The dawn had not yet risen when the cold wind crept through the cracks of the stone windows of Salverin Castle. The night was so silent that even the air seemed reluctant to move. In the distance, the pine forest surrounding Salverin appeared only as a massive black silhouette standing without a whisper. No night birds sang, no wolves howled. Nature itself seemed to be holding its breath.
In the lower floors of the castle, far from the grand hall and the noble family's luxurious chambers, a narrow room flickered with the restless glow of a candle. The scent of burned metal, sweat, and faint traces of blood mixed together, weaving a tense aroma that clung to every corner.
A young woman—Marena, a household servant—lay on a damp, thin mattress. Her face was pale, her black hair plastered to her sweat-drenched forehead. Her breath came in broken gasps, her chest rising and falling with great effort. Her hands clutched the tattered sheet beneath her, her nails digging deep into the worn fabric.
"Hold on, Marena," whispered an old midwife as she adjusted the cloth beneath the woman's body. "The baby is nearly here."
Marena didn't answer. Her voice drowned beneath the small, muffled cries she desperately kept inside. Not because she wished to be brave, but because she knew too loud a sound would draw unwanted attention. Her pregnancy was already considered disgraceful by most who lived in the castle. She did not want to become an even heavier burden.
The candle flickered more anxiously as the cold wind brushed its flame from the window. The sky outside was utterly dark, as if it were draping a curtain over a scene no one was meant to witness.
The midwife inhaled deeply, narrowing her eyes.
"This child… is strange," she murmured. "The flame has been trembling all night."
Marena shook her head weakly. "Don't… say… foolish things," she whispered between contractions.
But the midwife, with decades of experience, could not lie to herself. Something was different. Something that had made the back of her neck prickle since the labor began.
The next contraction crashed over Marena like a massive wave. A muffled scream escaped her lips, and the old midwife hurried to hold her steady so she wouldn't roll off the mattress.
"Now! Push, Marena! Push!"
And as if the world split open, the sound of a baby's cry finally broke through the night's silence.
It was not loud. Not shrill.
It was… clear. As clear and delicate as the sound of crystal falling from a great height.
The midwife froze.
So did the air.
Even the candle stilled, its flame standing perfectly upright—as though the wind itself had stopped blowing.
Marena sobbed weakly, her eyes dim. "My child… is it… a girl?"
The midwife lowered her gaze and lifted the baby, still covered in blood and fluid. But as she cleaned the tiny body, she stopped. Her old eyes widened.
The baby had hair—yes, hair—clearly visible even moments after birth. Soft strands that should not have grown so soon on a newborn.
And its color… pale pink. Like faded twilight light.
Not human red. Not blonde. Not golden.
Pink—like sakura petals falling on winter snow.
"Oh Lord…" the midwife whispered. "It is… the sign…"
Marena raised her head with what little strength she had left. "Don't… say… anything. Please."
But the midwife was already trembling. Her hands shook as she stared at the child. The baby's eyes remained closed, her skin pale yet delicate as porcelain. Nothing about her looked monstrous. In fact—she seemed peaceful.
Too peaceful.
As though the world could not touch the serenity she carried.
The midwife sucked in a sharp breath. "This hair… in the old legend… it is the curse of the Twilight Birth. A child who brings ruin to any family who shelters her. Pink hair… a color no human should possess."
Marena shut her eyes. Tears streamed down. "She is not a curse…"
The midwife muttered in panic, "The Salverin family… they will never accept a baby like this. They will—"
Suddenly, the door burst open.
Two castle servants stood in the doorway, their faces shadowed by the candlelight behind them. Between them, a tall man in a black fur mantle entered with heavy steps.
Duke Halstein Salverin.
Lord of the land.
Master of the towering stone castle.
His face was carved like mountain rock—hard, unyielding. His eyes were cold as winter snow, void of compassion.
He took in the room at a glance: the cold floor, the shabby bed, the exhausted servant, the trembling midwife, and the softly crying newborn.
Then his gaze stopped on the baby.
For a moment—just a moment—his eyes flickered. So small a movement no one else noticed, but the midwife did. A hint of shock. Not because the baby was adorable or captivating, but because he recognized the unnatural color of her hair.
He approached slowly, his boots scraping against the stone.
Marena tried to sit up, but the midwife pushed her gently back down. Her breath was heavy, yet her eyes pleaded—not for herself, but for her child.
The Duke stopped in front of the midwife.
"Show me," he commanded, his voice deep.
With trembling hands, the midwife lifted the infant.
The Duke studied the baby without expression. But beneath that flat stare, a faint spark flickered—disbelief? Suspicion? Perhaps a tiny shard of fear he refused to acknowledge.
"This hair…" he murmured coldly.
"My lord… this is—"
"Whose child is this?"
The question sliced the air like a blade.
The midwife swallowed hard.
Marena forced her voice out: "Milord… she… has no father…"
"Silence." He didn't even look at her.
He kept his gaze on the baby. Her crying had softened into a gentle hum, like a tiny sigh. She did not squirm. Did not scream. As if this strange world did not frighten her.
The Duke inhaled slowly, then spoke without emotion:
"This child shall never set foot in the great hall. She will never be called a Salverin."
The midwife flinched.
Marena wept harder, though her voice remained weak.
"However," the Duke continued, "she was born on my land. She bears the blood of my household's servant. Therefore… I cannot kill her outright."
A pause.
The room grew colder.
"She will live as a disgrace. No one may touch her without permission. No one may call her 'lady.' No one may claim she carries noble blood."
He looked at the child one last time.
"Her name—"
The midwife held her breath. Marena did too.
"Liora. Because the light dimmed when she came into the world."
As if the world rejected the name, the candle flame shrank.
The Duke turned away.
"Remove the mother from the castle before sunrise. She is no longer needed."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Its echo rolled through the stone corridors like the closing of a wicked fate.
---
Marena lay trembling, her body cold. The younger servants and midwife stared down at her with a mix of pity and disgust. Orders were orders.
"Give me… my baby…" she sobbed.
The old midwife held the child tighter. "Forgive me, Marena. The Duke's order is law."
Marena reached into the air, her hand freezing mid-motion as her strength failed her. Tears streamed endlessly as she watched her baby—her tiny daughter with soft pink hair—carried farther away.
The baby did not cry.
She only opened her eyes a little, her pupils like soft rubies catching the candle's glow.
As though she were observing this new world.
As though she understood her mother's sorrow.
As though some fragment of her soul remembered something distant… something unreachable.
Marena was not given the chance to hold her. Not even to kiss her daughter.
As the servants dragged her out of the castle, one last whisper fell from her lips:
"Liora… forgive me…"
And the door shut.
---
Meanwhile, the old midwife carried Liora to a cold side chamber in the castle. A room with only a wooden bed, a small table, and a narrow window. This was where a child considered a family disgrace would be raised—far from noble eyes, far from the world.
She laid Liora on the small bed. The baby stared at the ceiling with half-open eyes.
"Oh Lord… what kind of child are you?" she whispered.
No answer.
Only the baby's tiny breath.
The only sound came from an old clock in the next corridor, ticking the passing time without care for the tragedy that had just unfolded.
No one knew that this infant… carried a soul that once saved the world.
No one knew that the soft aura around her was not a curse… but the remnant of a light that had once shaken the heavens.
But all of it was hidden.
Asleep.
Locked behind memories that had yet to awaken.
Outside the castle, the cold wind blew once more.
And for a moment… only a moment… the wind carried a faint echo from the past—like the whisper of a lost soul from a long-finished battle.
"I will be reborn…"
But the baby did not hear it.
Not yet.