Chapter 41. Big Dumb Cabbage

I had been listening quietly. The cave felt smaller now. The fire still burned lazily. Outside, the wind stirred faintly through the broken rocks. Kevin’s voice had fallen quiet for a while. His eyes stayed locked on the flames, as if trapped between past and present. I was still sitting there in dice form, hovering, too full of questions. But one finally slipped out. Actually, a few. I asked them one by one.

“Uh… battle mage with five regional commendations. What is that? You were super strong or something?”

Kevin blinked, as if returning from far away.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I was strong. Each corner of Eden. The Adam Kingdom, Eleandra Kingdom, Shurtie Kingdom, Diva Kingdom... and the Neutral Area. They all respected me.”

“I never imagined you were such a big shot back then.” He looked back into the flames. “But strength didn’t matter when it came to this.” There was sadness in his voice. I hovered a little closer to Kevin. “So… when you stopped her. That night... was that when it all started? Does she have a double personality or something?”

Kevin exhaled, slow. His shoulders looked heavier now.

“No and I’m still not sure what happened to her that time.” His voice came rough, worn thin. “That was only the beginning.” He reached for his shirt, fingers tracing the old scar again. And then, almost to himself.

“You need to hear the rest.” His gaze returned to the fire. His voice, too.

And so the story went on.

***

Kevin dropped to his knees beside her, still confused by what had just happened. The black current still writhed above her skin. Through the faint glow of her belly, he saw it. A pulse of shadow threading into the child within. The child… his child… was still alive, but drowning in something he could not fight. He pressed both hands against her stomach. His mana flared. Flame surged forward, golden and searing. He poured everything into it. It was precision—threaded light woven to shield and heal. The flame he poured was not raw power. Too much, and he would burn them both. Too little, and the shadow would root deeper.

A constant battle of balance, a fight not of strength, but of control. Sweat lined his brow. His focus narrowed to the space beneath his hands. Every flicker of flame demanded flawless restraint. Every moment strained his will to the edge. The shadow fought back. It lashed through him, tore at his mana, sent agony twisting through his palms. He gritted his teeth and pushed harder. He was a father, a mage, and a man who had burned himself for his guildmates without regret, and this was his own son. He would not let his child fade before life had even begun.

“Live,” he whispered, voice raw. “Stay. Hold on.”

A golden phoenix silhouette pressed from his palm into her belly. The light flickered as the shadow surged again, winding tighter around the tiny life inside. Kevin felt it then—every beat, every tremor. The child’s pulse flickered beneath his hands, fast and uneven, as if drowning in the dark.

“Hold on,” he begged again, leaning forward. His whole body shook as he forced more mana through. Flames wove in waves, coiling through the barrier he had shaped. Each surge demanded perfect control, burning through his reserves. But the shadow would not yield. It clawed back, threading deeper, anchoring itself inside the child. Kevin’s breath broke. His arms trembled. His vision blurred with heat and pain.

“Please live,” he rasped. “You are loved. You are ours, son.”

The barrier buckled, light dimming beneath his fingers. The shadow thrashed harder, wrapping the unborn heart in coils of black shadows.

“No!” Kevin growled, voice shaking with fury and love. “You will not take him!”

He channeled every drop of fire he could command. Pain rippled through his arms, but he gritted his teeth and forced the flame forward. He couldn’t stop. This was their child, a miracle he would fight for no matter what fate had planned.

“Live...” his voice broke beneath the prayer.

“You have to live... my son...”

“You will live. You’re Kevin’s son.”

The words tangled with his name. In his haze of pain and prayer, it slipped free, half word, half hope.

“Levin...”

The sound struck him mid-breath. Not just a word. Not just a mistake. A name. His name. His son. His living hope. His voice caught around it. His heart seized. “Levin,” he whispered again, clearer this time. “Levin... please stay... come through this.” Then, through the maelstrom of fire and shadow, he felt it.

A faint flutter.

It’s so small and fragile, but stubborn. The pulse beneath his hands strengthened—beating back the dark, reaching toward the warmth he offered. The child answered. Kevin shuddered, tears slipping free.

“That’s it... good... good son,” he whispered. “Stay with me, Levin.”

Flame and shadow warred beneath his touch. The pulse thrashed, fighting the barrier he forced around it. Pain burned through his hands. His breath came shallow. Still, he forced the flame forward. He pressed on, telling himself this was his son, their son. A miracle they had fought to protect, a life he would guard at any cost.

At last, the shadow vanished from her skin, the tide had turned. The surface grew still. The light held and the dark was swallowed. But Kevin felt it. The shadow remained, buried deep within the child, anchored where his light could not reach. It was not cleanly purified. But the child still lived, fragile but alive. And so did the mother. Safe and sound. He collapsed forward, catching himself on trembling arms. Smoke rose from his skin where the flame had turned against him. Kevin told himself it was enough. He had kept them safe, done everything he could—as a husband, a father, the head of their family. That this would be the end of it.

