The wind howled across the desert like a mourning spirit, carrying with it the cries of a newborn. Beneath the ominous glow of a fractured moon, a lone woman sprinted across the barren expanse. Her breath came in ragged gasps, but her grip on the child in her arms never wavered.
Behind her, the air shimmered with unnatural heat. A legion of the Empire's Wardens closed in, their enchanted mounts carving trails of scorched sand as they approached.
"Give us the child!" one of the Wardens bellowed, his voice amplified by dark magic.
The woman didn't look back. The symbol on her son's chest—a faintly glowing spiral that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat—was a curse in the eyes of the Empire, but to her, it was something far greater. He was a Tetherborn, a child linked to the ancient wellspring of magic that once shaped the world. It was a power long thought extinct, one the Empire sought to control—or destroy.
Ahead, jagged cliffs loomed in the moonlight, their shadowy crevices concealing an ancient altar. The woman's heart leapt. The stories spoke of this place, a sanctuary left behind by those who once defied the Empire's tyranny. If she could reach it, there might still be hope.
The air thickened as she approached the altar, the faint hum of old magic awakening beneath her feet. She placed the child on the stone slab, her trembling fingers tracing the runes carved into its surface. The symbols flared to life, their golden light casting the desert in an otherworldly glow.
Behind her, the Wardens arrived, their weapons crackling with dark energy. "Stop this madness!" their leader commanded, dismounting his steed. His mask of iron glinted under the moonlight. "You know what he is. The Empire cannot allow such power to exist unchecked."
She turned to face them, her body shielding the infant. "You fear him because you cannot control him," she said, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. "But you cannot kill what was never yours to begin with."
The leader raised his hand, and the Wardens began to chant, their voices weaving together a spell that crackled with lethal intent. The woman wasted no time. With a swift motion, she drew a dagger and sliced her palm, letting her blood drip onto the altar. The runes blazed brighter, the ancient magic responding to her sacrifice.
The earth trembled. A whirlwind of sand and light erupted around the altar, forming a protective barrier. The Wardens hesitated, their spells faltering as the magic expanded.
The woman knelt by her son, tears streaming down her face. "Lloyd," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. "I cannot go with you. But you must live. You must grow stronger than they can imagine."
The light enveloped the infant, lifting him gently from the altar. The magic surged, wrapping him in a cocoon of energy that shimmered like the stars. With a final burst, the barrier exploded outward, flinging the Wardens back as the child vanished into the ether.
The woman collapsed, her strength drained. The lead Warden staggered to his feet, his mask cracked. He glared at the empty altar, then at the woman. "Where did you send him?" he demanded, his voice shaking with fury.
She smiled faintly, her gaze fixed on the stars. "Somewhere you will never find him."
Far away, in a secluded valley hidden by towering mountains and shrouded in perpetual mist, a golden light flared in the sky. The villagers of Eldralis, a secret haven untouched by the Empire's reach, gathered in awe as the light descended into the heart of their forest.
An elderly woman, her robes adorned with sigils of protection, approached the source of the disturbance. Beneath the ancient trees, she found a baby wrapped in a tattered cloak, a glowing spiral pulsing faintly on his chest.
She knelt, her hands trembling as she lifted the child. "By the Forgotten Gods," she whispered. "A Tetherborn."
The villagers surrounded her, their murmurs tinged with both wonder and fear. The woman rose, cradling the boy against her chest. "This child is no curse," she said firmly. "He is a gift, and we must protect him until his wings bloom.
The mist thickened, concealing the village once more. In this hidden country, far from the Empire's grasp, Lloyd Clarel would grow. But the mark on his chest was a promise, and one day, it would lead him back to the world—and the destiny waiting for him.