The night was cruel, the cold air slicing through the dense forest like a dagger. Rain pattered against the leaves, masking the hurried footsteps of the two figures moving through the undergrowth. The woman staggered, one hand bracing against her swollen belly, the other clutching desperately at the cloak of the man guiding her forward.
"You must keep moving," he urged, his voice low but firm. He was hooded, his face hidden from the flickering torchlight behind them. "They're not far behind."
"I-I can't," she gasped, her breath ragged, her body trembling from exhaustion. Pain lanced through her abdomen, forcing her to double over. "The child—"
The man caught her before she fell, his grip strong yet gentle. "Just a little farther," he whispered, glancing back. The glow of torches wove through the trees like hungry fire, the distant shouts of soldiers carried by the wind. "If we stop now, they will find you."
Tears mixed with the rain on her face. She had known this moment would come. From the instant she defied him—the noble who would rather see her dead than allow his bastard to live—she had known. But knowing did not dull the terror clawing at her chest.
A branch snapped in the distance. Closer now.
She forced herself forward, gripping the man's arm as he led her down a narrow deer path. Each step sent sharp pain through her body, her child pressing against her ribs, but she clenched her teeth and bore it.
The river.
She could hear it now, roaring through the trees. If they could cross it, they might have a chance.
The man pulled her toward the water's edge, his cloak soaked through. "Hold on to me," he said, stepping into the icy current.
She hesitated. "What about you?"
A sad smile flickered beneath the shadow of his hood. "I will buy you time."
Her breath hitched. "No—"
"Go."
Before she could protest, he pressed a shaking hand to her belly, murmuring something in a language she did not understand. Warmth spread through her, the pain easing—just for a moment. Then he turned, drawing the dagger from his belt.
The torches were nearly upon them.
With a final, desperate look, she waded into the river, clutching her unborn child, praying that the gods had not yet turned their eyes away.
Every step took great effort as the current pulled at her, threatening to drag her under. Her breath was heavy as she hurried as fast as her body would allow, the icy water biting at her skin. By the time she reached the middle of the river, the water was up to her chest, the current slamming into her with relentless force, desperate to sweep her away.
"Just a little more."
A shout cut through the roar of the water.
"We found them!"
Her heart clenched. The voice came from where she had left Gareth. Then, the clash of steel followed—cries of battle drowned beneath the storm.
She moved faster, forcing herself forward. Her legs burned, her body screamed for rest, but she would not stop. She could not stop. Every second counted.
Then, silence.
No more clashing steel. No more voices. Only the relentless roar of the river behind her.
Tears blurred her vision, mixing with the rain as she climbed onto the far bank, collapsing onto the cold, wet earth. She pressed a trembling hand against her stomach, whispering between sobs, "I'm sorry, Gareth. Thank you for protecting my child. I pray the gods grant you peace."
For a moment, she lay there, her body wracked with exhaustion, the weight of loss pressing down on her chest. She wanted to turn back, to see if there was any chance he had survived. But she knew the truth.
Gareth had known, too. That was why he had stayed behind.
A cold wind cut through the trees, and she shivered, forcing herself onto her feet. She was not safe yet. If they had found Gareth, it would not take long for them to find her trail.
She placed a hand over her belly, steadying herself.
"I will not let them take you."
With renewed determination, she turned toward the darkened woods ahead and ran.
After several minutes, she finally stopped to catch her breath. She turned back the way she had come, her body tense as she waited. She counted each breath, straining to see through the darkened trees. But no torchlight appeared. No shouts. No pursuit.
She let out a breath of relief, her shoulders sagging.
For the first time since she had fled, silence surrounded her. And with it, the past crashed down upon her.
The fear. The pain. The betrayal.
It all came rushing back at once.
Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the cold earth. Sobs tore through her, raw and unrelenting. She clutched her stomach, curling around the life within her, her grief and exhaustion finally overwhelming her.
She had survived. But at what cost?
Gareth—her protector, her last hope—was gone.
He had risked everything to save her from death, from the cruelty of a nobleman's son who saw her as nothing more than property. That man had threatened her family, demanding she become his concubine. And when she defied him, when she refused to submit, he chose to erase her instead—her and the child she carried.
All because she was a commoner.
All because he could not bear the shame of a bastard son who might one day challenge the legitimacy of the child he sired with his wretched wife.
A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat.
"WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!"
The forest swallowed her cries, offering no answers. Her voice cracked, the fire in her chest flickering, giving way to something far more painful. Her fists trembled at her sides, her breath ragged.
Then, softer, broken, barely more than a whisper—
"Why couldn't you have just loved your child?"
She collapsed forward, clutching her stomach, her sobs lost to the wind.
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, her body aching with exhaustion. She had no choice but to keep moving.
Her clothes were soaked through, the cold creeping into her bones with every gust of wind. If she didn't find shelter soon, she wouldn't make it through the night.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and pressed forward, following the same path she had been running—praying the gods would grant her just a little more time.
After only a few minutes of walking, her heart sank into despair.
A voice—low, melodic, dripping with malice—cut through the rain.
"Fooouund yoouu."
She spun around, her breath catching.
