In a chamber adorned with tapestries depicting medieval scenes and furnished with aged wooden pieces, a woman with flowing brown hair lay upon an ornate bed. The room, dimly lit by flickering candles, carried an air of history and antiquity.
The woman's visage conveyed a myriad of emotions, each nuance etched with the silent language of pain. Despite the evident struggle, she refrained from vocalizing her distress. Her resilience spoke volumes, a testament to the strength that dwelled within her.
The woman's green eyes, a striking contrast against her brown hair, held a captivating allure. They shone with a kaleidoscope of emotions—excitement, hope, and an underlying fear. The imminent arrival of her child was an intricate dance of anticipation, concern for the infant's well-being, and hope for its future. The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of expectation.
At her side, a man with black hair and a neatly groomed beard, his eyes a mesmerizing shade of gold, stood watch. Clad in a suit of armor, he looked like he had just returned from the battlefield.
An intricately designed sword adorned his side, a symbol of his stature and prowess. Despite the composed exterior, his gaze betrayed an undercurrent of worry. He spoke words in an unknown tongue, attempting to provide solace to his wife in the throes of childbirth.
The front of the bed was occupied by an elderly woman with white hair, her face a map of concentration. Her hands, weathered by time, were cupped, emitting a soft green glow. It was through this mysterious radiance that the delicate process of childbirth unfolded.
The room became a sanctuary for the miraculous dance between life and death, as a tiny head emerged, signaling the arrival of a new soul into the world.
The old woman's voice, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting, announced the birth with a tone that resonated through the room. A wave of relief swept over the occupants—the man smiled, and the woman on the bed wept tears of joy.
The culmination of months of anticipation, pain, and hope manifested in the form of a tiny, vulnerable life cradled in the experienced hands of the elderly midwife.
Approaching the man, the old woman held the newborn aloft, revealing a shock of dark hair mirroring that of the man. The man's gaze shifted between the child and his wife, navigating the delicate balance of joy and concern that parenthood brought. Finally the infant was transferred to the man's arms.
The old woman engaged in a hushed conversation with the mother, her words carrying the weight of wisdom acquired through years of ushering new life into the world.
A peculiar golden light emanated from the old woman's hands, casting a warm glow over the mother. As if conducting a silent lullaby, the light induced a peaceful slumber upon the woman who had just endured the physical and emotional tumult of childbirth. The room, once filled with the sounds of labor, now settled into a serene quietude.
As the man looked down at the infant nestled in his arms, the child's eyes, as vibrant as emeralds, met his gaze. In that intimate moment, a subtle exchange of understanding occurred, a silent acknowledgment of the profound bond that had just been forged. Unbeknownst to the man, the infant's gaze held a wisdom that transcended the realm of mere infancy, hinting at a depth of understanding that belied the child's tender age.
A few seconds later, the room erupted in the cries of the newborn. Simultaneously, the world outside responded with the joyous chimes of bells, echoing through the cobblestone streets of the town. The celebratory sounds created a stark contrast to the internal reflections of the man. The lines on his forehead deepened as he frowned, his eyes betraying a subtle discomfort amidst the cacophony of external jubilation.
Setting the child carefully on the bed, the man turned his attention to the old woman across the room. Her countenance, initially serene, transformed into one of shock upon hearing the distant chimes. It was as if she had grasped the significance of the moment, a revelation that sent ripples of excitement across her features.
In a split second, the man's hand found the pommel of his sword. With a fluid motion, he unsheathed the blade, the steel gleaming in the ambient candlelight. A crimson trail followed the swift arc of the sword as it was re-sheathed with inhuman speed. The room was momentarily suspended in silence, broken only by the thud of the old woman's severed head hitting the floor.
The man, now holding the infant once again, looked down at the child with a strange mix of protectiveness and concern. Unbeknownst to him, the child had witnessed the abrupt and violent turn of events. In an attempt to shield the newborn from the grim scene, the man snapped his fingers, conjuring a white light that rapidly enveloped the lifeless body of the elderly midwife. The corpse disintegrated, leaving no trace behind.
As the room settled into an uneasy stillness, the man, holding the child, cast a cautious gaze at his peacefully sleeping wife. Oblivious to the preceding turmoil, she rested in a state of tranquil repose. The newborn, nestled in the crook of the man's arm, seemed oblivious to the complexities of its arrival into a world where joy and sorrow coexisted in intricate harmony.
Beneath the innocent façade of Felix's newborn countenance lurked a mind grappling with the bewildering series of events since his birth. As he lay in the man's arms, his eyes reflected a confusion that belied his tender age. 'What in the worlds just happened?' Felix pondered, his infantile thoughts attempting to make sense of the tumultuous sequence of occurrences that had unfolded in his first moments of life.
Born into the gentle cradle of the old woman's arms, Felix found himself abruptly transferred to the possession of a formidable and, in his limited understanding, terrifying man. The abrupt transition broken him out of his stupor as he reminded himself to act like a newborn would as he let out a shrill cry.
At the same time, a strange sound emanated throughout the room and the man, whom Felix instinctively associated with protection, set him down only to enact a shocking and brutal act—decapitating the very figure who had welcomed him into the world, speaking indecipherable words tinged with worry.
Felix's infantile mind struggled to process the macabre scene he had unwittingly witnessed. The swirl of emotions—confusion, fear, and an instinctive need for security—flooded his nascent consciousness. The question echoed within his developing thoughts: 'What the hell?'
Lifted into the man's arms, Felix felt the weight of the man's penetrating gaze settling upon him. A spark of intuition, perhaps instinct, flashed through the infant's mind – 'He's suspicious,' Felix realized, though the intricacies of why remained beyond his grasp. Determined to maintain the guise of innocence that naturally shrouded a child, Felix summoned all the willpower his tender age could muster.
Effortfully concealing the complexity of his thoughts, Felix adopted the carefree countenance of a playful infant. Small fingers reached out to explore the textures of the man's beard, an innocent distraction devised to divert attention of the crazy man, as he let out a few dumb giggles.
To Felix's surprise, the man's gaze, once shrouded in suspicion, softened. Murmuring words that seemed to carry a trace of regret, the man's eyes flickered toward the space where the old woman's lifeless form had previously rested.
As Felix focused on the man holding him, his eyes burned and a Status Screen appeared in his mind. The runes read:
Name: Darius Faust
Titles: [Holy Knight] [Godspeed]
'So this must be the power of the [Sage's Eyes]' Felix concluded, his eyes widening.