As the wind outside howled with renewed vigor, Elira gazed lovingly at her newborn son, gently cradling him in her arms. Despite the palpable unease that lingered in the room, her heart felt lighter than it had ever been. She softly stroked the silver tuft of hair on the baby's head, her fingers delicate against his warm, soft skin. The child, Nicholas, had stopped crying and now nestled against her chest, his tiny body rising and falling with each steady breath. Elira could hardly believe that this tiny, perfect being was hers.
"You are so beautiful, my love," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "I have waited so long to meet you."
Nicholas stirred slightly, his little hands curling into fists before relaxing again, his bright golden eyes opening momentarily, capturing her gaze. For a fleeting moment, Elira felt as though her son was seeing her in a way that no other could—a depth to his stare that was far beyond the comprehension of a newborn. She smiled, brushing the thought aside as the pure joy of being a mother filled her heart.
She kissed his forehead, feeling the softness of his skin against her lips. "I will protect you, my sweet child," she murmured, feeling the weight of her promise. "No harm will ever come to you. I swear it."
Caelan stood nearby, watching with a soft smile on his face. For all his strength and stoicism, seeing his wife and child together, safe and at peace, brought warmth to his heart. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, gently placing his hand on Elira's shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with emotion.
"He's perfect, isn't he?" she said, her voice full of awe.
Caelan nodded, his gaze shifting to Nicholas. "He is," he said softly. But as much as he wanted to savor this moment, a weight pressed down on his chest, a nagging feeling that he couldn't shake. His eyes lingered on the silver hair and the glowing golden eyes of his son.
Before he could dwell further on the unsettling thoughts creeping into his mind, there was a knock at the door. One of the village guards entered, bowing respectfully before addressing Caelan.
"The village chief requests your presence immediately, sir," the guard said, his voice steady but urgent.
Caelan glanced at Elira, his jaw tightening. "Now?"
"Yes, sir. He insists it is urgent."
Elira's brow furrowed in concern. "Go," she urged softly. "See what he wants. We will be here when you return."
Caelan hesitated, his hand tightening around hers. He didn't want to leave his family, especially not now, but duty called. He leaned down and kissed Elira's forehead, then gently touched Nicholas's tiny hand. "I'll be back soon," he promised, standing up to leave.
Elira watched him go, her heart heavy with a mixture of love and worry. She looked down at Nicholas, who now rested peacefully in her arms, unaware of the tension that surrounded his birth.
--
On the other side of the village, one of the midwives, Elder Ila, hurried home, her old, calloused hands still trembling from the night's events. She had seen many births in her lifetime, but none like this. The moment Nicholas was born, she had felt it—a surge of something ancient and powerful in the air, as if the very fabric of the world had shifted. It wasn't just the boy's eyes or his hair. It was something deeper, something that reached into the very core of her being.
Elder Ila closed the door to her modest hut and quickly lit a small fire, the crackling flames barely chasing away the chill she felt. She moved to a worn wooden chair, sinking into it as she tried to calm her racing heart.
"Golden eyes," she whispered to herself, her mind racing back to the old stories, the legends passed down from generation to generation. "A child born with golden eyes is a child of destiny."
But what kind of destiny? The ancient tales were vague, filled with ominous warnings about such children. Some were said to bring great prosperity, others, great destruction. And with Nicholas's strange features and the palpable energy in the air, she feared what lay ahead.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in her chest, causing her to gasp. It wasn't the familiar ache of age—this was something different. Her vision blurred momentarily, and she clutched her chest, her breathing becoming labored. A sudden rush of heat surged through her body, spreading to her limbs. Elder Ila stumbled to her feet, knocking over a small table as she tried to steady herself.
"What is happening?" she rasped, her voice trembling with fear.
Her skin began to prickle and burn, her veins glowing faintly beneath her papery skin. She looked down at her hands in horror as her nails began to lengthen, hardening into claws. The fire in her chest intensified, and she felt an overwhelming pressure building within her. She gasped again, falling to her knees.
And then, as if something inside her snapped, the pain vanished. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but the burning heat was gone. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her hands. Her nails had returned to normal, her skin no longer glowing. But the fear lingered.
"I… I can feel it," she whispered, her voice shaking. "The bloodline… it's Bloodline awakening but what kind of Bloodline is it." she couldn't help but think and started to fear for his life.
Elder Ila had always known that the blood of ancient beasts ran through her veins, dormant and forgotten. But she had never expected it to stir, not after so many years. And now, it seemed the birth of Nicholas had triggered something deep within her.
She stood shakily, her mind racing. What did this mean? What was coming?
And why now?
---
Back in the birthing chamber, Elira held Nicholas close, her mind still swirling with the events of the night. Outside, the wind howled louder than ever, as if the world of Wesen itself was bracing for what was to come.