Nothing could go wrong. They were going to live a happy life.

***

She woke hours later. Smiling. Laughing. Calling him her “big dumb cabbage” like she always had, as if nothing had happened. The warmth in her eyes had returned.

Kevin froze for a breath too long. His mouth opened, questions tangled behind his teeth, but no words came.

He couldn’t ask. Not now. Not when she looked at him like that. Too afraid to break what little peace remained. So he smiled instead—a smile that carried a meaning she would never know. He sat beside her the whole night. Kevin didn’t rest. Sleep was out of the question. He was afraid something might happen again, also, tonight was the night. The night the healers had predicted. The night their child would be born. He waited, listening to her breath, one hand resting lightly against her side. She teased him.

“Why do you look more nervous than the mother herself?”

Then, smiling softly, she pulled him into a warm hug and pressed a kiss to his lips, just to calm him down.

“I love both of you. Of course I’ll be nervous,” Kevin whispered back. He hesitated, then added, voice low. “Do you need to drop your mana coat while giving birth? It’ll be... painful.”

“Of course,” Callista replied softly. “I won’t use it. If I keep it up, it’ll harden the wrong muscles, slow everything down. Worse, it could hurt our child.” She touched her belly with gentle fingers. “This kind of pain… is one I have to face bare.” She grinned. “Plenty of women do it without magic. Why should I be any different?”

Kevin looked down, slowly, he reached for her hand. “Then I’ll drop mine too.”

She blinked, puzzled. “You?”

He met her gaze. “I’m not going to sit here doing nothing while you go through this alone. Bite me, crush me—whatever you need. They say biting something can help ease the pain. If you feel it... so will I.”

For a moment, her breath caught. Then she laughed, tears gathering in her eyes. The smile that followed was softer this time, trembling at the edges.

“Big dumb cabbage..." she whispered. “Saying something like that, hm? Only you would think of that.”

The fight had ended. But the war had not. When the first contraction came, she stirred, frowning, then smiled through the pain.

“It’s time, cabbage,” she whispered.

Kevin instinctively caught her hand and held it tighter than he should have. Her smile remained, faint and strained, but her trembling fingers stayed wrapped around his own.

A life was about to begin. His family was about to change forever. And he was terrified. Then her breath caught. Another spasm rippled through her. He barely had time to react. He bolted to the front of the house, shouting for help. Their guildmates were already waiting outside, pacing nervously beneath the moonlight. The Guildmaster herself arrived, sharp-eyed, brimming with presence. One glance at Kevin’s state, and she pointed to two midwife healers who followed her. They entered the bedroom together with Kevin.

She took one look at Callista, then at Kevin.
“You’re no use in this state. Sit. Hold her hand. Let us handle the rest.”

Kevin nodded mutely and knelt beside his wife, gripping her hand.

“Do you want cabbage? We still have soup left...” he blurted.

She laughed weakly. “Big dumb cabbage.”

“It’s rare to see my strongest guild member panic like this,” the Guildmaster teased him.

Then another wave of pain struck. Callista’s grip crushed down on his arm. Kevin swallowed hard. She screamed through the next contraction. Sweat poured from her face.

“Talk to her. Keep her awake,” the Guildmaster said calmly.

Kevin’s throat worked. “I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you, just hold on.”

Another contraction came, harder this time. Callista arched against the pain, a raw scream tearing through the bedroom. Her grip squeezed Kevin’s arm. Her skin had gone cold beneath his touch.

“I’m here. Stay with me. Both of you,” Kevin whispered. His voice shook, but he forced it calm. A flicker of wrongness stirred beneath his palms. He could feel it. The pulse he had fought to protect wavered, slowing. Weakening.

Callista gasped, her voice cracking. “He… stopped… moving…”

One of the midwives paled. The Guildmaster’s voice remained calm, but her eyes narrowed.
“Kevin, stabilize him. NOW. We are almost there.”

His pulse hammered through his chest. He pressed his hand tighter around Callista’s stomach. Mana laced through his fingers in thin threads of warmth, barely controlled. He guided the warmth inward. A pure presence just enough to hold the fragile life beneath his touch.

“Stay. Stay with us.” Kevin’s lips moved in silent prayer. “Come on, son. Hold on.”

Callista trembled, her head falling back. Sweat and tears streamed down her face. For a breathless moment, Kevin felt emptiness beneath his hands. The pulse had vanished. The flutter had stilled. His heart stopped.

“Breathe,” he choked out. “Come on, son. Come back to us. Breathe.”

