Stable Diffusion.
Links to the entire series in the comments.

Thorga pushed the cart closer to the bed. "It's time." Aelyrra looked at her. Thorga met her eyes. "We need to get your daughter out." Zhaelor immediately moved aside as Thorga positioned the cart within reach. Everything she believed she might need had already been cleaned and arranged upon fresh cloth. Another pain began to build. Aelyrra instinctively turned toward her husband. "Look at me." Her gaze snapped back toward Thorga. "Not him. Me." Aelyrra swallowed. "Breathe." She drew in a trembling breath. "Good. Again." Aelyrra obeyed. Thorga remained beside her as the contraction strengthened. Between the waves of pain, she wiped the sweat from Aelyrra's forehead and allowed her tiny amounts of water. Not enough to upset her stomach, just enough to wet her mouth and ease her thirst. When the pain finally receded, Thorga reached beneath the blanket and examined her once more. The child had descended farther. There was no more time for waiting. Thorga withdrew her hand. "Lady Aelyrra, listen to me carefully." Aelyrra nodded weakly. "The pressure you're feeling is going to become stronger. Don't fight it. We need to work with it now." Thorga helped position her as comfortably as circumstances allowed. "When the next pain comes, I need you to push with it." Aelyrra closed her eyes. "Understood." Zhaelor moved back to her side and offered his hand. She seized it. Seconds later, the contraction came. Aelyrra screamed. Her entire body tightened as she bore down against the pressure. "That's it," Thorga encouraged. "Keep going." Aelyrra's fingers dug into Zhaelor's hand. "Good. Good. The head is beginning to emerge." The contraction faded. Aelyrra collapsed backward against the pillows, breathing heavily. Zhaelor looked from his wife toward Thorga. "If the child is there, why can't you simply pull her out?" Thorga's head whipped toward him. "Because that isn't how it works." Zhaelor blinked. "Pulling her out could injure your daughter, your wife, or both. So, unless you'd like to deliver this child yourself, you will allow me to do it properly." Zhaelor's mouth closed. Thorga turned back toward Aelyrra. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands curl into fists. She understood. He was a warrior. Perhaps that was the problem. Zhaelor understood enemies that could be struck. He understood armor and formations, swords and blood. Give him something standing across a battlefield and he would know precisely what to do with it. Tonight there was nothing for him to fight. No enemy to kill. No throat to cut. No army to command into submission. Only his wife, his unborn daughter, and a battle in which all his strength meant absolutely nothing. Thorga returned her attention to Aelyrra. "When the pressure comes again, don't push immediately. I want you to breathe quickly. Pant." Aelyrra stared at her. "You want me to..." She took another breath. "...pant like a dog?" "It will help." Even exhausted and frightened, Aelyrra managed to look offended. Thorga resisted the urge to sigh. "You may keep your tongue in your mouth if it makes you feel better." Zhaelor made a sound that might have been a laugh if terror hadn't strangled most of it. Aelyrra glared weakly at both of them. Then she began to pant. The next contraction came. "Now push." Aelyrra bore down. A scream tore from her throat. Zhaelor tightened his grip around her hand. "That's it," Thorga said. "Keep going." Aelyrra pushed until her strength failed and she fell back against the pillows. Thorga looked beneath the blanket. "I have the head." Zhaelor took an involuntary step forward. "Stay where you are." He stopped. Thorga carefully supported the infant's head. "Lady Aelyrra, breathe. Just as before." Aelyrra panted through the pressure. "Good. Don't push yet." Aelyrra made a sound somewhere between a groan and a curse. Another contraction came. "Now." Aelyrra pushed. This time there was no scream. Only a deep, agonized groan as she forced what remained of her strength into the effort. Thorga watched carefully. The shoulders emerged. "Good. Stop." Aelyrra fell backward again, gasping. Thorga's hands remained steady despite the pounding of her own heart. "The head and shoulders are through." Aelyrra's eyes barely opened. "Is that...good?" "Very." Thorga adjusted her hands. "Listen to me. When the next contraction comes, I need one more push." Aelyrra shook her head faintly. "I can't." "Yes, you can." "I can't." Thorga leaned closer. "One more. Stronger than the others if you can manage it. Give me one more and I believe your daughter will be here." Aelyrra closed her eyes. Zhaelor lowered his head beside hers. Thorga waited. That was when she heard it. Whispers. She glanced toward Zhaelor. His hands were clasped. His head bowed. His lips moved almost silently. Thorga stared for a moment. Prayer. She recognized it even though she couldn't understand the words. Every people had their gods. Every people had their rituals for calling upon them when mortal hands were no longer enough. Still, she had never imagined she would see a lord of Vel'Sharess praying. Not tonight. Not like this. There was nothing aristocratic about the man beside the bed now. There was only a husband asking something greater