The fluorescent lights overhead hummed, casting a sterile glow across the narrow hospital corridor. Sarah leaned against the counter, her pen scratching across a clipboard as she inventoried their dwindling medical supplies. The antiseptic tang of alcohol wipes clung to the air, mingling with the faint, comforting aroma of lavender oil someone had placed near the children's beds. Even here, in the heart of this chaotic hospital, there were small mercies.
The smell of lavender brings a smile to Sarah’s beautiful face even if her heart was breaking.
"Sarah!" A nurse burst through the double doors, her face flushed. "We're out of gauze in Wing B, and Mrs. Hale says her daughter's fever is spiking again."
Sarah didn't miss a beat. "Tell Mrs. Hale I'll be there in ten minutes. Check the supply room behind Pediatrics for gauze—it might be in the third bin on the left." She smiled, though her fingers never stopped moving as she flipped to another inventory page.
The nurse hesitated, then nodded and left.
Sarah exhaled quietly, glancing at the sea of beds lining the children's wing. While she hadn't trained in this environment, she was resourceful and accustomed to making do with limited resources. The sterile environment felt foreign, but she was proud of the organized system she had helped establish after the hospital leaders had “evacuated” during the initial attack. The world had descended into chaos far too quickly. Supplies were scarce, systems had broken down, and every hour brought new challenges. But, within these walls, Sarah and the others had created a fragile flickering hope.
Her attention shifted to a small boy sitting cross-legged on one of the cots. He clutched a well-loved stuffed bear with a button eye missing, his thin shoulders trembling.
Setting the clipboard aside, Sarah crossed the room in a few swift steps and knelt beside him. "Hey, buddy," she said softly, her voice gentle and reassuring. "What's got you looking so serious?"
The boy blinked up at her, his wide eyes glistening with tears. "My dad said he'd come back before the storm, but he didn't. I think... I think something bad happened." His voice trailed off, and the bear in his hands trembled as he gripped it tighter.
Sarah's heart ached, but her smile remained unwavering. She reached out, gently brushing a tear from his cheek. "I know it's scary right now. But you've got people here who will take care of you, okay? You're braver than most of us here, holding down the fort like this."
Sarah's heart ached, but she smiled at the boy, the smile remained unwavering, a beacon of warmth in the dim light. It was an innocent smile, breathtaking in its simplicity, yet it held the strength of a mother, the assurance that everything would be alright. The boy sniffled, snot leaking down his chin while nodding slowly.
"Tell you what," she added, pulling a small tin from her pocket. Inside were colourful stickers—rainbows, dinosaurs, and glittering stars. "How about you pick one? Then you'll have a little extra luck for when your dad returns."
His face lit up, the tears momentarily forgotten as he pointed to a shimmering star. “Good choice,” she said. Sarah peeled it off and pressed it onto the back of his hand. "There you go. That's your badge of courage," she said, rising to her feet.
“Thank you,” the boy said whipping his nose on his sleeve.
Behind her, one of the junior doctors approached with a question about dosage charts, while a nurse hurried by carrying a tray of IV bags. It was an unrelenting tide of need and uncertainty. But Sarah thrived in it, each crisis another opportunity to help, to anchor those around her. Only a few had unlocked their heart cards, but thankfully, most people with a medical background had magic related to healing.
As she returned to her work, the faint sound of distant sirens carried through the building's thin walls. It was a stark reminder that the sanctuary they had carved out here was fragile, a flickering flame in a world consumed by the merger. This System.
Sarah didn't falter. She wouldn't falter. Not for these children, not for Joel. Shaking her head at that thought, she wouldn’t give up on Oliver and her daughter. “Joel’s dead,” she thought to herself. She took a couple of deep breaths.
When the system had emerged and the world began to shift—fracturing under the weight of its strange new rules—many had fled. Doctors, nurses, and patients alike had packed up what they could and sought safety elsewhere. But Sarah had stayed, she couldn’t leave.
“Was it love?” She thought “Was this her mission? Her sanctuary?”
When the chaos began spilling through the hospital’s doors, Sarah had adapted. She set up triage systems, repurposed old supplies, and turned every challenge into a puzzle to be solved. Her mantra was simple: keep the children safe, no matter what.
