The night cloaked the world of Esteria in an inky darkness, where the veil between realms thinned, allowing magic to stir in the air like a restless spirit. Stars flickered in the heavens, their light barely penetrating the shadows that enveloped the narrow alleyways of a forgotten part of the city. Amidst the silence, a solitary figure soared above, cloaked in shadow, unseen by the unworthy eyes below. As the figure descended, the soft sound of fabric rustling accompanied the gentle hush of the night.
With a final flutter of its wings, the figure landed silently on the cobblestone street. In its arms lay a swaddled bundle, a newborn child, innocent and peaceful in slumber. The figure glanced around, ensuring the path was clear, before moving toward a dilapidated house nestled at the alley's end. Its walls were cracked and worn, whispers of better days long faded, yet it still stood, a bastion against the relentless passage of time.
The figure approached the door and, with a tenderness that belied its formidable presence, kissed the child on the forehead. The warmth of the gesture lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken promises. With a sigh that echoed the weight of countless burdens, it gently placed the baby in a weathered basket positioned just before the door. The child stirred slightly but remained asleep, oblivious to the sacrifice made for him.
As the figure stepped back, shadows embraced it once more, the essence of the night cloaking its retreat. It lingered for a moment, eyes glistening with unspilled tears as it watched the door stand between the past and the future. A sudden flicker of movement from within caught its attention, urging it to leave before the ties of the mortal world ensnared it once again.
Inside the house, a heavy silence enveloped Arthur and Lizz, the couple entwined in their shared sorrow. They sat together on the tattered couch, their spirits burdened by the weight of dreams unfulfilled. Lizz's eyes glistened with tears that threatened to spill over, each drop a testament to the child they could not have.
"Lizz," Arthur finally spoke, his voice breaking the stillness, "I know this is hard for us, but we have to get through it together. It doesn't matter if we can't have a child of our own. We can at least adopt one from the orphanage and treat him as our own."
"But still…" Lizz's voice faltered, her heart heavy with longing, unable to voice the void that echoed within her.
Suddenly, a cry pierced the stillness, raw and vibrant, echoing through the quiet of their home. Both of them shot up from the couch, hearts racing in anticipation. They rushed to the door, flinging it open to reveal a wooden basket resting on their doorstep, the source of the wailing.
"Arthur, look!" Lizz gasped, her maternal instincts igniting as she scooped up the basket, cradling the newborn with trembling hands.
Inside, nestled among soft cloths, lay the child—innocent, with a tuft of golden hair and striking golden eyes that twinkled like distant stars. Arthur's heart soared, and he reached for a note that rested beside the baby, unfolding it with a sense of reverence.
"Hello," he began to read aloud, his voice steady yet filled with disbelief. "This is the mother of this child writing this note, but I don't know how long I have left. If this child stays with me, his life will also be in danger, and I can't let that happen. I have to leave him with someone who could treat him as their own son. You can name him yourself, as you will be his parents from now on. Please don't tell him anything about this, and give him the scroll beside the baby only when he can become one of the strongest warriors on this land. Don't open it before that."
The words hung in the air, and a profound silence enveloped them. Shock mixed with joy flooded Lizz's heart, the promise of a child igniting a flicker of hope in the darkness.
"What should we name him?" Arthur pondered, the weight of the moment filling him with awe.
Lizz cradled the baby closer, the warmth of his tiny body anchoring her to reality. "We will call him Moros," she decided, the name slipping from her lips like a long-forgotten melody.
Meanwhile, just beyond the shadows of the alley, the cloaked figure paused, eyes glistening with tears. It had seen the couple take the child inside, and a bittersweet feeling washed over it, a mix of relief and sorrow. With a heavy heart, it turned away from the scene, knowing that it had fulfilled its purpose, leaving Moros to forge his own destiny in a world where magic lingered at the edges of night.
And as the figure faded into the darkness, Esteria held its breath, unaware of the storm that would rise with the awakening of the Forsaken One.