The carriage wheels ground against the packed Harth of the Ebon Road, the monotonous, dusty rhythm having long lulled the occupants into a weary, formal silence. Inside the cedar cabin, Lady Elara—all of eight years and defined by a cascade of dark blue hair inherited from her House—was tracing restless patterns onto the condensation of the windowpane. Her brother, Lord Alastair, three years her senior, sat opposite, his mind already calculating the tiresome logistics of their summer retreat.
The carriage lurched violently. Outside, Borin, the lead guard, shouted a sharp command.
"Bandits?" Elara murmured, gripping the seat edge.
"Unlikely to be simple brigands," Alastair replied, his voice already seasoned with noble detachment. "Not this deep into the Crown's territory."
Silas, the butler, threw open the door just as a sound reached them—a high, insistent, metallic keen followed almost instantly by the unmistakable, piercing sound of a baby's desperate, human cry.
"A child, my Lord! Near the quarry rocks!" Silas's face was a study in profound confusion. "Borin has secured the area, but the metallic sound... it is not of this world."
Elara's eyes widened, the ennui gone instantly. She scrambled out, Alastair following with a practiced sigh of weary patience.
In a small, mossy clearing, the two armored guards stood over a strange, charcoal-grey vessel. It was a massive, seamless, teardrop shell that was utterly foreign to this world of wood and steel.
"It is a demon's egg," Alastair muttered, stepping back instinctively.
"No, it is a prison," Elara breathed, moving closer. It possessed no runes, no hinges, and no Maker's Mark, only smooth, silent metal. The vessel hissed, and near its base, a small, circular panel clicked inward with a sound that was pure logic, utterly divorced from the organic sounds of their forest.
Borin, the guard, acted first. He reached into the open shell and carefully lifted out the tiny, squirming bundle.
Kael, newborn and fragile, was wrapped only in the guard's rough cloak. Borin carried him back toward the carriage, the boy's soft, vulnerable cry piercing the woods.
Elara met them on the road, her hand immediately reaching for the infant. Kael's eyes, wide and dark, blinked up at her. As she took him, she felt a strange, low hum, a sudden, profound warmth that seemed to come not from his body, but from the air around him. He smelled faintly metallic, yet sweet.
"He's beautiful, Borin," she whispered, her fingers tracing his small hands. "We must take him home, Alastair. We must raise him."
Alastair met her gaze, his expression firm. "Elara, we cannot," he said, his voice quiet but sharp. "We are House Valeris. You know the rules. If we arrive with a strange, undocumented child, the Elder Council will demand to know the origins of that cradle. They'll send him to the Temple for inspection, or worse, to the military as a potential spy. We can't risk the House for an unknown."
Elara's eyes filled with hot tears. "Then we just leave him for the wolves? I will not!"
Silas, sensing the stalemate, intervened. "There is a solution, my Lord, my Lady. About half a day's journey beyond our destination is the Orphanage of the Compassionate Heart. The Matron, Sister Aven, is an old and dear friend of mine. She does not ask questions."
He paused, offering Elara a lifeline. "Furthermore, it is less than fifteen minutes' ride from our summer estate. You could visit him weekly, Elara, if you desired."
Elara looked down at Kael, his tiny fingers curled around hers. The compromise was brutal, but logical. "Agreed," she choked out, wiping her eyes. "We take him to your friend."
"Then we move quickly," Alastair instructed Borin. "We'll return with a High-Caster when we are safely situated. For now, secrecy is the only ward we need. Bury that cradle deep under the quarry stones, Borin, and tell no one. We must erase all trace of how he arrived."
The carriage journey resumed. Elara spent the remaining hours cooing and talking to the baby, the tiny weight a source of profound comfort. Alastair watched her, and the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly now that a plausible plan was in motion.
A few minutes later, Borin returned from the quarry. He was alone, having left his partner to supervise the burial of the strange shell. He walked with a heavy, troubled stride, carrying a piece of the pod's inner cushioning—a small, pale section that had been torn away during the landing.
"My Lord, my Lady," he said, handing the cushion to Silas. "We found this. It seems to have been deliberately placed inside."
Pressed into the soft, pale material was an inscription. It wasn't a rune, but a symbol—two crisp, interlocking triangles—and beneath it, three letters etched perfectly: K A E L.
Elara gasped, snatching the cushion from Silas. "His name! It's Kael."
Alastair leaned in, reading the perfect, unfamiliar script. "The name is a mercy. It gives us a story." He looked at his sister, his composure returning. "A clean, simple name. Perhaps this is all the documentation he needs."
The sun was sinking when the carriage finally reached the Orphanage. It was a humble, stone-and-timber structure, smelling sweetly of woodsmoke and dried herbs.
Sister Aven, a woman with kind eyes and hands roughened by years of work, met them at the door. Silas delivered the fabricated story of the traveler's accident with believable sobriety.
"He is a handsome boy, Silas," Sister Aven said, gently taking Kael. "We will keep him safe."
Elara stepped forward, her dark blue hair a dramatic contrast to the Matron's simple grey shawl. "Please, Sister Aven. You must promise me you will treat him with extra care. I… I will come back. Soon." Her voice broke on the last word.
Aven smiled warmly. "My dear Lady, every child who comes through this door is treated with extra care. Go in peace."
Elara said her final goodbye, pressing her cheek gently against Kael's forehead. As she did, she gently slipped one of the small silver-and-blue ribbons from her braid into his swaddling cloth. "You are House Valeris now, little one," she whispered. "I will come back for you."
She walked back to the carriage, small and silent, her brother placing a supportive hand on her shoulder.
As the carriage pulled away, Sister Aven carried Kael inside. In the common room, a few other children looked up curiously at the new arrival.
"Children," Aven announced cheerfully, "Meet Kael. He is a gift from the road."
She handed the infant to a capable helper named Mara, then turned to the register on her desk.
"Mara," she murmured, dipping her quill into the inkwell. "That makes three foundlings in as many weeks. Three souls who appeared." She frowned, looking out the window toward the darkening woods. "It is a strange time, Mara, but our duty is not to the Crown's omens, but to the Maker's weakest lambs. Good or bad, they are ours now."