Her gaze shifted to a photograph taped to the wall beside her station. It was a simple, candid shot of Joel and Oliver, with Sarah standing between them. Their arms were draped casually around each other, their free hands resting gently on her small belly. It wasn't the most flattering photo of Sarah – she was squinting into the camera as sunlight flared behind them. She remembered the day it was taken vividly, a time before the system. The three of them had been on a camping trip, sharing bad coffee and worse jokes as they sat by the river.
Her fingers brushed her abdomen, a subtle, protective gesture, even though the child she had carried for them was no longer there.
A faint cry echoed down the hall—a baby, probably hungry or frightened. Sarah froze for just a moment, her chest tightening as she felt the telltale warmth spreading beneath her shirt. She turned slightly, clutching the clipboard tighter against herself, her cheeks burning with embarrassment despite the privacy of the moment.
The postpartum struggles had been a constant undercurrent, a dark whisper beneath the surface of her joy at being a mother. She had thought she was okay, that she could give her baby to Joel and Oliver and move on, but her world had changed just like it had for everyone else. Those whispers had begun to fade, though, drowned out by the urgent needs of the children around her.
This was her purpose now. Her fight. Even if her breasts ached, she would need to feed her baby soon. “Fuck,” she said as she changed into a dry shirt. Her thoughts were interrupted by a commotion near the main doors of her ward, on the top floor of the hospital.
A nurse called out, her voice tinged with panic. “Sarah, we’ve got incoming!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
She turned sharply, striding toward the sound. Two paramedics wheeled in a stretcher, the patient on it pale and unmoving. Blood seeped through the sheets wrapped tightly around his leg.
“Set him down in Room 3,” Sarah ordered, snapping back into action. “Megan, get me a crash cart. Emily, alert the emergency magic team.”
Even as she barked commands, her mind worked furiously, cataloging what needed to be done. The child within her no longer stirred, but she placed a hand over her stomach anyway, a gesture of reassurance to herself.
I won’t let this place fall, she thought. Not for you, not for anyone.
She pushed through the swinging doors, ready to face whatever came next.
Thirty minutes later, she and the on-call magic user successfully stabilized the young man from the front line. It turned out a monstrous creature had unleashed a sonic attack, shattering half the bones in his arms.
She slowly started to head back to her room, to feed her baby, and to get some rest. Moving with quiet purpose through the wing, her thoughts drifted even as her hands remained steady. She stopped at a cart of medical supplies, sorting through bandages and antibiotics. Her movements were practiced, almost instinctive, but her mind lingered on the choices that had brought her here – choices that, even now, she did not regret.
Even now, as the sirens outside grew more frequent and supplies dwindled, she refused to let this place fall. The children's wing wasn't just a part of the hospital anymore; it was a bastion of something better, something worth fighting for.
She walked into the room she shared with Oliver and their baby. He was asleep in the chair by the window, his head tilted to one side in an awkward angle. She scooped the baby up from the bassinet and lay down on the hospital bed. Her daughter cooed softly, reaching out with tiny, delicate fingers.
Sarah kissed her forehead and settled onto the bed, cradling the baby close. The newborn began to cry softly, a gentle, plaintive sound until she finally latched onto Sarah's breast. 'We really need to name you,' Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. Oliver had wanted to wait to finalize the name until Joel returned, but Sarah couldn't bear the thought of delaying any longer.
She rested her head against the pillow, her eyes fluttering closed.
Her fingers brushed the newborn’s soft hair, a subtle, protective gesture. The decision to carry their child had been an easy one, though the weight of it grew heavier with each passing day. Joel had called it a gift, his voice cracking with emotion as he thanked her, but Sarah had never seen it that way.
It wasn't about generosity. It was about belief.
This child, this tiny heartbeat within her own, represented everything she had ever fought for: innocence, resilience, the promise of a better future, even in a world that seemed determined to spiral into darkness. Even before the System, The Company wasn’t much better, she thought bitterly.
“In all this madness,” she murmured in the dark, her voice low as she cradled the baby close, “you are worth fighting for.”
A low chuckle rumbled from the chair near the window. "Thanks," came Oliver's sleepy voice. "I knew you thought I was pretty special."
Sarah glanced over, startled, to see Oliver rubbing his eyes and smirking at her. He shifted in the chair, his usual boyish grin softened by exhaustion and a hint of something deeper.