He sent another wave of warmth through. His own vision blurred, his skin burning with the strain, then, it came. A faint thrum beneath his palms. A heartbeat answered.

Callista cried out again, voice breaking. The Guildmaster leaned in, steadying her.
“One more,” she said. “Push.”

Kevin held her hand tighter. “He is here. You are both here, just a little more.”

Callista’s breath came ragged. Another contraction seized her, pulling a broken scream from her throat. Her grip crushed his hand, sharp pain flaring through his arm. Her fingers clenched tight, nails stabbing through his skin. Warm blood streaked between their locked hands.

She pushed again, her body trembling, tears streaking down her face.

“You are strong. Just one more,” Kevin whispered. He leaned close, forehead nearly touching hers. “Stay with me.”

She cried out again, voice cracking. Her body arched with the strain, every breath a battle. Another wave hit. She strained through clenched teeth, a low sob escaping with the effort. Her grip on Kevin’s hand shook with desperation. Sweat soaked her skin, her strength fading with each breath. The midwives worked swiftly. One braced Callista’s hips, guiding her through the next push. Another wiped the sweat from her brow, murmuring gentle words of encouragement. They moved in practiced rhythm, voices calm beneath the chaos of the room.

The Guildmaster’s voice cut through the tension.
“It is close. Stay with her. Keep her here.”

It was the longest night of his life. Kevin didn’t know how long he sat there, whispering reassurances, letting her squeeze his hand, claw his sleeve, bite down to muffle the pain. The room spun with heat and light, the faint scent of burned mana still lingering beneath sweat and blood.

At last, the Guildmaster’s voice cut through the haze.

“Kevin,” she said gently. “It’s done.”

A cry rose through the air—new, alive. The sound shattered him. Kevin’s breath broke. His vision swam. He stared in disbelief as the Guildmaster lifted a tiny, squirming form.

“Your son,” she said. “Strong and healthy.”

Hands shaking, Kevin reached out. The moment the bundle touched his arms, the world fell away.

The boy was small, slick with blood. His chest rose and fell—struggling, but determined. Tiny fists clenched and unclenched, as if grasping for the life he had nearly lost. Kevin wiped him clean, his flame as gentle as breath. He closed his eyes.

“You fought hard, Levin,” he whispered. “You came through.” He wrapped the boy in cloth, kissed his forehead, and held him close to his chest. The warmth of that tiny heartbeat thrummed against him, stronger than any flame he had ever conjured.

When he looked at her, tears blurred his vision.

She smiled. “Big dumb cabbage,” she murmured. “You’re crying over small cabbage.”

Kevin laughed through the tears. “Of course I am.” He held their son tighter. “I’ve never seen anyone fight so hard... to live.”

“She’s waiting,” the Guildmaster said softly. Kevin nodded and stepped to her side, placing Levin gently in her arms.

For one fragile moment, the tired mask faded. Callista’s fingers trembled as they traced the curve of his cheek. Her eyes shimmered, no shadow within them, only aching love.

“Levin...” she whispered. Her voice caught. She drew him close, resting his tiny body against her chest, her breath slow and shaking. “My little flame,” she whispered. “You’re so strong... so beautiful.”

Kevin knelt beside her, watching, holding her other hand.

Then she spoke again, her voice softer, teasing through exhaustion. “But why’d you get to name our son Levin? I thought we had a deal — I was supposed to name him.”

Kevin flustered, unsure how to answer. His mouth opened, but before he could speak—

Callista gave a faint, tired laugh. “It doesn’t matter. I love the name Levin. It sounds just like you. Kevin and Levin... my two flames.”

In that moment, Kevin was the happiest man alive. He forgot about everything, the shadow, the cold Callista. He lost himself in the scene before him. Only a mother. A child. And the fragile peace between them.

“Sleep,” she whispered to Levin, her voice barely audible. “Mama loves you.”

And with that, exhaustion finally claimed her. Her eyes fluttered shut, a small smile lingering on her lips, Levin warm in her arms.

But by dawn, she was gone.

All it took was a moment—when he had stepped outside with everyone else, holding Levin in his arms, surrounded by guild members coming to celebrate.

When he returned to the bedroom, the room was empty. The bed where his wife should have been was cold. The sheets lay twisted, half-pulled. Her scent still lingered in the air, fading fast.

No note. No trail. No mana signature to follow.

Kevin stepped forward on numb legs. His knees hit the edge of the bed. He reached down without thinking, fingers closing on the crumpled sheets. They were cold beneath his touch. A sound caught in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He sat there mindlessly, gripping the empty sheets, staring at the ceiling that no longer felt like home.

A ceiling where they had once dreamed together.

A ceiling that no longer belonged to him.

A ceiling that meant nothing now.

An empty room.

A space too wide.

Only silence. And a child in his arms.