Footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors, hurried and frantic.

A man sprinting through the house, his breath ragged, heart pounding in his chest.

Down the hall, he came to an abrupt stop before a large door.

His chest heaved as he steadied himself, pressing a hand against the cool surface for just a moment before pushing it open.

Inside, a man sat in a high-backed chair, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

He was tense.

The man who had been running swallowed hard and stepped forward, his voice laced with urgency.

"Sir, there is news, great news, you must hear!"

The seated man, who had been immersed in his reading, finally lifted his gaze.

His brow furrowed, tension carving lines into his otherwise composed expression.

He closed the book with a soft thud and leaned forward slightly.

"What is it?" His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable undertone of concern.

A wide grin broke across the man face as he delivered the words in a breathless rush.

"Sir, your wife, she has given birth. It is a boy."

For a moment, there was only silence.

The man's lips parted slightly, as though the words needed time to settle in.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, warm and genuine.

"A son…" he murmured, almost to himself.

Then, standing swiftly, he turned to the man, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed.

"Take me to them," he ordered, his voice firm yet filled with eagerness.

Without another word, the two men left the room, their steps were hurried with anticipation.

The hurried footsteps echoed through the long corridors as the two men made their way toward the room.

Though the man leading the way had been running just moments ago, he now slowed his pace, sensing the weight of the moment.

Behind him, his boss, no longer the composed figure that had sat tensely in his study room, walked with anticipation, his heart pounding in a way it never had before.

As they reached the doorway, he stopped.

Inside, the room was bathed in the golden light of the sun.

In the center of the room all lay a woman, her dark hair damp with sweat, her face pale yet it showed exhaustion and joy.

She rested against the plush pillows, her breathing still uneven, but her eyes, they were fixed upon the small bundle in the arms of a nurse beside her.

The man's breath caught in his throat.

There they were, his wife, his child.

His wife, noticing his presence, turned her gaze toward him.

A tired but tender smile graced her lips.

"Come closer, my love," she whispered, her voice soft but steady.

He stepped forward, his movements slow, almost hesitant, as if afraid that this, this fragile, beautiful sight, might disappear if he moved too quickly.

His eyes moved to the child, swaddled in soft white cloth, barely stirring, so small, so delicate.

Then, in a voice filled with anticipation, his wife made her request.

"Please… let me hold him."

The nurse, who had been gently rocking the newborn, nodded without hesitation.

Carefully, she bent down and placed the tiny bundle into the waiting arms of the mother.

The moment her hands closed around the child, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

A look of pure, unfiltered love washed over her face.

She cradled the baby against her chest, her fingers brushing against his soft cheek, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The man stood there, watching, something deep within him shifting, settling.

He had always known that today would come, that he would one day become a father, but nothing had prepared him for this.

His wife gazed down at their child, her voice barely more than a whisper as she spoke.

"He's perfect."

And in that moment, the man knew that nothing in the world, no wealth, no power, no property, could ever compare to what he had here.

The woman cradled the small bundle in her arms, her touch feather-light yet firm with a mother's instinctive protectiveness.

The room was quiet, everyone looking at the newborn child on her arm.

The child stirred slightly, a tiny hand wriggling free from the soft cloth that wrapped him.

His fingers flexed in the air as if grasping for something unseen, his breathing soft, steady.

She traced the curve of his cheek with the pad of her thumb, marveling at how impossibly small he was, how fragile and yet so full of life.

Her husband stood beside the bed, his eyes locked onto the child, noting every detail.

Here, before him, was something he had helped create.

His son.

A small smile tugged at the woman's lips as she looked up at him.

Her voice was soft, almost as if she feared speaking too loudly might disturb the peace surrounding them.

"Let's name him…" she paused, shifting her gaze back down to the tiny face in her arms, "the name we settled on."

Her husband's breath hitched slightly, his eyes flickering with recognition, with understanding.

"Ralt," she whispered, the name rolling off her tongue with a sense of finality, of belonging.

She looked at the baby once more and said it again, this time with more certainty, with the warmth of a mother's love.

"Ralt."

A name chosen with care, with love, with the hope that their son would grow into it, that it would become a part of him just as he had already become a part of them.

The man exhaled slowly, as if sealing the moment in his heart.

He reached out, hesitated for just a breath, then gently placed his hand over his wife's, his fingers.