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "I was talking to the baby, not you."
"Sure, sure," Oliver teased, stretching with a groan. "But I'm not going to lie—it's nice to be appreciated every now and then."
"You're just fishing for compliments," Sarah shot back, her tone light. "But fine. You're… adequate."
He clutched his chest theatrically, feigning offence. "Adequate?! I'll have you know I'm invaluable. Who else could make a bottle, fix the generator, and teach a three-year-old how to finger paint all in the same day?"
"Mm, maybe Joel," she teased, her smile widening as she adjusted the baby in her arms.
"Ouch," Oliver said, wincing dramatically. "But he's not as good-looking as I am, and he definitely doesn't have this..." He winked, leaning in close and brushing a kiss against the baby’s cheek.
Sarah's breath hitched. "Oliver..."
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. "What? Can't a man compliment his own work?"
She shook her head, a helpless laugh escaping her lips. "You're impossible."
"And you love me for it," he quipped, finally standing and crossing the room to kiss her on the forehead. This time, the kiss lingered, a spark igniting between them.
Sarah sighed, her amusement fading into something softer as she looked up at him. "I do. But seriously, Oliver… we have to keep fighting for this—for her. For them. All of them."
He nodded, his playful demeanour melting away as his hand rested briefly on her shoulder. "We will, Sarah. We'll make it through this. Together."
Sarah exhaled deeply, a shadow of sadness crossing her face as her gaze drifted back to the baby in her arms. “Oliver… we need to talk about Joel.”
His jaw tightened, and he took a step back, leaning against the wall. “Sarah…”
She shook her head, cutting him off gently. “We have to face the truth. It’s almost been a month. If he were alive, we would’ve heard something. A message, a sign—anything.”
Oliver’s hands gripped the back of the chair he had just vacated, his knuckles white. “You don’t know that. He’s tough. He could still—”
“He’s probably… dead,” she said softly, her voice breaking despite her efforts to keep it steady.
Oliver turned away, his shoulders slumping as he stared out the window into the darkness. The city beyond the hospital’s walls was a jagged silhouette, faintly illuminated by fires in the distance. The monsters came every night now, pressing against their defences like a relentless tide.
“We’re at war, Oliver,” Sarah continued, her voice firm but laced with sadness. “War. Every day, those things get closer. And every day, we’re barely holding them back. We can’t keep living in the past—not when everything around us is falling apart.”
He turned back to her, his face etched with grief and frustration. “So, what? Do we just forget him? Pretend he didn’t exist?”
“No,” she said, her tone softening. “We remember him. We honour him. We both love him. But we don’t let the hope of something that may never come paralyze us. We have to keep moving forward—for her, for ourselves, for everyone, we’re still trying to protect.”
Oliver ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small room. “It’s just… it doesn’t feel right. Like giving up on him means we’re giving up on us.”
“It’s not giving up,” Sarah replied, her voice resolute. “It’s surviving. If he’s alive, he’d want us to keep fighting. And if he’s gone…” Her throat tightened. “He’d want us to raise her, to build a future worth living for.”
He stopped pacing, looking at her with red-rimmed eyes. “You think he’d want that?”
“I know he would,” she said firmly.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft, rhythmic breaths of the baby in her arms.
Finally, Oliver nodded, his movements stiff but deliberate. “You’re right. I don’t like it, but you’re right. However, let us give him one more week, and then… Then we can discuss our family.”
Sarah nodded. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll get through this, Oliver. Together. But we have to start letting go of the things we can’t change.”
He let out a shaky breath and crouched down to kiss the baby’s forehead. “For her. For us.”
“For all of us,” Sarah said, her voice a quiet vow. “Maybe, we can finalize her name. I always liked Erin.”
The distant roar of a monster shattered the moment, and Oliver stood, his face hardening as he grabbed the spear he kept by the door. “Duty calls.”
Sarah nodded, her grip tightening around the baby. “Be careful.”
He shot her a grim smile. “Always am.”
As he disappeared into the hallway, Sarah glanced out the window again, her heart heavy but resolute. The battle was far from over, but she would keep fighting—because that’s what Joel would have wanted.
And because she refused to let the darkness win.
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