The world beyond Mistfill was vast, quiet, and indifferent.
Days bled away like ink into water as the small carriage rolled through the desolate plains. The midwife's face was pale from exhaustion, her hands trembling as she held the child wrapped in tattered linen. Each day the air grew colder, and the road less kind.
She had not eaten properly since leaving the city. There had been no time — the soldiers were everywhere.
But even so, she kept whispering to the baby as though her voice alone could protect him.
"You must live," she murmured, her words barely audible over the creaking wheels. "Your mother… she gave her life for you. And Chris… he stayed behind. Don't let it be for nothing."
The infant stirred, tiny fingers curling around the edge of the cloth. His breathing was calm, almost unnaturally so.
When dawn came, a faint fog blanketed the outskirts. The smell of pine and damp earth filled the air. The midwife's carriage creaked up a hill road where a small settlement stood — a humble place forgotten by most, an orphanage built from weathered stone and quiet prayers.
The midwife felt her strength finally leave her. She climbed down, every step heavier than the last.
At the orphanage gates, she laid the child on the stone step. The baby was wrapped in the maid's old blanket, the same one that carried the faint scent of lavender from the palace nursery. Around his neck, she placed a necklace — silver and faintly glowing in the morning light.
It was the one the late king had given the maid long ago — the crest of House Nightfall, carved with a single star surrounded by six smaller ones.
"May the gods protect you," the midwife whispered. "And may your light never be found by those who hunt it."
She hesitated. Her instincts screamed to stay — to guard the child. But reason, that cold and cruel thing, whispered the truth: If she remained, she would lead them straight to him.
So she turned and ran.
By the time the sun rose, the child's soft cries had drawn the attention of a caretaker. The door opened, and a gentle-faced woman gasped at the sight.
"Another abandoned one…" she murmured, lifting the baby with care. "Hush, little one. You're safe now."
She glanced at the necklace, confused. "Such a fine trinket for one left at our door."
The woman smiled faintly. "Perhaps you were meant for something greater."
And thus, the lost heir of Nightfall — the reborn soul of Kai — was taken in by the orphanage of the northern frontier.
Meanwhile, back on the road to Mistfill…
Rauth rode ahead of his soldiers, the sharp rhythm of hooves echoing across the ravine trail. His cloak was torn from the earlier skirmishes, his expression colder than ever.
They had searched the entire eastern province — every inn, every farmhouse, even the mountain passes — and found nothing.
Even the faint pulse of power he had sensed earlier had vanished like a breath in the wind.
The queen would not be pleased.
Rauth's jaw tightened. "She will not take failure kindly."
One of his lieutenants hesitated. "Perhaps the trail has gone cold, my lord. The child may already be—"
"Dead?" Rauth cut him off. "No. A being that drew that storm into existence will not die quietly. He lives. Somewhere."
They rode in silence for a while.
Then a scout appeared from the opposite road, out of breath. "My lord! We've spotted a carriage! A woman, traveling alone!"
Rauth's eyes narrowed. "Describe her."
"She matches the description of the palace midwife."
That was all he needed.
"Bring her to me."
The small caravan stood halted on the dirt road. The midwife sat frozen as armored men surrounded her. The horses neighed restlessly, sensing the hostility in the air.
Rauth dismounted with a slow, deliberate grace. His mere presence silenced the guards.
"Well," he said quietly, "what do we have here?"
The midwife's voice trembled. "I… I'm only a traveler, my lord. A healer on her way to the northern border—"
Rauth raised a hand, cutting her off. "Don't lie to me. You served in the palace. You were there the night the maid gave birth.
She froze.
His gaze darkened. "Where is the child?"
Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She said nothing.
"I will not ask again."
Rauth's hand began to glow faintly, sparks flickering along his fingertips. The air grew heavy, smelling of rain and iron.
But before he could act, a voice echoed across the canyon road—
"Enough!"
Rauth turned sharply.
Out from the trees emerged a small troop — men clad in darker armor, marked with the crest of the old royal guard. At their head stood Lucien, his black cloak fluttering in the mountain wind.
