The moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the canopy of densely packed trees. The breeze created a symphony of rustling leaves, as if releasing a secret song kept for centuries. A sense of peace settled over the land—one that could easily be disturbed by the slightest sound or movement.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the empty forest, followed by a cacophony of clattering metal. "FASTER, THEY'RE CATCHING UP!" Darian yelled toward his wife, who was running beside him, exhaustion evident in her every movement. The child cradled in her arms made it that much harder for her to keep pace. Behind them, a group of armed men, each carrying a torch to light the way, gave pursuit.

Darian and Elira ran with all their might—or what little of it was left. Calum grew heavier in Elira's arms with every unsteady step she took. Soon, the inevitability of her exhaustion took over. She tumbled to the ground, cradling her child tightly, rolling to protect him from the impact. Skidding to a halt, Darian grabbed his wife's arm, trying to pull her back to her feet, but to no avail. The armored men closed in, the light from their torches growing ever brighter. Desperately, Darian pleaded with his wife to get up, but she couldn't.

Through teary sobs, Elira pushed Calum into Darian's arms. "Please," she begged. "Go, protect Calum"

Darian looked into his wife's eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, yet he still found her beautiful in the soft glow of the moon. Tears welled in his own eyes, his heart feeling as if it had been torn from his chest. He slowly shook his head, his words caught in his throat. "I can't," he whispered.

With desperation clawing at her, Elira let out a furious cry. "GO!" she screamed. "PROTECT OUR SON!"

Darian hesitated for a moment, looking between his wife and the approaching men. Then, with one final, pained glance at Elira, he ran. He ran deep into the forest, even as he heard the chilling, agonized screams of his wife behind him. He ran until his legs could no longer carry him, but still, he pressed on, determined to fulfill his wife's last wish: to protect their son.

After what felt like an eternity, the moon settled high in the starless sky. Darian collapsed against a large tree with a soft thud, his son cradled tightly in his arms. The child's soft, delicate face showed he was in a deep slumber. Darian clutched him tightly, whispering his wife's name in the softest of breaths. "Elira..."

Looking up through the canopy of trees at the lonely moon in the night sky, he asked, "Why?"

Exhaustion overwhelmed him. His body was tired, deathly so. His mind was heavy, drowning in grief. He could go no further. Resting his head close to his son, Darian drifted into a troubled sleep, haunted by thoughts of his wife.

________________________________________

Darian suddenly shot awake, Calum almost slipping from his grasp as he lurched to his feet. He could hear it—the subtle sound of clanking metal and hurried footsteps. His pursuers had caught up. The light from their torches casting a barrier of illumination against the darkness of the forest. He had to run. The safety of his son depended on it.

But before he could move, a sharp whistle sliced through the air. A pained scream echoed off the ancient trees. One of the torches fell to the ground and extinguished. Then another whistle—another scream. Another torch went out. One by one, the lights vanished, and the soldiers perished.

silence enveloped the forest Darian did not feel satisfaction or relief—only a primal, bone-deep fear. Whoever or whatever had just slaughtered his pursuers so effortlessly could just as easily do the same to him. He had to run. He had to get Calum to safety. But his legs refused to obey, paralyzed by terror.

His heart pounded like a war drum, his body trembling. But his resolve—his love for his son—burned brighter than his fear. Forcing his legs to move, he turned to run.

A soft whistle broke the silence. Then a sharp, searing pain tore through his right calf. With a cry, he crashed to the ground, the impact jarring his entire body. His grip loosened, and Calum tumbled from his arms, landing a few feet away.

"CALUM!" Darian's leg burned with unbearable pain, but it didn't matter. He had to reach his son. Crawling, clawing at the earth, he forced himself forward.

Pushing through the agony, Darian gently lifted his son from the ground. "Calum, are you okay?" he whispered, cradling him tightly.

In front of him, a shadow dropped from the trees without a sound. Darian's gaze snapped up to the figure. He stared at them, fearing not only for his life but for his son's as well. Slowly, he stood, his leg rejecting every movement with waves of intense pain. Now holding a firm branch as a makeshift weapon and his son close to his chest, Darian was determined to fight.

The silhouette dashed forward. A long, austere blade cut through the air. Agony exploded through Darian's body as his arm was severed. Blood arced through the air, painting the forest floor in crimson. A scream tore from his throat, raw and filled with unbearable pain. His vision blurred—whether from agony or blood loss, he didn't know.

The figure flicked their blade to the side, sending droplets of blood scattering, before sheathing it. But Darian barely noticed. His eyes were locked onto his son, now coated in his own father's blood. The child's wide, azure eyes mirrored his mother's. His dark hair, damp with crimson, was the same onyx black as his own.

Darian couldn't help but smile through the tears streaming down his face. Regret and sorrow filled his final moments—he had failed his wife, his son, and himself. As his life faded, a faint glow illuminated him and his child.

Stepping into the moonlight, Thalinor's thick wrinkles deepened, the light in his emerald eyes dimming. A soft breeze swept through the forest, stirring his long silver hair in a mesmerizing wave. He turned to leave, but the muffled wails of a child stopped him.

His eyes widened in realization. "The child is alive."

It had been so quiet up until now that Thalinor had assumed it was dead. Walking toward the corpse, he made no sound, even as his feet splashed in the pool of blood surrounding Darian. He knelt and pried the crying child from his father's hands, Darian's grip still tight even in death.

Thalinor looked down at the child now cradled in his hands. Why? Why did it remind him of his own son so much? Covered in his father's blood, born to suffer from such an age…

He couldn't just leave him slowly he stood. as he did, a name flowed through his lips.

 "Calum"