The sky burned gold that evening.
It was the kind of quiet, fleeting beauty that came just before something was taken away.
The carriage rolled steadily along the forest road, its wheels crunching softly against gravel. Inside, a woman cradled a small bundle close to her chest, her fingers trembling ever so slightly despite the calm she tried to maintain.
"Sleep, my little Elowen…" she whispered, brushing a soft strand of auburn hair from the baby's forehead.
The child stirred, tiny fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of her mother's dress.
Outside, the guards rode in silence.
Too silent.
The Duchess frowned.
"Why has it gone so quiet…?"
Before anyone could answer
A scream tore through the air.
Then chaos.
The world shattered in an instant.
Steel clashed. Horses shrieked. The carriage lurched violently to the side as something slammed into it. The baby began to cry, her small voice swallowed by the sudden storm of violence.
"Your Grace! Stay inside!"
The door was ripped open anyway.
Men in dark cloaks flooded the road, their faces hidden, their movements swift and merciless. One by one, the guards fell.
"No no, stay back!" the Duchess cried, clutching her child tighter.
Fire flickered in her palm wild, desperate but it wasn't enough.
It was never meant to be enough.
"Hand over the child," one of them said coldly.
The Duchess's breath hitched.
"…Over my dead body."
For a moment, the world seemed to pause.
Then
It happened too fast.
A flash of steel.
A sharp, choking gasp.
Warmth spread across her chest.
Her grip loosened.
The baby slipped from her arms.
"No… no… not my child…" she whispered weakly, her vision blurring as she reached out with shaking fingers.
But she was already falling.
Already fading.
The last thing she saw was her daughter being torn away—small, helpless, crying and disappearing into the arms of strangers.
The forest grew quiet again.
As if nothing had happened at all.
Smoke curled into the darkening sky. The wreckage of the carriage lay broken along the road, surrounded by still bodies and fading warmth.
Time passed.
Minutes… or perhaps longer.
Then
A sound.
Soft footsteps approached through the trees.
A villager, drawn by the distant noise, stepped cautiously onto the road. His eyes widened at the sight before him.
"…By the gods…"
And then
A cry.
Faint.
Fragile.
Alive.
He turned toward the sound, heart pounding, and followed it to the edge of the trees.
There, wrapped in torn cloth and streaked with ash, lay a baby girl.
Her hazel eyes shimmered with tears as she reached out blindly into the empty air.
Alone.
Forgotten.
But alive.
The man hesitated only a moment before kneeling down and lifting her gently into his arms.
"…Don't worry, little one," he murmured.
"You're safe now."
Far away, in a grand estate that had yet to learn of its loss.
A father would soon begin to search.
And a story, already written in tragedy…
…quietly began to change.
Seven years later, everything would begin again.