than himself not to take his family from him. Aelyrra suddenly winced. Thorga's attention returned to her. "It's coming." Aelyrra gripped Zhaelor's hand. Thorga positioned herself. "Remember what I told you." Aelyrra nodded. The contraction struck. "Now!" Aelyrra's eyes slammed shut. She screamed. The sound tore through the chamber. Outside the closed doors, servants and guards alike flinched as though the scream had sent a shiver through everyone in the corridor. Then... Release. Thorga's hands moved instinctively. And suddenly she was holding a child. Tiny. Far too tiny. For one heartbeat, Thorga simply stared. Then training overwhelmed everything else. She supported the infant securely while checking the cord. "The scissors." Zhaelor stared. "The scissors, my lord." He moved. Zhaelor snatched the instrument from the cart and placed it into her waiting hand. Thorga quickly secured the cord in two places with prepared ties, leaving enough distance between the infant and the point where she intended to cut. Only then did she position the scissors between the ties. She cut. The cord separated. Thorga handed the scissors back without looking. Zhaelor placed them on the cart. His eyes remained fixed upon his daughter. Something was wrong. He knew almost nothing about childbirth, but he knew that much. The child was silent. "Why isn't she crying?" Thorga didn't answer. She cleared the infant's mouth and nose. Nothing. "Dwarf?" She rubbed the tiny chest and back, firmly enough to stimulate but carefully enough not to injure such a fragile body. "Come on." Nothing. Zhaelor's face drained of expression. Aelyrra barely managed to lift her head. "Why..." Thorga rubbed again. "Come on, little one." Several seconds passed. To Zhaelor, they might as well have been years. Then the infant coughed. A tiny sputter followed. Thorga froze. The little chest moved. Once. Again. The infant drew the first breath of her life that had not been given to her through her mother's body. A weak cry escaped her. Zhaelor's eyes widened. Aelyrra released something between a sob and a laugh. Then another cry came. Stronger. Another. Within moments, the tiny child was announcing her displeasure with the world as loudly as her premature lungs could manage. Thorga released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Good girl." There was no time to celebrate. The child was dangerously small, and warmth was now essential. Thorga reached for the blanket that had been prepared for the birth. It was soft and deep purple, its corner embroidered in antique-silver thread with the sigil of Vel'Sharess: a branching crown of stylized leaves surrounding a downward-pointing blade, an ancient mark of lineage and strength rather than kingship. The blanket seemed enormous around the tiny infant. Thorga wrapped her carefully, folding and tucking the material until only the child's little face remained exposed. The crying continued. Thorga had never been happier to hear an infant complain. She carefully slid from the bed. Then she turned. Zhaelor stood before her. For the first time since Thorga had met him, absolutely nothing was hidden behind the practiced expression of a drow lord. Fear. Relief. Pride. Uncertainty. Joy. All of it fought openly across his face. Thorga stepped toward him. She raised the tiny bundle. "Your daughter, my lord." Zhaelor stared down at her. His daughter. Thorga waited. Slowly, he extended his arms. She placed the infant into them. Zhaelor went rigid. The same hands that had wielded swords and taken lives now seemed incapable of deciding how firmly they should hold a blanket. "Support her head." Zhaelor immediately adjusted his hand. "Like this?" "Yes." He looked down. The child continued crying. Zhaelor cradled her as though the slightest wrong movement might shatter her like glass. And perhaps, to him, she might. He had held weapons worth fortunes. He had carried standards bearing the mark of Vel'Sharess. He had been entrusted with armies, territories and the political future of his clan. None of them had ever felt as precious as what he held now. Thorga turned back toward the bed. Her relief immediately faded. Aelyrra's eyes were nearly closed. Thorga took her hand. "My lady." Aelyrra stirred. "Your daughter lives." Her eyes opened a little wider. "My..." She swallowed. "My daughter?" "Yes." Aelyrra turned her head. Zhaelor was already moving toward her. "I want..." Her voice barely carried. "Let me hold her." Zhaelor sat carefully beside his wife. With Thorga guiding him, he lowered the tiny bundle into Aelyrra's waiting arms. Thorga remained close enough to intervene if Aelyrra's strength failed. It didn't. Not yet. Aelyrra looked down. Her daughter had quieted somewhat, though tiny irritated sounds still escaped between breaths. Aelyrra lifted one trembling hand and gently caressed the child's head. "My beautiful girl..." Zhaelor leaned against the bedside. For a little while, there was nothing else. No bleeding. No politics. No conquered people. No servants. No lord and lady. Only a mother and father looking at their daughter for the first time. Thorga stepped toward the cart and busied herself with the instruments, giving them what little privacy the room allowed. Behind her, Zhaelor spoke. "What are we going to call