In a distant world where everything began and countless stories unfolded—a realm where dreams and fantasies came alive—lay a magical and wondrous land. However, all of it was about to change, starting with the birth of a single child.
The world of Artemis, in the third millennium.
On the continent of Eryndor, at the western edge of the Ravenholm kingdom, a violent storm raged over a small village. Thunder roared endlessly, like the wrathful cries of gods, while animals cowered in their shelters, their eyes wide with dread as if they sensed the significance of what was to come.
In a modest house within the village, a woman was in labor. Her cries of agony echoed through the walls, cutting through the cacophony of the storm.
Tears streamed down her reddened cheeks as she clutched her husband's hand tightly, her gaze full of desperation.
"You can do this, my love," he said, his voice trembling yet filled with resolve. "I believe in you. Everything will be fine."
The man's name was Gregory, and the woman, his wife, was Isolde.
The storm outside roared louder, each thunderclap a deafening reminder of the chaos surrounding them. Yet within the house, time seemed to stand still. Gregory knelt beside Isolde, fervently praying.
"Please, gods," he whispered. "Save my wife and child. Don't take them from me. I beg you."
As the hours dragged on, the storm gradually subsided. Then, like the first light piercing through darkness, the cry of a newborn broke the silence.
Gregory gasped and finished his prayer hastily, his heart pounding as he turned toward the midwife. In her arms was his son, alive and healthy. Beside her, Isolde lay exhausted but smiling, the pain of labor replaced with relief and joy.
Tears streamed down Gregory's face as he embraced his wife and gently cradled his son. "Thank you, gods. Thank you," he murmured over and over.
"Have you chosen a name for him?" Isolde asked, her voice soft but steady.
"Yes," Gregory replied, his eyes shining with hope. "Our son will be called Alaric—a name befitting a ruler. I hope he grows to embody it and leads a life far greater than ours."
"That's a wonderful name," Isolde said, her smile deepening.
At long last, Gregory and Isolde had the child they had longed for. But with the birth of their son came a ripple that would alter the threads of fate.
Far away, beyond the skies and across realms, in an ancient mansion overlooking countless worlds, a sinister laughter echoed.
"Ahahaha!" The chilling sound reverberated through the halls, carrying the weight of dark foreboding.
"So, he is born at last," the figure said, their voice dripping with malice. "Time, which had been frozen for so long, has finally begun to move. The clock's hands turn again, guiding us toward the day when everything will end!"