OPENING SCENE – "THE DECISION".
The dimly lit banquet hall felt suffocating with tension, every corner heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Lord Thalion stood at the center of the gathering, the child's basket cradled tightly in his arms. His face, usually a mask of stoic resolve, betrayed the turmoil gnawing at his insides. The shaman, a shadowed figure in the corner, watched the scene unfold with a cold, unreadable gaze.
"Throw it back into the river!" one of Thalion's advisors barked, his voice cracking with fear. "This is a bad omen, my lord. You risk everything by keeping it."
Another, a silver-haired merchant with sharp, calculating eyes, leaned toward Thalion and whispered, "Mark my words, this child will bring ruin to all who cross its path."
Thalion's grip on the basket tightened, the weight of their words pressing down on him like a vice. He prided himself on his rationality on being a man of logic, not superstition but the shaman's words lingered, like an unseen force pulling at the threads of reason. The child's eerie golden eyes, the unsettling sense that something beyond this world had arrived... it all clawed at his mind.
"Thalion," his younger sister, Lady Sariah, spoke gently from beside him. Her voice, a soft counterpoint to the fear around them, carried a quiet conviction. "Whatever this child is, it survived when no one else could. That is no accident. Perhaps it's not a curse, but a sign,a sign of something greater than we can comprehend."
The shaman's voice, low and foreboding, broke through the rising murmur of the room. "Decide quickly, Lord Thalion. Fate waits for no one."
Thalion met the shaman's gaze, a silent challenge passing between them. After a long, strained pause, he exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment sinking in.
"If this child brings ruin," he said, his voice a low, unyielding growl, "I will kill him. His blood will be on your hands."
Turning to his steward, he commanded, "Prepare a room for the boy. He stays."
The shaman's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. A pact had been sealed, one that would shape their fates forever.
The Thalion estate, once a beacon of wealth and order, began to feel increasingly unsettling after the child's arrival. Small, inexplicable events turned the once-thriving household into a place of quiet dread:
The estate's prized horses, once eager to enter the stables, now refused to even approach them. Birds abandoned their nests in the gardens, and the hounds once known for their fierce loyalty howled in terror whenever they came near the nursery.
The nursery itself seemed to absorb sound, muffling even the servants' voices. At night, the shadows stretched unnaturally long, like sentient beings watching from the corners.
No one who entered the nursery could sleep soundly. Dreams twisted and warped into visions of storms, unnatural stars, and whispers of things better left forgotten.
Sariah, undeterred, spent hours in the nursery with the child. She cradled him as if he were her own, whispering stories of hope and solace. One evening, as the shadows stretched unnaturally long across the room, she heard faint whispers in the still air. At first, she thought they were the wind, but they seemed to form words soft and fleeting, as if the child himself were speaking without sound.
The servants, once loyal and efficient, now worked in nervous silence, whispering among themselves of omens, curses, and the unnatural child that had come to live in their midst.
A quiet afternoon in the dining hall when an incident occurred. A servant, frazzled by the strange atmosphere in the estate, knocked over a large pot of boiling soup. The scalding liquid splashed dangerously close to the child's exposed arm.
The room froze.
The child didn't flinch.
Instead, he turned toward the boiling soup, his golden eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a chill through the room. Then, to everyone's horror, the boy laughed a soft, melodic sound that felt out of place, wrong, as if it belonged to something that didn't belong to this world.
The servant stood frozen, unable to form words. "I-I didn't mean to..." he stammered.
Lord Thalion's sharp gaze snapped to her, suspicion igniting within him. Whispers of the child being a harbinger of doom had already circulated among the servants, and Thalion's mind was quick to connect the dots.
"Do you take me for a fool?" he growled, rising from his chair. "I've heard your gossip. Was this an 'accident,' or was this your attempt to rid my house of this child?"
"N-No, my lord, I swear!" the maid pleaded, her voice trembling as she dropped to her knees.
Thalion's anger flared, his voice booming through the hall. "Enough! Let this serve as a warning to all. If any harm comes to this child, intentional or not, the punishment will be severe."
The maid was dragged away, her face pale with fear as she was sentenced to a week of hard labor in the cold cellars. Her muffled sobs mingled with the child's haunting laughter, a sound that unsettled everyone in the room.
Thalion's gaze never left the child. "What kind of child doesn't react to danger?" he muttered under his breath.
Later that night, alone in his private chambers, Lord Thalion could not shake the unease gnawing at him. He sat in front of the child's basket, staring at it as though it held the answers to questions he was too afraid to ask.
His fingers traced the woven reeds, searching for any sign that would explain the child's origin. It was then that he felt something smooth, cold, and unnatural.
A small, carved sigil lay hidden beneath the lining of the basket. When Thalion's fingers brushed against it, a faint glow pulsed from the symbol. His breath caught. He had never seen anything like it before, yet something deep within him recognized its power.
"What in the gods' names is this?" Thalion whispered, his pulse quickening.
The next morning, he summoned the shaman. With trembling hands, he showed him the sigil. The shaman's face paled as he studied the intricate design.
"This mark…" the shaman's voice faltered. "It predates even the oldest of our histories. It belongs to a time when gods walked among mortals."
Thalion's mind raced. "Are you saying this child is"
"I am saying," the shaman interrupted, his voice grave, "that this child is not entirely of this world. And if that sigil was placed with him, it was not to mark him, but to bind him."
The story of the child's miraculous survival beneath the eclipse spread quickly, drawing the attention of forces beyond the Thalion estate. One moonless night, three cloaked figures infiltrated the grounds, intent on taking the child for reasons unknown.
The first intruder, a wiry man with sharp features, reached for the child in the basket. As soon as he tried to lift him, his knees buckled under an impossible weight. "He's… too heavy," he gasped, sweat pouring from his face.
The second, larger and stronger, shoved him aside. "Don't be weak!" he growled, his hands tightening around the child. But as he tried to lift the boy, his arms trembled violently, and he collapsed, gasping for air.
The third intruder, desperate and frustrated, whispered to himself, "It's just a child. You're both pathetic." He placed his hands on the boy, determined to carry him. But as soon as he touched the child, the air around them grew thick and suffocating. The child's eyes opened, glowing a piercing gold, and a faint, melodic laugh echoed from his lips.
The intruders froze. They were paralyzed, unable to move or speak, trapped by a force they couldn't understand.
Moments later, two maids passing by heard the commotion. They peered into the nursery, gasping at the sight of the intruders collapsed on the floor, whispering in fear.
The maids screamed, alerting the guards. Within moments, the intruders were captured and dragged before Lord Thalion.
"Why did you come for the child?" Thalion demanded, his voice cold.
One of the intruders, trembling in fear, muttered, "We didn't know… we didn't know he would be… this."
"What is he?" Thalion pressed, but the man refused to answer, his eyes wide with terror.
After the intruders were taken away, Thalion turned to the shaman, his mind racing. "What have I brought into my home?"
The shaman stood still, his eyes dark and distant. "This is only the beginning," he said softly. "Forces beyond your understanding are already in motion. The question is not what this child will bring... but what the world will become because of him."
A gust of wind swept through the hall, extinguishing every candle in an instant. In the sudden darkness, the child's soft laughter echoed faintly, sending a shiver down Thalion's spine.