"Don't glare at me like that!" Lucan chided, his stern gaze piercing through me.
"'No, I—' I faltered, words catching in my throat.
"What's this? Didn't peg you for the jealous type—won't even let your best friend hold the kid?"
With Lucan's absurd comments, everyone in the room burst into laughter.
"Alright, alright, hold your child! No need to make that sad face."
The child was placed into my trembling arms.
What do I do? This child can't live—he'll bring ruin.
'Should I end it now, while he's still so vulnerable, a mere newborn? I could stop it here, right now!'
Yes... I have to kill him. I must protect everyone! I cannot risk the second coming of me! My wife was supposed to be barren. This child—some cruel deity's jest, a reckoning for my sins.
Valorion, his hands shaking, slowly reached for the child's throat. His fingers hovered over the delicate skin, feeling the pulse of life beneath his fingertips. He could end it here, with just a bit more pressure... But as he tightened his grip, an overwhelming wave of memories rushed through him—his past, his sins, his redemption.
He could hear her voice in his mind, as clear as if she were standing beside him:
"Every human deserves a second chance, Valorion, and you're no exception. You are kind, even if you cannot always see it."
It was his wife's voice, full of the same warmth that had saved him from the abyss so long ago. He remembered the day she had found him—a broken man amidst the ashes of his own failures. She had taken him in, despite everything he had done, despite the darkness in his soul. She had believed in him, when no one else would.
His grip loosened, his hand trembling violently now. He looked down at the child—so small, so helpless, so innocent. Could he really extinguish this fragile life? Could he really take away the very thing his wife had given him: a second chance? As she herself watching over them with a warm smile .
The weight of his decision pressed on him like a mountain. He could feel the darkness clawing at the edges of his mind, urging him to finish it, to rid the world of this child who might bring destruction. But another part of him, the part that had been saved by love, resisted.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to kill the newborn.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized the truth. This child was not a punishment, not a curse. He was a test—a test of whether Valorion could truly change, whether he could break free from the chains of his past.
Slowly, he drew the child closer to his chest, his heart racing. For the first time, he allowed himself to hope, to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he could be the one to save this , he will not fail this child like he failed his mother .
"Dear, why are you so tense?" my wife asked softly, still lying in bed, her face glowing with exhaustion, yet serene after the birth. Her white gown clung to her, a quiet mark of the strength she'd shown in bringing this life into the world.
"Ah, it's nothing! Just... thinking about work," I replied, forcing a smile. Her eyes, full of warmth and concern, studied me, searching for something more. I couldn't let her see the dark thoughts that had been creeping through my mind since I held our child.
"Work? Something that serious? Enough to give you a headache?" she asked, sitting up a little, her voice soft but worried.
"Well, you see—"
"Ah, I bet it's about those Flame Temple bastards, isn't it?" Lucan cut in suddenly, throwing out an unexpected guess.
"Yes!" I blurted out, quickly seizing the excuse. It was easier to let Lucan believe it was just work than admit the truth of what weighed on my mind.
"They're just hounding us for reparation fees for the work they did. We'll pay them, and that'll be that," I added quickly, trying to reassure both her and myself with a confident tone, even though my heart was elsewhere.
"Yes, you're right, but still..." Lucan began, her brow furrowing again.
Enough,' Aunt Berata snapped, her voice slicing through the room. She waved her hand dismissively at us. "You men! Honestly, do you really think now is the time to discuss work?"
Her words made everyone turn, startled for a second, before the room erupted into laughter. Even I couldn't help but smile, the tension in the air dissolving. My wife's eyes sparkled as she laughed along, and I could feel a lightness return to the moment.
We joined in, the sound of shared laughter filling the room. The worries of the day faded away, if only for a little while, and the evening drew to a close in warmth and harmony. For that brief moment, everything felt right.
■-■ ■-■ ■-■
[Same Day ,Capital City of Cynethron , heart of Hēahcyne Empire ]
The study glowed faintly from the fireplace, shadows stretching across wooden panels and shelves heavy with old tomes. The Duke's mahogany desk was cluttered with maps and scrolls—tangible evidence of his constant planning. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of unspoken matters.
The Duke sat with regal poise, his sharp gaze moving across the faces of his gathered advisors. Dressed in the noble colors of his house, he exuded an aura of calm authority. As the room stilled, the Duke leaned forward, his voice steady but commanding. "Let us begin."
The Duke's aide—butler in title, confidant in truth—stepped forward, his voice sharp and measured. "As you are aware, His Grace, Duke Jesteron Wiseheart, already has heirs from his three wives."
