The Warlord of Oakhaven possessed a physical resilience that completely defied the standard limitations of mortal biology. Valeria had survived localized atmospheric formatting, the crushing depths of the Sunken Sea, and the searing, apocalyptic fire of the northern continental crust. Her physical frame was an absolute, unyielding monument to sheer willpower.
But as she officially entered the deeply heavy, exhausting stretch of her third trimester, Valeria encountered a physical adversary that neither a celestial steel blade nor raw Administrator authority could effectively combat.
A dull, incredibly persistent lower backache.
It was mid-morning, and the Golden Age was operating at absolute, completely uninterrupted perfection. The warm summer sunlight filtered beautifully through the massive glass windows of the manor, catching the lazy dust motes dancing in the air.
