The air itself seemed to fracture as three figures materialized thousands of kilometers from the palace, appearing like ghosts before a humble dwelling that stood in stark contrast to their desperate urgency. Vincent's fist struck the weathered door with the force of a man drowning, each knock echoing his heart's frantic rhythm.
"Come in." The voice that drifted from within carried the weight of countless years and endless wisdom.
Vincent and Aurora exchanged a glance—two souls bound by love and terror—before crossing the threshold with their precious, dying burden. The hall that welcomed them was a symphony of earthen scents, where herbs and healing oils painted the air. At the chamber's heart, a figure bent over his work, grinding remedies with hands that had defied death for decades.
Dr. Rosetien was a living contradiction—white hair cascading like winter snow, a beard that spoke of centuries, flesh etched with time's inevitable marks. Yet his emerald eyes blazed with the fierce clarity of youth, as if his soul had refused to age alongside his mortal shell.
"Dr. Rosetien, *please*—look at our child!" Aurora's voice cracked like breaking glass, each word torn from her throat. "His body—it started bleeding from nowhere. I don't know what's happening. *Please do something!*"
The divine healer's world tilted. Never—not in all his years of witnessing human suffering—had he seen such raw devastation carved across the features of the Ice Duchess. This woman whose gaze could freeze armies stood before him with tears threatening to spill, her legendary composure shattered like fragile crystal.
His weathered hands accepted the child and immediately his breath caught. Blood seeped from every opening—eyes, nose, mouth, ears—painting the infant's pale skin in crimson. Light erupted from the healer's palms, energy washing over the small form, cleansing away the blood.
But as the healing light penetrated deeper, the child's body convulsed. More blood, more violent than before, erupted from his tiny mouth.
Aurora's world collapsed. Color drained from her face as if life itself was abandoning her. Vincent's arms became her anchor, his strength the only thing preventing her from falling into the abyss of despair.
"Doctor—What's wrong with his body?" Vincent asked.
"I... I don't know." The words fell like stones into still water. "In all my life I have never witnessed something like this."
The healer's hands trembled as they hovered over the child. "His body is rejecting mana itself. The healing energy is poison to him. There's something else—an energy I've never encountered. It's too dark. I'm sure you must have also felt it." He said looking at them.
"Are you saying you *can't* treat him?" Aurora's voice dropped to a whisper more terrifying than any scream. The very air began to freeze, ice crystals forming on the walls. The temperature plummeted until breath became visible, and Rosetien felt like a cold blade was placed on his throat.
He knew—with the certainty of a man who had lived too long—that one wrong word would end his existence. This woman could unmake him, and no force in the empire could prevent it.
"Peace, child," he whispered, each word chosen with precision. "I'm not saying I cannot heal him. Magic fails us, yes—but there are old methods. Medicine. Herbs."
Warmth slowly returned to the room. Aurora's killing intent retreated like a tide, leaving only desperation in its wake. Even Vincent exhaled in relief, knowing how close they had come to losing their last hope.
Then the world exploded.
The door burst apart in a shower of splintered wood. Ten armored figures flooded in, imperial crests gleaming on their breastplates, swords singing as they cleared their sheaths. Their leader, a grizzled captain with scars mapping his face, released his own killing intent like a war cry.
"Sir Rosetien, are you—" The words died on his lips as his eyes found the two figures before him. Horror replaced determination as recognition dawned.
"Lord Duke," he managed, his voice suddenly small. "Duchess. We felt... we sensed danger. The killing intent was—"
"*Leave.*" Aurora's single word cut through the air like a blade through silk.
The captain's training warred with his survival instincts. He was a soldier of the empire, sworn to protect. But he also knew the legends—knew that crossing Aurora meant death in its most creative forms.
"Duchess, I apologize, but our duty—"
The word ended in a spray of blood. The captain's legs betrayed him, sending him crashing to his knees. He hadn't seen her move, hadn't felt the blow that sent agony racing through his body. When he looked up, those black eyes met his—and he knew he was staring into the face of death itself.
His men raised their weapons, but their leader's trembling hand stayed them. They all understood the same terrible truth: they were insects before these people, and their struggles would only determine how quickly they died.
"Didn't you hear what she said?" Vincent said his voice carried the weight of mountains. "*Leave.*"
But didn't wait for them to move. His hand moved in a gesture so casual it was almost dismissive. Reality bent around his fingers, and the soldiers simply... vanished.
"Where—where did you send them?" Rosetien's voice cracked, sweat beading on his brow despite the lingering cold.
"They will live," Vincent said simply. "Though if they had remained another moment, that would have changed." He turned toward Aurora, then froze as those merciless eyes fixed on him. The message was clear: *You intervened in my business.*
"How... How is the child now?" He shifted topics with the desperation of a man stepping away from a cliff's edge.
At the mention of her baby, Aurora's expression transformed. The glacier melted, revealing the terrified mother beneath. Vincent's relief was audible—a sigh that carried the weight of a man who had just avoided execution.
"The child will survive," Rosetien said, cradling the small form. "The medicine is working. His body is healing itself—slowly, but healing nonetheless. Complete recovery... it may take years."
The words struck Aurora like physical blows. She staggered, and Vincent caught her, his own face a mask of barely contained anguish.
"*What is happening to our child?*" Aurora's voice broke like a dam failing. "*Why him? What did he do to deserve this fate? He's just a baby—just an innocent baby!*"
Tears carved silver paths down her cheeks—tears that should have been impossible, tears that no one alive had ever witnessed from the Ice Duchess.
"He'll be fine," Vincent whispered, pulling her closer, his voice fierce with determination. "He'll be fine."
Rosetien watched this impossible scene unfold—the empire's most feared woman weeping like any mother would, her legendary husband offering what comfort he could. It was a reminder that beneath their power, they were still human. Still capable of love, and therefore, of suffering.
"What happened?" he asked gently, handing the child to Aurora. "This doesn't look like an attack. No enemy did this."
Aurora wrapped her son in conjured blankets, each movement careful and loving. "I don't know," she said, but her glance toward Vincent told a different story. "He was born healthy. Perfect. Then suddenly... the bleeding started. We came straight to you."
'She's hiding something,' Rosetien thought, but he was wise enough to know when not to press. 'But what force could dare to attack them?'
"I won't pry," he said carefully. "But ensure it doesn't happen again. His condition has stabilized, but his body is still wounded in ways. It's a miracle he survived to receive treatment ."
"Will he be fine?" Vincent asked, though his eyes remained on Aurora. He knew she held the answers.
"It won't happen again," Aurora said, her voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "I'm sure of it."
"Take these," Rosetien said, producing a box of medicines. "Follow the instructions precisely. The child's life depends on it."
Vincent accepted the box with the reverence of a man receiving holy relics. "Thank you, doctor. Thank you for saving our son."
Both parents bowed deeply—a gesture of respect that spoke to the healer's heart.
"Enough ceremony," Rosetien said, though his voice was warm. "This old man is tired, and I have explaining to do when those guards you scattered finally find their way back."
"About that," Vincent said, "I've sealed the space around your home. They can't enter yet, but they will soon. And doctor... what happened here, what you've seen—"
"Will remain between us," Rosetien finished. "I've been keeping secrets longer than you've been alive, boy."
Light bloomed around the family, and they faded like a dream at dawn, leaving only the lingering scent of powerful magic.
Alone in his hall, Dr. Rosetien sank into his chair as the first sounds of confused guards reached his ears. Another day, another secret to keep. But as he thought of that small, broken child and the love that had driven two of the most powerful beings in the empire to their knees, he couldn't help but wonder:
'What force in this world could wound the child of them'.