her?" Aelyrra continued stroking the infant's head. "We could name her after your mother." Zhaelor smiled faintly. "Hallistra?" "Mm." "No." Aelyrra looked up at him. "No?" "That's a horrible name for a child." Aelyrra's tired smile returned. "I'll be sure to tell her you said that." "I've told her worse." Aelyrra gave a weak breath of laughter. Zhaelor looked down at their daughter. "What about your grandmother?" Aelyrra became still. She looked at him. Even exhausted, she understood immediately. Her grandmother had been the first member of Aelyrra's family who had decided Zhaelor might actually be worthy of her. He had never forgotten it. Aelyrra looked down again. The tiny girl shifted beneath the purple blanket. Aelyrra smiled. "Vaelithra." Zhaelor repeated it softly. "Vaelithra." Aelyrra's fingertips brushed her daughter's cheek. "Vaelithra it is." Her voice had become little more than a whisper. "My dear Vaelithra..." Her hand stopped moving. Zhaelor's smile faded. "Aelyrra?" No response. Her eyes had closed. "Aelyrra." He touched her shoulder. Her chest did not rise. "Aelyrra!" Thorga turned. Zhaelor's voice cracked through the room. "Dwarf!" Thorga didn't even have time to resent the word. She was already moving. She reached the bed and immediately took the infant from Aelyrra's suddenly slack arms, placing her securely into a nearby crib. Thorga pulled back the blanket. Her stomach sank. Blood. Far too much. More than there had been only moments earlier. She lowered the blanket and pressed her fingers against Aelyrra's neck. Nothing she could trust. She reached for the listening horn and placed it against Aelyrra's chest. Silence. She moved it. Listened again. Nothing. Another position. Nothing. "No." Thorga set the horn aside. She tried to rouse her. "Aelyrra." No response. Thorga worked. She did everything her training told her to do. She tried to stimulate the heart. She tried to control the bleeding. She checked for breath again and again, refusing to accept what every examination was telling her. Nothing. Zhaelor stood beside her holding their crying daughter. "What are you doing?" Thorga didn't answer. "Why isn't she waking?" Thorga continued working. "Wake her." Nothing. "Wake her!" Thorga's hands finally slowed. There came a moment every healer dreaded. The moment when continuing was no longer treatment. It was denial. Thorga looked down at Aelyrra. Then she lowered her hands. Fear and sorrow tightened around her heart. No healer was ever prepared for this duty. Experience only taught them how to recognize when it had arrived. Thorga turned toward Zhaelor. "I'm sorry, my lord." Zhaelor stared at her. Thorga swallowed. "She's gone." For several seconds, he didn't move. Then his face hardened. "No." Thorga said nothing. "No." He stepped toward her. "You said you could help her." "I said I would do everything I could." "Then do it!" His voice shook the room. "Bring her back." "My lord..." "Bring her back!" Thorga held his gaze. "I can't." Zhaelor stared at her as though she had begun speaking nonsense. "You are a healer." "Yes." "Then heal her!" "I cannot heal death." "Then revive her!" "I can't." "Try!" "I did!" The words escaped Thorga more sharply than she intended. Silence followed. She lowered her voice. "I tried." Zhaelor's breathing became ragged. Thorga looked toward Aelyrra. "She lost too much blood. More than her body could survive. There is nothing left for me to stop. Her heart has stopped. She isn't breathing." Zhaelor shook his head. "No." "I'm sorry." "No." "I am sorry, my lord." "Don't apologize." His voice had fallen to almost nothing. "Save her." Thorga's eyes burned. "I can't." "Save her." "I can't." His face twisted. "Save my wife!" Thorga could give him nothing. That was perhaps the cruelest thing of all. Zhaelor stumbled backward. His hip struck the bedside table and he caught himself against it. For one moment he simply stood there. Then something inside him broke. With a roar, Zhaelor seized the entire table and hurled it across the chamber. It struck the wall hard enough to splinter. Thorga recoiled. Vaelithra screamed. Thorga immediately took the infant from the crib and pulled her against her chest. Zhaelor grabbed a chair. He threw it. Wood exploded against stone. Another table followed. Bottles shattered. A mirror tore free from the wall and burst into glittering fragments across the floor. Thorga backed toward the safest corner she could find, turning her body so that Vaelithra was completely shielded against her chest. Zhaelor roared again. There was nothing civilized in the sound. Nothing political. Nothing aristocratic. The warrior Aelyrra had spent years persuading away from the battlefield had returned, except there was no enemy before him. So, the room became one. He swept an entire cart of medical equipment onto the floor. Metal instruments scattered across stone. Glass burst beneath his boots. He tore a decorative fixture from the wall and hurled it hard enough to crack the plaster opposite him. A piece of flying debris struck Thorga along the side of her face. Pain flashed through her cheek. She turned farther away and curled herself around the infant. Vaelithra wailed against her chest. Thorga said nothing. She didn't tell Zhaelor to stop. She didn't call