His presence was like a shadow drawn across the world — calm, yet suffocating.
Rauth smirked. "Lucien. I wondered when you'd show yourself."
Lucien's expression remained neutral. "And I wondered when you'd forget that the king's faction still draws breath."
Rauth took a slow step forward, lightning whispering across his shoulders. "You shouldn't interfere. The queen's orders are absolute."
"The queen's orders mean nothing," Lucien replied softly. "Especially when they threaten the last of House Nightfall."
The soldiers on both sides tensed, drawing weapons. The air between them crackled — water, dust, and electricity gathering like a storm about to burst.
Rauth's grin widened. "Then I suppose this is treason."
Lucien's eyes glowed faintly — a deep violet hue that flickered like flame at the edge of a void. "So be it."
Lightning and Shadow
The first strike came in a blur.
Rauth moved faster than sight, a streak of blue light crossing the space between them. His hand slammed into the ground, sending a surge of lightning that split the earth itself.
Lucien vanished.
A dark mist swirled behind Rauth, and from within it, a blade of shadow extended like liquid steel.
Rauth blocked the strike just in time — lightning crackling across his arm, deflecting the black edge.
The two powers collided, forming a blinding flash that sent soldiers flying back from the force.
For a moment, the sky turned black and white — light and darkness intertwining in violent harmony.
Lucien's form blurred like smoke. Every step he took left an afterimage, a whisper of darkness that distorted the air.
Rauth retaliated, bolts of energy chasing those shadows, tearing through trees and stone alike.
The world around them could not keep up.
To mortal eyes, it looked like a storm had taken human shape — lightning carving paths through clouds of ink, shadows bending and weaving between every strike.
The ground quaked beneath them, and with every collision came a shockwave that split the earth deeper.
"Your element is chaos itself," Lucien's voice came from behind the haze, calm yet sharp. "But chaos burns out quickly."
Rauth laughed, the sound harsh and crackling. "And yours hides in cowardice. You think the dark will protect you forever?"
"You mistake restraint for weakness."
Lucien's shadow darted forward again — this time from below. The darkness beneath Rauth erupted, forming dozens of black tendrils that grabbed at his legs.
But before they could pull him under, Rauth unleashed a surge of raw energy. Lightning exploded outward, burning through the tendrils like fire through oil.
The blast threw both of them apart.
Lucien landed on one knee, coughing blood, but still smiling faintly. "You've grown stronger, Rauth."
Rauth straightened, panting. "And you've grown slower."
They both knew the truth — the next strike would decide the outcome.
Lucien glanced briefly toward the carriage — toward the midwife, who still sat trembling under guard. He could see the terror in her eyes, the desperation.
He could not let them take her.
He whispered under his breath, words older than language — the call of a Thief of Creation invoking his law.
"Where light strikes, shadow answers."
The world dimmed.
Rauth blinked, startled, as the sky itself seemed to darken. His lightning flickered, struggling against a growing veil of black.
Then, from every direction, shadows lunged — forming countless blades that moved in silence.
Rauth snarled and unleashed his full power. Lightning burst from his body, striking in every direction at once. The two forces collided midair, the explosion creating a sphere of pure white that consumed the battlefield.
For a long moment, there was nothing but sound — a roar that swallowed mountains and shook the very heavens.
Then, silence.
When the dust settled, both Conjurers stood amid ruin. The road had become a crater. Trees were stripped to ash.
Lucien fell to one knee, his breathing ragged, his cloak torn.
Rauth stood, one arm burned and smoking, eyes blazing with fury.
"Next time," he said, voice cold, "you won't walk away."
Lucien chuckled weakly. "Perhaps. But next time… you won't find what you're looking for."
Rauth scowled, but before he could respond, a horn sounded in the distance — the queen's reinforcements.
Lucien turned, shadows rising to envelop the midwife and the carriage. "Go," he whispered.
The darkness swallowed them whole, and within seconds, they were gone — vanished into the safety of night.
Rauth slammed his fist into the ground, lightning cracking through the earth. "Damn it!"
He could still feel that faint pulse — the one he had sworn to find — fading further and further away.
The child was gone. Again.