Alice ran through the forest, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. She pressed her back against a tree, clutching the bundle in her arms as if her life depended on it. The unnatural glow of magelights danced through the trees, slowly casting the shadows away that hid her. As they moved closer she began to hear the sound of boots crunching leaves and twigs under their feet.
She glanced down at her son, fast asleep despite the chaos. His peaceful face was a cruel contrast to the fear clutching her heart. He was wrapped tightly in what was once her cape. The deep blue material a stark contrast to his pale skin and white hair.
As the sounds of pursuit grew louder, Alice's mind drifted, unbidden, to a moment from just weeks ago—a memory that felt like it belonged to another life.
She was seated in the grand nursery of their estate, the room lined with shelves of enchanted books and baby toys imbued with minor magics that sparked and shimmered. The soft hum of protective wards encased the space, The light fixtures shown with a soft white light also from magic. Casting a serene light over the room. Morte lay in her arms, his tiny hand gripping her finger with surprising strength for someone so small.
The door had opened with a whisper of magic, and Zachrius stepped in, his immaculate crimson robes trimmed with gold flowing behind him. He looked to be the embodiment of a Noble and charismatic man with his light blonde hair and handsome clean shaven face. The staff he carried—an ancient relic handed down to the Archimages of Magus—glowed faintly red at the top with latent energy. His expression was unreadable, though Alice could tell a shadow lingered in his eyes.
"Still awake?" he asked, his deep voice soft as his gaze landed on her soft alabaster skin. His usual stoic demeanor faltered as he drew near.. He approached, his steps slow yet confident.
Alice looked up, a tired smile gracing her lips. "He doesn't seem to believe in sleeping, just like his father."
Zachrius chuckled faintly, though it sounded hollow. Setting his staff aside, he knelt beside her. His hand, steady but colder than she remembered, brushed against Morte's cheek. The baby stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes.
"He's strong," Zachrius murmured, his voice tinged with pride but edged with something darker. "His mana signature is already remarkable. Perhaps if things were different…" He hesitated, his words trailing off as he glanced away. Alice's smile faded, her grip tightening on Morte. "The council doesn't need to know everything, Zacharias. Not yet."
He sighed heavily, sitting back on his heels, his other hand moving to his temple as though warding off a headache. "You know as well as I do that, they already suspect that he's been born by now. I've shielded him from their scrying spells, but I can't do it forever. The prophecy…" He trailed off, staring into the distance.
Alice cut him off, her tone sharp. "The prophecy is just words, Zachrius. You've seen how vague it is—how easily it could be twisted to mean anything. Are you willing to condemn your own son based on the ramblings of old fools who fear their own shadows?"
He flinched, her words striking a nerve. "It's not just their fear," he said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alice, you know what's at stake. The visions they've seen—destruction, death, an unstoppable calamity tied to him—"
"They're wrong!" she snapped her voice trembling with both anger and desperation. "He's just a baby, Zachrius. He hasn't done anything—he hasn't even had the chance to. Whatever doom they think he'll bring, he deserves to live his life!"
Zachrius closed his eyes, his expression pained. "You think I don't want that?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Do you think this is easy for me? He's my son too, Alice. But if they're right… if they're even a little right, and I do nothing, it won't just be us who suffer. It'll be everyone."
Alice stared at him, searching his face for the man she had loved—the man who had once vowed to stand by her no matter what. She saw him there, buried beneath the weight of his duty and fear, but he was slipping further away with every passing moment.
"Then you've already made your choice," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow.
Zachrius reached out as if to touch her, but she pulled away, cradling Morte protectively. "Alice…"
"No," she said firmly, her voice hardening. "I won't let them cage him. I won't let them kill him. If you won't stand with us, then stay out of our way."