After fifteen minutes of silence between us, the old woman finally spoke.
"Child… who are you? If possible, could you tell me about yourself?"
Her words struck me like a sudden gust of wind. My body stiffened, a flinch escaping me as fragments of my wretched past clawed their way back into my mind. The memories I had long buried, the scars I wished to forget, all came rushing in.
Noticing my reaction, she leaned closer, her voice gentle yet firm.
"Don't worry, child. I won't judge you, nor will I say anything. I will simply listen."
Those comforting words wrapped around me like a fragile warmth I had not felt in years. My chest tightened, but slowly, I found the strength to speak.
As I reminisced about the time where it had all begun, I reached for something I had nearly lost—the last shred of my identity. With trembling lips, I whispered the name I had almost forgotten.
"My name… is Draven."
It felt strange, uttering it aloud. For so long I had been nothing but a shadow, a stray left behind by fate. But as I spoke, my name pulled me back into the beginning—into the days when I still had a family, a home, and a dream.
---------------------------------------------------
In the far eastern reaches of the Aetherion Empire stood one of its four most formidable strongholds—the Dukedom of Veyrona. Renowned for its military prowess and vast holdings, Veyrona was not merely a political entity but a symbol of the empire's enduring strength. Within one of its grand estates, a night of profound significance was unfolding.
The estate's eastern wing, reserved for the ducal family, was bathed in flickering candlelight. Tension hung heavy in the air as hurried footsteps echoed against the polished stone corridors. Servants moved briskly, their hushed voices betraying both anticipation and unease. In the heart of the wing, within a chamber lavishly adorned with silken curtains and gilded carvings, a young lady—the duchess of Veyrona—labored upon her bed.
Her face was pale, framed by strands of damp hair clinging to her temples. She gritted her teeth, her slender fingers crushing the embroidered sheets as waves of pain wracked her body. Around her, no fewer than a dozen midwives and attendants worked in seamless coordination. Some pressed cool cloths to her forehead, others murmured words of encouragement, while the most experienced among them monitored every detail of the birth with unyielding concentration.
"Push, my lady! You must endure a little longer!"
"Steady breaths—hold on, just a moment more!"
The chamber was filled with the chorus of women's voices, urgent yet supportive, weaving through the lady's cries. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing second magnified by the intensity of her struggle. The flickering of candles seemed almost to waver in unison with her labored breaths.
At last, after what felt like an eternity but in truth had spanned no more than ten relentless minutes, a final cry from the duchess was met with the shrill wail of a newborn. The air itself seemed to shift. Relief swept across the chamber as the midwives moved with practiced efficiency. One, her hands steady, severed the umbilical cord with precise care before lifting the infant into her arms.
The cry of the child rang out, sharp and vibrant, a sound that dispelled the tension lingering in the room. Attendants who had moments ago worn strained expressions now allowed smiles to break across their faces. The cry was life. The cry was health. The young heir had entered the world strong and unbroken.
The midwife carrying the child stepped forward with a solemn grace, her eyes bright with relief. She approached the duchess, who lay trembling yet radiant with exhausted joy. With infinite care, she lowered the swaddled infant toward her.
"Look, my lady," the midwife said, her voice reverent, "you have given birth to the young master of Veyrona."
Tears welled in the duchess's eyes as she gazed upon the child nestled in her arms. His tiny hands curled instinctively, his soft features illuminated by the warm glow of candlelight. Though fragile, he bore an undeniable aura—an heir of noble blood, destined to carry forward the name of one of the empire's mightiest houses.
In that chamber, amid the lingering scent of sweat and the faint aroma of incense burning in the corners, history had quietly shifted. A life had begun, and with it, the course of the universe itself would one day be altered.
---------------------------------------------------