"Ralt," he murmured, making a silent promise, a promise to protect, to guide, to love.

The baby stirred again, a tiny sound escaping his lips, not a cry, just a soft, fleeting noise that somehow felt like an acknowledgment.

And in that moment, the name became more than just a word.

It became his.

The woman held her newborn close, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the swaddling cloth around him.

Her husband stood close, watching with a quiet awe.

Then, with gentle care, she pulled the child closer to her chest.

The moment his small hands touched her skin, she froze.

Her breath hitched, a sharp, choked sound escaping her lips.

Her body went rigid, her fingers suddenly clawing at the fabric beneath them.

Her chest heaved as if the very air had been stolen from her lungs.

Her husband's eyes widened in alarm.

"What's wrong?" His voice was urgent, filled with a fear he hadn't felt in years.

The nursemaids and attendants in the room turned toward her, their movements frantic.

One of the midwives rushed forward, reaching for her, but the woman's body convulsed violently, her back arching off the bed.

Then, before their horrified eyes, her skin began to blacken.

Flesh shriveled as if consumed by an unseen fire, dark veins spreading from where the child had touched her.

Her once vibrant face twisted in agony, her lips parting in a silent scream as the rot consumed her with unnatural speed.

The scent of decay filled the air, thick and suffocating, as her flesh peeled away, revealing the sickly yellow of bone beneath.

Her husband lunged forward, grabbing her shoulders.

"No, stay with me! What's happening?" His voice cracked, desperation breaking through his usual steel composure.

But there was no time.

Within seconds, the woman who had just given life now lay lifeless in his arms, her body nothing more than a withered husk.

Silence swallowed the room, the only the sound of the newborn still swaddled in his blankets.

The same child who had just taken his mother's last breath.

The room, once filled with warmth and quiet joy, had turned deathly silent.

The scent of fresh linens had been replaced by something foul, something rotten.

Everyone stood frozen.

Eyes wide, breaths caught in their throats, they stared at the lifeless husk that had been their lady just moments ago.

Her once radiant skin was now blackened, shriveled as if all life had been drained from her in an instant.

The silk sheets beneath her body were stained with dark, crumbling remnants of flesh.

And then there was the child.

Still swaddled in soft white cloth, he lay where she had held him last, his tiny face serene, oblivious.

A newborn, helpless, innocent.

Yet no one in the room could bring themselves to look at him without a growing sense of terror clawing at their chests.

The silence shattered as a choked sob escaped the grieving husband.

He trembled as he held his wife's remains in his arms, his fingers digging into what was left of her shoulders, as if trying to keep her together, to pull her back from the abyss she had so suddenly fallen into.

But there was nothing left to save.

Tears spilled down his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his body shook with grief.

His head dropped forward, forehead pressing against her ruined skin, a broken whisper escaping his lips.

"No… no, no, no… this, this can't be happening…"

The people in the room stood unmoving, unsure, unwilling to break the fragile silence.

None dared to speak, to offer comfort.

How could they?

They had seen it happen with their own eyes.

And then, he looked up.

His red-rimmed eyes, full of pain, snapped toward the child.

At first, there was only grief, deep and endless.

But as his gaze stayed on the infant's peaceful face, something else began to fester beneath the sorrow, something dark.

His expression twisted, and the trembling in his hands no longer came from heartbreak alone.

His breathing quickened, uneven, as his mind raced to make sense of what had happened.

The baby had touched her, and she had died.

Not just died, withered, rotted away as if something had stolen her very essence.

His hands clenched into fists, his teeth grinding together.

The grief in his eyes was joined by something raw, something terrible, fear.

Disgust.

Rage.

His lips parted, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried through the room like a curse.

"You… did this."

The words stumbled out, cracked, disbelieving, yet filled with an undeniable certainty.

His hands shook, his body trembling as he forced himself to stare at the child, his son.

No.

Not his son.

A monster.

A creature that had stolen the life of the woman he loved.

Tears streamed down his face, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His heart warred with his mind, with the horror that twisted his insides.

How could this have happened?

How could his child, her child, be the cause of such a nightmare?

His voice wavered, filled with something between agony and fury.

"You killed her."

The baby stirred slightly in the blankets, letting out a tiny, soft coo, completely unaware of the hatred now directed at him.

The father's hands clenched tighter.

The grief in the room was suffocating, but beneath it, a new fear took root.

A fear of what had just been born into the world.