Moonlight flickered through the canopy. Pale blades of silver sliced across the forest floor.
Twigs snapped beneath her feet — brittle, loud. She was running. No... fleeing. Her breaths came ragged, chest heaving like a bellows. A trail of blood glistened along her arm from a shallow cut, but she didn't loosen her grip.
Not on the bundle cradled to her chest.
Her baby. Just a few weeks old.
He whimpered softly beneath the wraps. She hushed him, pressing her lips to his head.
"Please... just a little longer," she whispered. Her voice cracked like dry wood. "Just until I find someone. Anyone..."
Behind her — the sound of a blade slicing foliage. Clean. Precise. Not the chaos of an animal.
Someone was following.
And they were close.
She wasn't running anymore. Her body had passed its limit long ago. Every step was a collapse forward. Her legs barely moved under her anymore — only the terror did.
Then, through the blur of panic, she saw it: a hollow in the roots of an old tree. Wide. Deep. Curved like a cradle.
She staggered in and dropped to her knees, the bark digging into her shins. Her hands trembled. Her baby began to fuss.
Her heart cracked.
A kiss on the forehead. A single tear fell onto the cloth.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She reached into her pouch and pulled out a brooch — the gem at its center glowing faintly. A veil charm. One use only.
She whispered a prayer. Poured the last of her strength into it. The air shimmered as the magic settled over the hollow like fog. She tucked the charm into the wrappings, kissed her child once more.
"You'll live," she said, more to the world than to him. "Even if I don't... you will."
And then — she stood.
Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her vision spun.
But she turned.
And ran.
Straight toward the sound.
Toward the blade.
She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She only prayed.
Let this be enough.
Let her death buy her child's life.
Let someone find him.
---
The forest fell silent.
Then — footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
An old man stepped through the brush, wrapped in a heavy coat. A greatsword slung across his back. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the scene.
He saw the blood first. Then the body.
Then — the faint glow.
He followed it to the roots. Pushed a few leaves aside. Paused.
A child. Quiet. Wide-eyed.
He looked back at the mother. A soft sigh escaped him.
"May your soul find peace," he said, barely above a whisper.
Gently, as though lifting a memory, he picked up the infant.
The brooch pulsed against the cloth.
"A veil charm..." he muttered. "Strong one, too. Clever girl."
The child didn't cry. Just stared.
The man studied him for a long moment. Then shook his head.
"You poor thing," he murmured. "How'd you end up here?"
And without another word, he turned and walked into the woods.
Cradling the baby in his arms.
No prophecy. No sky splitting open. No divine voice.
Just a forgotten swordmaster.
And a nameless child, born of blood and moonlight.