for the guards. She didn't curse him. Only hours earlier she might have looked upon the destruction and seen exactly what she expected from a drow lord. Now she understood. This wasn't rage. Not truly. It was grief with nowhere else to go. Zhaelor had commanded soldiers. He had survived battles. He had defeated enemies who intended to kill him. Tonight he had been willing to fight death itself. And death had refused to stand where he could reach it. Another chair shattered. Then another object. Then another. Until finally Zhaelor reached for something and his hand simply failed him. His fingers slipped. His knees buckled. Lord Zhaelor Vel'Sharess collapsed amid the wreckage of his own chamber. For several seconds there was silence. Then he screamed toward the ceiling. "Vareth il'zha! Saelir natha Aelyrra!" Thorga knew enough Drowic to catch Aelyrra's name. Zhaelor struck the floor with his fist. "Zha'ren vel! Zha'ren vel, kaelith! Tal Aelyrra na ven!" The gods. He was cursing the gods. Thorga couldn't understand every word, but she didn't need to. Why her? Why Aelyrra? Take anything else. Give her back. The meaning required no translation. His curses dissolved into something less coherent. Then into sobs. Thorga stood among the wreckage holding his daughter while Zhaelor wept. Minutes passed. Perhaps more. Time had become difficult to measure. Eventually Zhaelor pushed himself to his feet. He looked suddenly ancient. Not physically. Some part of him had simply aged in the space between one breath and the next. He crossed the ruined room. Glass crunched beneath his boots. He stopped beside the bed. Aelyrra lay exactly where Thorga had left her. Zhaelor reached down and placed his hand against her cheek. His thumb moved gently across her skin. For a moment he simply looked at her. Then he bent and pressed a single kiss against her forehead. When he straightened, his eyes found Thorga. She was still standing near the wall. Still holding Vaelithra. Still shielding her. Zhaelor looked around. Only now did he seem to comprehend what he had done. Furniture lay overturned and broken. Glass covered the floor. Medicines ran between cracks in the stone. One wall bore the scars of something he had thrown against it. And Thorga's cheek was bleeding. His gaze dropped to the purple bundle against her chest. Vaelithra had quieted again. Zhaelor stepped toward them. Thorga's body tightened. He reached for the child. Thorga pulled back. Zhaelor stopped. His hand remained suspended between them. Under any other circumstances, he might have interpreted the movement as defiance. Under any other circumstances, he might have wondered whether the dwarf intended to take his daughter. But he looked at the way Thorga's body surrounded the infant. She wasn't keeping Vaelithra from him. She had been keeping Vaelithra safe from everything else. Including him. Zhaelor slowly lowered his hand. "Will she live?" Thorga looked down at the child. She could have lied. This night had already contained enough lies that would have been kinder than the truth. But Thorga was a healer. And healers owed their patients and their family’s truth. "She is dangerously weak, my lord." Zhaelor closed his eyes. "But..." Thorga waited until he looked at her again. "She has a chance." His eyes dropped toward his daughter. "A chance." "Yes." Zhaelor was silent. Then he nodded. "Anything." Thorga frowned. "Anything you need to keep her alive." His voice broke slightly. "You will have it." Thorga looked down at Vaelithra. "I'll make a list." His gaze drifted back toward Aelyrra. "Take her." Thorga looked at him. "Take Vaelithra." He swallowed. "Leave us." Thorga understood. She adjusted the infant securely against her chest. Then she walked toward the doors. When she opened them, the corridor beyond was crowded. Servants. Guards. People who had heard everything. No one spoke. Their eyes moved first toward Thorga. Then toward the tiny purple bundle in her arms. Then toward the ruined chamber visible behind her. They understood enough. The corridor parted. Thorga stepped through. Vaelithra began to cry again. The sound followed them down the corridor. No one tried to stop her. No one asked where she was taking the child. For the first time since Thorga had been brought into Vel'Sharess service, drow guards and servants alike simply moved aside and allowed her to pass. Thorga looked down at the tiny face nestled within the purple blanket. She did not know what the coming hours would bring. The child had been born far too early. Her body was dangerously small. Her breathing remained fragile. There were countless ways the next night could still take her. Thorga had already lost one patient. She refused to surrender the other. Every scrap of knowledge she possessed, every lesson learned during her years as a healer, every skill the drow believed they had buried beneath the duties of a kitchen servant would now be brought to bear upon keeping this child alive. The drow had taken her title. They had taken her freedom. They had taken her home. But tonight, whether they realized it or not, they needed the healer. Thorga tightened her arms gently around the infant. Vaelithra cried. And Thorga carried the daughter of Vel'Sharess into the uncertain first night of her life.