A man stood before her, his drenched cloak clinging to his armor, the sigil of House Blackshield—a black shield with a silver sword crossing through it—gleaming faintly beneath the dim light.
No… this couldn't be. Her blood ran cold. How had he found her?
Almost as if reading her thoughts, the man smirked.
"Ah, you look surprised. Hiring that mage to enchant the torch with a tracking spell was well worth the coin."
The man quickly drew his sword from the sheath at his hip and charged, slashing at the woman.
She staggered to the side, the sword grazing her just barely, but enough to tear the sleeve of her dress and leave a shallow scratch on her arm. A thin line of blood began to trickle down, staining the fabric.
"Now don't make this any harder than it has to be, like your friend did. Unlike him, you're not in the best shape to fight, let alone use magic. I'll make it quick. Heck, I'll even grant you mercy and let you live. I've only been ordered to make sure the baby in your belly dies."
For the second time that night, unyielding rage burned in her eyes.
With what little strength she could muster, she reached deep within herself, drawing on the mana stored in her core. She lifted her hand, and a soft white glow began to coalesce at her heart, moving down her arm.
Her lips parted and, she whispered the incantation: "Purifying Flames."
A ball of pure white fire flared to life above her hand. Its size was barely a fraction of what she could normally summon, but the heat radiated off it, intense and pure. She needed to slow him down, give herself a chance to escape.
With a forceful breath, she released the spell, the flame shooting toward her foe like a lance of divine fury.
The flames struck the man and he screamed as the flames began to burn at him.
The woman quickly turned and started to run, but after only a few steps, intense pain suddenly gripped her stomach.
No, not now, she thought. But the contractions began again, fierce and unforgiving. Screaming from the agony she staggered forward, but it was too much to bear.
"You bitch!" His voice cut through night as he rushed at her. As she turned to face him, he tackled her to the ground.
"You dare to attack me?! You'll pay!"
As he raised the blade, the woman struggled to gather mana for another spell, but the pain was overwhelming. Her focus shattered, and the magic she had been trying to summon dissipated into the air.
All she could do was scream, "SOMEONE HELP ME!"
As her final cry left her lips, an arrow whistled through the air, piercing the man's skull with a sickening thud.
The woman let out gasps of breath, relief flooding her mind, but it was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of terror. Where had the arrow come from? She tried to push herself up, but the pain made her stumble and fall to the ground.
The rustling of nearby bushes caught her attention. She turned toward the sound, heart racing, and a tall, slender figure stepped from the shadows.
The elf emerged, her silver hair glistening in the pale moonlight, eyes as green as the surrounding plants, and robes of fine silk the same color as her eyes. In her hand, she carried a wooden staff, the branches intricately intertwined, with a glowing mana stone atop it. She was a striking figure—elegant and regal—but there was no time to dwell on her appearance.
At first, the elf spoke in a language unfamiliar to the woman, her voice soft and melodic. But as she noticed the pregnant woman's confusion, she switched to Elarin, the common tongue of humans.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her tone calm, almost soothing.
"No," the woman cried, her voice thick with desperation. "My baby is coming. Can you help me?" Tears streamed down her face as the pain surged again.
The elf nodded, her expression unshaken. She spoke a few words in elvish, and as if summoned by her voice, more elves appeared from the forest's edge. They moved quickly, silently, each one with their own ethereal grace, and they began to assist the woman, their hands glowing with soft light as they worked to ease her suffering.
More contractions came, and the elf with silver hair, assisted the pregnant woman, guiding her through each push with quiet instructions. The human woman's breath came in ragged gasps, and the elf could see it was taking a toll on her—her strength waning with each passing moment. This woman had endured much hardship; the fact that she had been chased into the dangerous Shadowfen Woods spoke volumes. Most humans knew that this was Elven territory as soon as they crossed the river.
Her thoughts briefly shifted to the human's plight, but she quickly refocused on the matter at hand. She spoke softly but firmly, "One last push."
With that final effort, the child was born, and his cries echoed through the night—strong and defiant, a boy. But as she looked down at him, she froze. His eyes—pale white and unseeing—stared blankly into the night. Her heart sank at the sight of the child's blindness. The fate of this infant, born into a world of darkness despite the sacrifice of his mother, struck her deeply.
Another elf, a male with brown hair and striking blue eyes, approached them. "Aelindra," he said softly, handing her cloth to wrap the child in. "The mother did not survive."
Aelindra's breath caught in her chest as she carefully swaddled the baby. "Bring her body. We will bury her in a Grove outside the kingdom. Since she is not Elven, that is the best we can do," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow.
The male elf nodded but hesitated, glancing at the child. "And what of the child?"
Aelindra's gaze softened as she looked down at the blind boy. "We will take him to the kingdom and see if someone will raise him. Given that other humans were hunting this woman, it would not be wise to return him to his people."
The male elf nodded again, his expression solemn. He turned to the others, giving orders, and together they began to move toward Sylvanor, the Elven kingdom.
As they neared the gates, Aelindra gazed down at the child, her heart heavy with the weight of her decision. "Since your mother could not give you a name, I shall grant you one," she whispered, her voice soft but resolute. "Your name shall be Fynathir. Welcome to your new home."