The five men seated at the round table exchanged looks of quiet understanding, their expressions tightening as the weight of their discussion deepened. But before the tension could settle fully, the butler continued with a sudden air of finality.
" Gentlemen, no need to fret over succession. The choice is made. Among the Duke's eight children, the son of the second wife, Lady Freia, retains the family's defining trait of *Wisdom*. While the son of Mistress Frena possesses the trait of *Knowledgekeeper*, it is not strong enough to surpass *Wisdom*. However, his minor trait of *Lucidity* makes him a considerable contender."
The advisors nodded, well-versed in a world where worth was cultivated and weakness cast aside.
"But," the butler hesitated, letting the ominous pause hang in the air, "this meeting was convened for another matter. The third wife's child... she gave birth to an *Elemental Trait*."
The room collectively gasped as the weight of the revelation settled over them.
"That means..." the head of the Duke's knight brigade murmured.
"Yes," the butler confirmed, his tone sharp. "It most likely means our lady has been unfaithful."
The head of the research unit scoffed bitterly. "Naturally."
The oldest among the advisors, Sir Martinez, head of security, leaned forward, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. "What does His Grace intend to do now?"
"We will, of course, dispose of the child," the butler replied without hesitation, echoing the Duke's thoughts.
"P-perhaps," stammered the head of treasury, a man unused to speaking in such tense situations, "I may offer a more... discreet solution. We could send her to a temple during the next *Religia Festival*. Let whichever trait she possesses be offered in service to the same traits Temple. It may even improve our strained relations with the elemental factions."
The room grew quiet, all eyes turning to the Duke as the trembling advisor awaited a response.
"Is that necessary?' the Duke asked, his voice icy, edged with menace."
"N-no, Your Grace," the advisor stammered, sweat beading at his brow. "However, I humbly suggest we consider it. The eastern front remains embroiled in war, and the feudal lords, empowered by the economic revolution two centuries ago, hold considerable influence. They control the trade of monsters and remain devout believers in elemental sorcery. It may benefit us, even if only outwardly, to maintain favorable relations with them."
A silence followed, thick with tension, before the Duke finally nodded, his sharp gaze still fixed on the trembling advisor.
"Very well. I will heed your advice—for now."
"Thank you, Your Grace," the advisor replied, bowing his head low in relief.
The meeting continued, the weight of the authority ever present in the room.
■-■ ■-■ ■-■
[1st Charleauros-Year 2029(1)-19th Aeons since the Great War]
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
The joyful echoes of celebration filled the Bravestone household, now a family of four. Laughter warmed the room—a father tempered by life, a tender mother, and their two children, a son and a daughter. Once told they would never have children, the couple counted their blessings every day, thankful to the gods for the family they had been given. And they celebrated like that too.
Today was a particularly special day. Valorion, the father, was taking his son to the temple for the boy's fifth birthday. It was a time-honored tradition—today, the child would finally receive his name. Friends and family lavished the boy with gifts and love, leaving him wide-eyed, dazed by it all.
Valorion bid the family farewell, cradling his son as he set off for the temple under the cover of late night. The child, beaming from ear to ear, settled comfortably in his father's arms.
"Father, isn't the temple that way?" the boy asked, his small voice clear in the still night.
Valorion felt a slight sting at the question but answered calmly. "That is not our temple, son. We worship the Great Dragon, not the flame or any of the others."
"Oh...," the boy replied softly, the confusion lingering in his tone.
They continued down the road, the shrine to the Great Dragon soon coming into view. Once radiant and powerful, the shrine now stood quieter, humbled by the growing influence of the flame worshipers. As they neared the entrance, the child remained still in Valorion's arms, his once bright smile fading into something more subdued. Valorion couldn't see it directly, but he knew the look. It was a mask—a façade of calm that the boy wore. He knew it all too well, for he had once worn such a mask himself.
"Boy?" Valorion's voice was soft but carried weight.
"Yes, Father?" The child's voice, filled with innocence, tugged at Valorion's heart. But beneath it, Valorion sensed something else, something less pure—a practiced, man-made innocence.
"Have you thought about what name you would like to take for yourself?" Valorion asked, his gaze steady, watching the boy closely.
The boy squirmed a little, uncertain. "I don't know... There are so many good suggestions. I like the one Mother mentioned... and Lucan's name isn't so bad either."
Valorion studied him, the boy's evasiveness gnawing at him "'Why not take the name you had before you became our son?'"
The boy's eyes twitched slightly, his expression unreadable. Silence fell between them as the shrine loomed ahead, its towering figure casting long shadows in the fading light.