Once upon a time, long ago in a land far away, a young traveler named Marvin was destined for a life greater than anyone in his small village could have imagined. From the moment he opened his eyes, he carried a spark that set him apart. Marvin was born into a village so small that every family knew each other's names, faces, and stories. It was the kind of place where secrets rarely stayed hidden, where the laughter of children echoed across the same fields their parents had played in, and where neighbors had shared decades of joys and sorrows.
Marvin's parents were neither rich nor poor. They belonged to what people called the "middle class"—a family that could afford enough to live with dignity, though they never touched the luxuries of the nobles. His father, Arthus, made his living through trade, dealing with the Santorian Royals who ruled both land and sea. For generations, his family had worked in this trade, building modest stability. Arthus and his wife Elena had always dreamed of a son who would carry the family name and one day take over the business. They dreamed of him traveling the seas with the goods of their people, ensuring their place remained secure.
But the night Marvin was born was no ordinary night. A marvelous eclipse unfolded in the heavens. The sky darkened, the air held its breath, and the people of the village gathered outside their homes, their eyes fixed on the wonder above. The moon covered the sun in a way that painted the land in both shadow and silver. To some it was frightening, to others beautiful, but to the village elder, it was a sign. He raised his hands toward the heavens and spoke words that would be remembered by everyone present: "A child will be born this night. A child of great talent and power. A child who will save our village." The elder's voice carried through the crowd, and even the doubtful ones felt a chill at his certainty.
Inside the modest home of Arthus and Elena, the air was heavy with tension and pain. Elena's cries echoed, each one a dagger through Arthus's heart. He could not sit still. He paced the wooden floorboards back and forth, his hands trembling, his breaths shallow. Fear clouded his mind, for Elena was not young, and this pregnancy was her only chance at motherhood. Every cry she released made him feel as though the walls of the house were closing in.
Artien, Arthus's closest friend and colleague in trade, stood nearby, trying to steady him. "Do not worry, Arthus," Artien said firmly, though his own face was pale. "Mally is with her. She has been the village birth specialist longer than either of us have been alive. She has done this a thousand times before, and not once has she failed. Elena is in safe hands."
Arthus turned, his eyes bloodshot, his fists clenching and unclenching as if the world depended on his grip. "I know all of that, Artien," he replied, his voice strained. "But hearing Elena scream—it tears me apart. I feel useless, and I cannot stand it."
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the weight of Elena's suffering pressing on them. Then another scream cut through the air, louder, sharper, filled with agony and desperation. Arthus pressed his hands against his head, his knees nearly buckling. "I cannot take this much longer," he muttered.
But then, a new sound followed—a small, fragile cry. A newborn's cry. Both men froze. For a moment, they didn't breathe. Then, as the realization sank in, joy replaced fear. The child was born.
The door to the chamber opened, and Mally, the midwife, stepped out. Sweat glistened on her brow, but her eyes shone with relief. She looked at Arthus and spoke words he would never forget. "Congratulations, Arthus. It is a boy."
For an instant, the world seemed to stop. Arthus staggered forward, his hands trembling as he covered his mouth. His eyes filled with tears, overflowing faster than he could wipe them away. His chest shook with the laughter of relief, a sound that came from the depths of his being. He turned to Artien, then to the elder standing just beyond the threshold, and he cried out, "A son! I have a son!"
The elder clapped his hands, his face lit by the glow of the eclipse outside. Artien embraced his friend, both men overcome with the joy of the moment. The cries of the baby filled the small house, mixing with the cheers of those who had gathered outside after hearing the news.
Moments later, they brought the child out, wrapped in cloth. Arthus looked at him as though he had been handed a miracle. The tiny hands, the soft cry, the warmth of life—all of it made him feel stronger and more fragile than he had ever been. Tears spilled freely down his face as he held his son for the first time.
Elena, exhausted but smiling, lay on the bed, her face pale yet radiant with love. She whispered softly, her voice barely above a breath, "Marvin. His name will be Marvin."
The elder stepped forward, his voice solemn as he placed his hand gently on the child's forehead. "Marvin," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "Born beneath the shadow of the sun and moon. He will grow to change the fate of our people. He will be the one to save us."
Arthus lifted the child high for all to see, his heart swelling with pride and relief. His voice carried through the house, strong and unwavering, "Then let it be known from this day forward. His name is Marvin. He is my son, and he will carry our name. He is the one who will save us all."
The villagers cheered outside, their voices rising like a chorus in the night, blending with the lingering glow of the eclipse. And so, under that strange sky, Marvin's story began.