of a devil and a fairy… a balance of opposing forces. They’ll need time to develop.”
The words spread fast, and reactions were immediate.
Citizens who once admired Safari and Angeleva now stared in disbelief.
A devil and a fairy? Married? Having children?!
Gasps echoed through towns. Whispers stirred in markets, on corners, in taverns. Some reacted with awe.
“It’s a miracle,” one old man said. “Two opposing natures, united in love. Rare… precious.”
“It proves love transcends origin,” a young mother whispered. “I’d like to meet those children someday.”
But not all voices were kind.
“They don’t belong here.”
“What right do they have to stay and drain our supplies?”
“Disgusting. An abomination.”
Word of hate spread just as quickly as the voices of wonder.
Yet Safari never let it sink in. Not once.
Every day, he held Angeleva’s hand. Every day, he made sure she smiled, even just once. When she walked slowly through the garden cliffs, he was there—steady, patient, never leaving her side.
Supporters came with crates of food, clean clothes, soft blankets, and even handmade toys for the unborn twins. The doctor remained blunt and unwavering:
“I don’t care what they are. I see two parents-to-be and two lives forming. That’s all that matters.”
Angeleva, watching Safari through those long months, saw him with new eyes. Not as a warrior, not as the man who split mountains with his hammer—but as a patient, tender soul who bore the world’s weight with silent strength.
“I never thought I’d feel this much peace,” she told him once, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Neither did I,” he whispered, squeezing her hand.
But peace invited shadows.
The ones who despised them grew bolder. They whispered louder, spat when the couple passed.
“Letting a devil and fairy give birth? That’s unholy.”
“They’re creating monsters.”
“They get worshipped while we starve?”
Supporters pushed back.
“They saved us.”
“You wouldn’t even be alive without them.”
“Take your hate elsewhere.”
But hatred doesn’t vanish. It waits. It watches.
Safari felt their eyes. Heard the hisses. Saw spit hit the ground in their wake. Yet every time, he tightened his grip on Angeleva’s hand and kept walking.
When asked why, his answer was simple:
“I’ve already fought demons who tried to control the universe. These fools? Not worth my rage. I’m not here to burn a planet—I’m here to build a future.”
And so they endured.
Through the whispers. Through the scorn. Through the word abomination hurled like poison.
Even Angeleva—who once soared against Raven’s generals and helped topple a god—became the target of ridicule. Women giggled behind hands, men pointed at her swollen belly, and children echoed their parents’ hate.
But she never bowed.
“I can take it,” she whispered to Safari one night, leaning into his chest.
“Then let’s make it a game,” he murmured with a crooked grin. “See who can endure more humiliation without flinching.”
They did. Smirks and nods became their secret scorecard, each insult another tally. Their unity only hardened.
And still, the haters grew restless.
“They’re not cracking.”
“They walk past us like we don’t matter.”
“They think they’re above us.”
So, they made a plan.
An elder-looking man, robed and solemn, approached Safari while Angeleva rested in the garden.
“There is a seer,” he said gravely. “She’s discovered something urgent about your children. It could affect their birth. She waits on the northern cliffs.”
Safari’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“I’ll lead you.”
The word children echoed too sharply in his mind. His instincts screamed trap, but duty drowned it out. He nodded.
“Take me there.”
Meanwhile, in the garden, two women approached Angeleva with soft smiles.
“Angeleva,” one said gently, “an elder has advice for you—about the twins, about motherhood. She says your husband is waiting there too.”
“Safari?” Angeleva asked, blinking.
“Yes,” they said in unison. “Come. It’s not far.”
Though unease twisted in her gut, their warm tones chipped away at her guard. She stood slowly, brushing off her dress.
“Alright… lead me.”
The forest swallowed them. Trees grew thick, air heavy. Shadows stretched long.
Angeleva paused, frowning. “This… doesn’t feel like the right place.”
One woman smiled too wide. “The elder prefers solitude.”
“And my husband?”
“Maybe he wandered,” the other said lightly.
Suspicion burned in Angeleva’s chest. She stepped into the cabin cautiously, hand on her belly. The door shut behind her with a heavy thud.
Lanterns flickered weakly inside. The room was empty.
Her wings stiffened. “Where is the elder?”
The women exchanged glances. Their smiles vanished.
Atop the cliffs, Safari’s instincts finally flared too hot to ignore.
He turned sharply on the old man. “Where is she?”
“Maybe she stepped away. Just wait—”
“No.” Safari’s voice was iron. “If she comes, tell her to wait. My wife needs me more.”
He broke into a run, gravel crunching beneath his boots. The elder’s voice called after him, but Safari didn’t look back.
He didn’t know it was already too late.
Back at the cabin—
Clank!
Chains shot from hidden slits, coiling around Angeleva’s arms, legs, waist—yanking her down to cold stone. She cried out, wings thrashing, but the bindings tightened, forcing her still.
Laughter filled the room.
“Even a fairy can be caught. Especially one carrying freaks.”
Angeleva’s breath shook, but fury burned. She couldn’t unleash her full power—not with the twins. But she wasn’t helpless.
“Fairy Radiance.”
Light flared at her wrists—snap!—the chains shattered, sparks flying.
But before she could break free—
FOOOOM!
The cabin roared. Outside, the cowards had already fled, sealing the door. A man grinned cruelly as he aimed an incinerator at the cabin’s base.
“Let that cursed womb burn.”
BOOM!
Flames erupted, devouring the dry wood. Smoke curled into the sky as onlookers cheered.
“Burn, fairy witch!”
“No abominations born here!”
Inside, smoke clawed at Angeleva’s lungs. Heat blistered the walls. She pressed her palms against the burning wood, wings trembling.
The fire spread fast. Too fast.
She clutched her belly, whispering through the choking air:
“Please… hold on.”