"It's a rainy night, isn't it, Julian?"
The voice belonged to Lord Leofric, head of the house of Leodrick, but it lacked its usual commanding iron. It sounded hollow, echoing against the stone walls of the chamber. Outside, the rain lashed against the high arched windows, a relentless, drumming cadence.
"Yes, my lord. Indeed it is," replied Julian.
He stood in the shadows, a silent sentinel. As Leofric's sworn sword and right-hand man, Julian had stood by the warlord through bloody crusades and political treachery, but he had never seen his master look so... off.
Leofric stared out into the dark estate. "It's as if the sky is trying to wash away my sins. But some wounds run too deep for water to cleanse."
As if responding to his despair, the distant roll of thunder shook the foundation of the manor. The steady rain shifted, violently twisting into a howling storm. It felt less like weather and more like an omen—a physical manifestation of a nightmare clawing its way into the mortal realm.
"Waiting like this... it feels empty," Leofric murmured, his hand resting heavily on the pommel of his blade.
"Well, it is your fourth child, my lord," Julian offered softly, trying to ground his master. "The anxiety of the firstborn is a distant memory."
Leofric shook his head, his silver-streaked hair catching the dim candlelight. "No, Julian. Something is different tonight. Something is... off."
The heavy oak doors clicked open. A maid stepped into the room, a weary but genuine smile pulling at her lips. "It's a boy, my lord. Healthy and loud."
Leofric let out a long, shuddering sigh. The suffocating weight in his chest seemed to lift, if only for a fraction of a second. He turned to Julian, gesturing for him to accompany him to the birthing chambers. "Bring the young ones. Let us go greet—"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
An urgent and reverberating sound broke through the silence in the hallway. The sounds were heavy, fast steps, pounding into the ground as if being run from sheer fear.
The doors flew apart, revealing a knight of the Queen's Guard standing at the opening of the door. He was gasping for breath, and his face was paler than white. "Sir, your Grace, she...sh-she..."
Leofric felt like his heart had stopped.
"She is dead!" the knight said breathlessly.
The famous sword of Lord Leofric, who had taken over one hundred souls and which he never parted from, fell to the ground, utterly useless. Leofric did not mind. He dashed passed the knight, and followed by his servants ran after him as quickly as they could. Just one small droplet of moisture made its way down his rugged face, and it was difficult to tell whether it was sweat or tear in the chilling climate of the castle.
"Nymera!!"
His roar echoed through the stone halls as he breached the birthing chamber.
Leofric—the noble titan of Morvain, a warrior who had fought warlords and beasts without ever lowering his head, a man who prided himself on never dropping to his knees—collapsed. His knees struck the floor with a sickening crack.
He lunged forward, grabbing the cold, limp hand of his wife. This was the woman he had sworn eternal love to under the gaze of the gods. This was the soul he intended to spend his twilight years with. Now, she lay motionless on the blood-soaked sheets, killed by the very life she had just brought into the world.
Julian stepped into the room, the blood draining from his face. His eyes grew watery as the horror of the scene settled over him. "What cruel fate had befallen his lord?"
"My lord, she... she could not survive the strain," the lead physician whispered, her voice trembling. "Right after giving birth, she smiled. She looked at her son, and then... in a fraction of a second, her head dropped. She lost consciousness. Blood dripped from her mouth, her pulse—"
With a thunderous bang, Leofric's fist slammed on the stone flooring, breaking the tiles beneath its power.
The physician bit her lip and shrunk back in fear. There was an oppressive silence that fell over everyone, as the storm outside appeared to cease abruptly, leaving behind nothing but the taunting raindrops. In the room, there was nothing but the sound of weeping—sad, heartbroken weeping from a broken giant. As if God himself was playing a twisted, wicked game, calling on a pure soul in return for a child.
Leofric rose from where he sat, and the despair in his eyes was quickly overtaken by madness—a crazed, terrifying madness. His vein pulsated furiously on his forehead.
"Give me the child," he said menacingly.
The maid cradling the crying baby recoiled in fear and instinct, yet she could not let go. "No, my lord..."
Julian instantly stepped between Leofric and the child, his hands raised in a desperate bid for peace. He could see it clearly now—the grief had fractured Leofric's mind, turning his agonizing despair into a burning, irrational hatred for the innocent creature in the crib.
"No, my lord. Look at him," Julian said, his voice cracking with a rare, fragile weakness. "He is still your son. He is her blood."
Hours bled into the night.
The fiery, explosive rage that had threatened to tear the manor apart eventually cooled. Leofric stood by the grand window, staring blankly into the abyss of the rainy night. Julian stood three paces behind him, just as he always had. But this was no victory watch. This was a vigil for the dead.
The fire in Leofric hadn't extinguished; it had simply hardened into a freezing, immovable malice.
"He will be given the life of a noble's son," Leofric spoke, his voice devoid of any human warmth. "He will have a noble's life. But I will never accept him. He is no true son of mine. Never... never."
Leofric waved a dismissive hand, refusing to look back. "Leave me, Julian. Let me be alone with her."
Julian bowed his head and walked out into the open courtyards. He stood under the falling rain, tilting his head up toward the hidden moon. He let the cold water drench his face, using the downpour to wash away and conceal the tears streaming from his eyes.
"Oh, dear Goddess," Julian whispered to the empty night. "What has happened to his Grace? His rage... it has twisted him entirely. He is no longer the great warrior of Morvain. He is just a broken man. Why take the only thing he truly cared for? Why take his true love?"
The tragedy felt even heavier given the blood that ran through their veins. The Kingdom of Morvain, one of the four great realms of the continent, was an empire forged on the mastery of the anvil. Blacksmithing was not a mere trade here; it was a sacred, religious art. The skills passed down through generations were older than written language itself—a mystical discipline known simply as the Smith's Craft. It required not just brute physical strength, but an innate spiritual reverence for the flame.
The steel produced by Morvain's master smiths was said to possess its own stubborn, fierce soul. These men understood the language of metals better than scholars understood prose. Foreign emperors and distant kings paid immense homage to Morvain, offering mountains of gold, unbreakable alliances, and humiliating peace treaties just to secure a shipment of Morvain blades. But Morvain was a kingdom built on pride, valuing raw might over coin. Every sword that crossed its borders spoke volumes of that unyielding pride.
The Leodrick family stood at the absolute pinnacle of this world. They were 'True Nobles'—a title reserved strictly for the legendary warriors who had turned the tide of the ancient Svaron War. They were men forged in the fires of conflict.
Julian looked down at his own calloused hands, a bitter thought crossing his mind.
Steel is forged in fire, and so were the knights of Leodrick. But tonight... for the very first time... the steel melted in the cold.
As Julian searched for any kind of release from the unbearable sorrow, he found himself entering the training hall of the estate. He heard the sound of slashing and saw Lord Cedric – the eldest son and successor of the Leodrick line – swinging his training sword at an alarming rate, covered with sweat.
"Sir Cedric..." started Julian. "... your mother... she..."
"Cedric knew that already, Julian," he interrupted, striking again at the dummy. He did not look back at him. He could not. "Give me a moment alone, please."
He slashed again with force, the sound ringing in the empty hall like a thunderclap.
The news spread throughout the castle like wildfire, heralding an end to the Leodrick golden era and a dark start for a newborn boy.