Arthas POV:
Arthas carefully laid his newborn son on the bed, his movements tender yet shadowed by worry. Each breath the infant took seemed fragile, as though the life within him hung by a thread. Arthas's chest tightened, his heart heavy with an ache that reached into his very soul.
He brushed his fingers across the soft fabric of the baby's blanket, his touch lingering as though it might offer some protection against an uncertain future. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the room, leaving the fragile child behind. His boots echoed softly against the stone floor as he made his way back to the chamber where his wife had just endured the trials of childbirth.
Passing medieval walls adorned with flickering torches, their light casting elongated shadows on the cold stone, Arthas entered the room.
The faint scent of smoke and aged wood hung in the air, and the crackle of the flames provided the only sound in the otherwise solemn corridor. The dim light painted his features with somber resolve as he approached the bedside.
Eleanor lay there, her face pale but serene, her breathing steady.
He approached the bedside where Eleanor lay, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Turning to the midwife, he inquired, "How is my wife?"
"She needs rest and nourishment," the midwife replied, her voice calm but assured. "She is strong."
Relieved but still burdened, Arthas gave a curt nod. The midwife's reassurance lightened a fraction of the weight pressing on his chest, but his mind remained clouded with doubts. He grappled with the delicate balance between hope and fear, the flicker of optimism overshadowed by the daunting responsibilities ahead.
"Send word to the neighboring Viscounty's mage. Tell my retainers to fetch him at once."
The midwife bowed deeply. "Yes, my lord," she said before hurrying off to carry out his command.
Arthas gently caressed Eleanor's hair, a tender gesture laden with the weight of his worries. His thoughts spiraled, each strand of her hair a tether to memories both cherished and haunting. He saw flashes of her laughter under the summer sun, the unyielding courage in her eyes during their hardest days, and the moment she revealed her pregnancy with a tearful smile.
But now, all these were overshadowed by the creeping fear of failure, the possibility that he had not shielded them enough from the perils of their world.
His mind churned with fear and guilt, the lingering shadows of doubt gnawing at his resolve. He grappled with the fear of losing his son, the uncertainty of his future, and the haunting question of whether he had done enough to protect his family. The silent room seemed to echo his unspoken fears, each stroke of his hand through her hair a desperate plea for reassurance.
He whispered, "I can feel the frailty in our son. I pray it's only temporary." His thoughts drifted back to the moment he first held the infant, the worry gnawing at him.
"I recall the accident during your pregnancy," he murmured, his voice tinged with guilt. "Could that have weakened him?" But Eleanor, lost in the depths of sleep, offered no response.
Rising from her side, Arthas moved to the window, gazing out over his modest estate. The barracks, fit for ten soldiers, stood alongside a stable, a training ground, and a small plot of farmland. His eyes lingered, but his mind was elsewhere.
He thought of the mage's fee and the strain it would put on their finances. Resigned, he left the room, leaving Eleanor to rest peacefully.
Arthas descended to the manor's treasury, retrieving a pouch of twenty silver coins. As he opened the chest, the sight of the dwindling reserves weighed on him. With a sigh, he documented the expense in his ledger, the ink a stark reminder of their financial constraints.
An hour later, a knock interrupted his musings. Edmond, a retainer clad in well-maintained but worn leather armor, entered, breathing heavily. "My lord, the Viscounty's mage has arrived. He awaits you in the great hall."
The so-called "great hall" was more modest, akin to a standard living room. Arthas nodded, rising from his desk. and made his way there.
When he arrived, he found the mage—a young man with clear green eyes and an air of quiet confidence—already seated, sipping tea offered by the maid. Despite his Tier 1 Apprentice rank, his presence commanded respect. Arthas bowed deeply, acknowledging the power and knowledge that mages possessed.
Arthas reflected on the structured hierarchy that defined their world, where both mages and warriors ascended through clearly defined tiers, each step a testament to their growing power and mastery. For mages like Marvin, the journey began at the first rank:
These rigid hierarchies were the backbone of their society, molding its leaders and protectors, and serving as a constant reminder of the strength required to maintain order in their world.
Apprentice mages could heal minor wounds and cast small fireballs—enough to overpower a squad of soldiers.
"No need for such formality," the mage, Marvin, said, returning the bow. Arthas, a warrior of the Tier 3 Enhanced tier, was a respected figure himself, capable of taking on multiple mages of his rank.
"What brings such urgency?" Marvin asked after taking a seat and sipping the tea offered by the maid.
Arthas sat opposite him, the weight of his concern evident. "It's my son. I need to know if he's healthy."
Marvin took another sip, his demeanor exuding an effortless calm. His dark robes, lined with faintly glowing runes, hinted at his profession, while the staff leaning against his chair bore intricate carvings that marked his magical lineage.
A slight smirk played on his face, suggesting both confidence and an air of superiority, traits often found among those who had walked the arcane path.
Despite his youth, his eyes—bright green and piercing—spoke of knowledge far beyond his years, hinting at a complex and enigmatic past. His relaxed posture, the slow, deliberate movements, and the faint smile playing on his lips painted a picture of a man at ease, in stark contrast to Arthas's barely concealed anxiety.
Marvin's unhurried manner seemed almost dismissive of the gravity of the situation, highlighting the gulf between the two men's emotional states. "Of course. But you understand, such work expends my energy and resources."
Arthas, maintaining a composed facade, placed the pouch of silver on the table. "Twenty silver coins. Please, help my son."
Marvin's hand darted for the pouch with a speed that made Arthas chuckle inwardly. Rising eagerly, the mage said, "Lead the way."
Arthas guided him to the nursery. Marvin approached the frail newborn, his expression turning serious. He retrieved a large, leather-bound spell book and murmured a series of incantations.
A soft golden glow enveloped the baby as Marvin cast a healing spell to stimulate the child's cells and mend unseen injuries.
Next, he withdrew a small crystal that pulsed faintly as he held it over the infant. Marvin's lips curved into a grin as he turned to Arthas.
"Your son has a normal physique, and his mind is unusually active—an early sign of great intelligence. However..."
He hesitated. "His mana reserves are almost nonexistent. Highly unusual."
Relief and concern mingled in Arthas's expression. "Can you help him develop mana?"
Marvin rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a silent yet familiar gesture.
Arthas sighed, understanding the unspoken demand. "Two gold coins," he said, retrieving the amount from his pocket. "But only if you succeed."
Marvin's grin widened as he accepted the payment. From his satchel, he produced a crystal vial containing a clear blue liquid.
Carefully, he let a few drops fall into the baby's mouth. Almost immediately, the infant's cheeks flushed with color, and he stirred faintly.
Using the crystal once more, Marvin examined the baby and nodded. "There's a sliver of mana now. While small, it's significant—it indicates that his body can potentially generate and store mana in the future. This will enable him to train as a warrior or mage, though his path may be more challenging than others."
Arthas exhaled a long breath and leaned heavily against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, a faint smile breaking through the tension on his face.
"Thank the heavens," he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion.
He turned to Marvin and clasped the mage's hand firmly. "You've given my family hope."
He escorted the mage to the carriage waiting outside. Watching it disappear into the distance, he finally allowed himself a small, hopeful smile.