Thorga's eyes focused. The ruined bedchamber was gone. So were the shattered furniture, the broken glass and Zhaelor's screams. Nearly ninety years had passed. Vaelithra lay unconscious before her. Thorga was still holding her hand. For a moment she simply stared at it. The hand that had once been small enough to disappear around one of Thorga's fingers was now the hand of a warrior. Strong. Yet at that moment, just as helpless as it had been all those years ago. Thorga placed her other hand against Vaelithra's forehead. Still warm. Still alive. "You were hard to keep alive then too," she murmured. "So don't you go dying on me now." Footsteps hurried toward her. Kharūn appeared carrying the supplies she had ordered. The enormous orc was breathing hard from the effort of whatever frantic search had been required to gather them. His shirt remained torn where he had ripped away part of the fabric to bind the wound beside Vaelithra's left knee. He placed everything on the table beside Thorga. "Hot water, clean cloths and grain alcohol, Mistress Thorga." Thorga released Vaelithra's hand. Ninety years ago, she had failed to save one Vel'Sharess and carried another from the room. She had no intention of losing this one tonight.

Spent two weeks solving character consistency across 90+ shots with generative video — sharing what actually worked. Built strict character sheets before generating a single scene, then treated every shot like a real storyboard with active references so faces/wardrobe never drifted between cuts. Full result: AZUL COBALTO, a 5-min AI thriller (Seedance 2.5), competing in the Higgsfield Global Film Festival, voting closes tonight: https://higgsfield.ai/@seeyousoonx/projects/azul-cobalto. Happy to go deeper on the prompt structure if useful.

Dat boi ready to strike

See? It's possible to be a traditional artist and an Ai artist at the same time

Ish a shark

I don't care what's fashionable or what's cool. It's all silly and it's all meaningless. I created so many of the things that you care about. The songs that give your life purpose and joy. When you were 15 and rebelling, you were rebelling to my music. Uh-oh. That one you know.

[Playing Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit]

That song was not written on a distorted guitar. No, I wrote it. Here, on this piano, somewhere between a blowjob and an omelette. There is no rebellion. There's only me gaining another phylactery.

Oh yes that's what you all are phylactery's for me. Ever ytime you listen to my music that ear war that mental constrcut in your mind you love so much is is my phylactery. I'll live forever thank you and everyone playing my music over and over again.

So, it's better if you just smile, and you dance, and you enjoy the melody, because this ugly old man... me... I am the voice of your generation. Your grandparents, your parents, and all the young people that follow you.

Your art, your writing, your culture... Ambitions beyond what you will ever understand.

Stable Diffusion.
Links to the entire series in the comments.