Year of Idite, 1158
Two years went by after the Duke and Duchess' incident. All of the noble society in the Rezgore Empire have heard of the Duchess' sickly born child. How they struggled to keep her alive, thinking the baby wouldn't last long. Only to suddenly announce her sudden recovery. She was the miracle child of the Silford family.
Lilith, now close to three years old, ran through the giant halls of the mansion. Her nanny trying to keep up with her as she skidded around a corner, nearing her parents' bedroom.
"Young lady, p-please slow down! You will trip and fall!"
The blonde maid breathed out for the tenth time, looking like she was about to collapse. Suddenly, like she decided to listen her nanny, Lilith came to a skidding halt. Looking pleased with herself, the maid stopped right behind her and placed her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
"Good, now, could you tell me where were you trying to-"
But she couldn't finish her sentence as she realized where they were. Her face went pale as she looked down at the young Lilith, who was absolutely beaming with excitement with nothing on her but her morning gown.
"To momma! Baby!"
While the outside of the big lounge room was filled with smiles and happy giggles, the same couldn't be said about the inside of the room.
The morning sun spilled through the towering windows of the ducal lounge, painting golden stripes across the polished marble and gleaming wood. The air smelled of fresh rain and lemon oil, the quiet interrupted only by the steady crackle of the hearth.
Duke Clause von Silford stood near the mantel, hands clasped tight behind his back. His usual commanding presence was visibly frayed, tension drawn tight across his shoulders as he stared toward the double doors that led to their bedroom where his wife labored to bring new life into the world. His lips pressed thin, as if he could will the outcome by sheer force of will.
Behind him, Count Caelum Thorne moved with his usual meticulous grace, his long dark blue hair falling in smooth, silken waves down his back, catching glimmers of daylight as he poured a modest glass of ruby wine. His expression, calm as cut stone, remained untouched by the undercurrent of nerves that rippled through the room. His piercing teal eyes, clear and unblinking, held the detached sharpness of a man who calculated rather than panicked. He extended the glass toward the Duke with a silent, measured nod. The light caught the glass in his hand, making the liquid glow like garnet.
"Your Grace," Caelum murmured, "your wife has not sent for you, nor have the midwives screamed for a physician. In my experience, that means all is proceeding as it should."
Clause took the glass but didn't drink. "You make it sound so… mechanical."
"It is mechanical," Caelum replied, "with the added chaos of blood and magic."
Across the room, Sebastian, the manor's elderly butler, moved with deliberate grace, adjusting the fresh flowers in the corner vase. His uniform was immaculate despite the early hour. He turned just slightly to glance at Caelum, a half-smile ghosting across his weathered face.
"Begging your pardon, Sir Thorne, but I daresay the Duke would benefit more from comfort than clinical observations."
Before Clause could reply, the double doors to the lounge flew open with a dramatic bang that sent both men turning sharply.
A tiny whirlwind of white hair and giggles shot into the room—a toddler in silk slippers with hair as white as freshly fallen snow, her eyes twin rubies that sparkled with innocent mischief. The little girl barreled in on chubby legs with the speed of a startled deer, her tiny hands flapping as she ran straight for her father.
"Papa!" she shrieked with pure delight, her small voice high and breathless.
Clause barely had time to set the glass aside before Lilith, all of two years old, flung herself against his legs in a joyous collision. He let out an incredulous breath of laughter, bending to scoop her up into his arms.
"Lilith—what are you doing here, sweetheart?" he asked, voice softening despite his tension.
The child wriggled excitedly, her little hands grabbing for his collar as she beamed. "Baby! Baby come!"
From the open doors, her nanny, breathless and wide-eyed, stumbled in, skirts swishing around her ankles. "Your Grace—I'm so terribly sorry—she slipped away before I could stop her—she's faster than she looks, I swear it—"
Clause chuckled despite himself, waving off the flustered woman with one hand as he balanced Lilith on his hip. "It's quite all right."
The nanny flushed red, hands wringing in apology, but fell silent under Caelum's mild, assessing gaze. The aide gave her a polite nod, then turned his sharp eyes back to the child.
Lilith's gaze drifted to Caelum, and her smile widened. With a delighted little squeal, she reached out her arms toward him.
"Kay-lum!" she demanded with the royal authority only a two-year-old can wield.
Clause huffed a breath of amusement. "I believe she wishes for you to hold her."
Caelum—impeccably composed, always precise—gave the briefest flicker of a smile. He set down the wineglass, stepping forward and taking the tiny girl with practiced, careful hands.
Lilith settled into his arms without fear, clapping her hands against his chest and grinning up at him, her crimson eyes wide with wonder.
"You're early for the battlefield, my lady," Caelum murmured, adjusting her weight with efficient ease. "But I suspect you'll command armies soon enough."
She babbled something in toddler-speak that may or may not have been "dragon," then patted his coat, utterly at ease, before starting to play with his long silky hair.
The nanny, still catching her breath, covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Clause shook his head, visibly lighter despite the weight of the morning. "It seems you've been recruited."
"I've faced worse," Caelum said drily, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as Lilith began to hum tunelessly against his shoulder.
Sunlight framed them both—the white-haired child with ruby eyes, and the cold, efficient man with dark blue hair who held her as if she were the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, the wind rustled through the gardens. In the bed chamber, a new life began as a young maid dashed into the lounge, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.
"Your Grace—the Duchess… she's delivered a son! Both are safe."
Time stopped for a breath. Then Clause let out a laugh—sharp, exhausted, and disbelieving. He then let himself fall down onto the nearest couch and finally closed his eyes in a relaxed manner.
Sebastian bowed deeply while Caelum gave a nod. "Congratulations, Your Grace. Silford rejoices."
And in the lounge, for one golden moment, all was well.
Soon after, without hesitation, the Duke scooped up Lilith, still nestled comfortably in Count Caelum Thorne's arms, and led the way through the room, following the maid to his bedroom with Caelum in tow.
They entered the chambers where the Duchess lay, pale but smiling, her red hair damp against the embroidered pillows. In her arms, swaddled in soft cream cloth, was the newborn boy—small, flushed, and peaceful.
Lilith wriggled in her father's arms, her snow-white curls bouncing as she leaned forward, eyes wide as freshly polished rubies. "Baby?" she whispered, voice hushed as if afraid to break the fragile moment.
The Duchess laughed softly and beckoned them closer. "Come, darling," she murmured, her voice weak but gentle. "Meet your brother."
Clause lowered Lilith to the bed, keeping one arm securely around her as she crawled the remaining distance. She peered at the infant with intense curiosity, her tiny fingers fidgeting with the lace hem of her sleeve.
"He's very small," she declared with the blunt honesty of her age.
"And very loved," her mother added with a soft smile.
Lilith tilted her head, her eyes studying the baby with unblinking seriousness. "I'm big sister now?" she asked, barely more than a breath.
"You are," the Duke confirmed, ruffling her snowy hair. "Your most important title yet." He then had to bite his lip, realizing the wrong in his sentence.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Lilith smiled—wide, pure, and radiant. "I like him," she announced decisively. "I'll protect him."
Caelum, standing a respectful distance away near the doorway, allowed the faintest ghost of a smile to touch his lips. His teal gaze softened—not with sentimentality, but with something deeper: an understanding of legacy, of threads newly woven into the great tapestry of the duchy's future.
Lilith, seemingly satisfied, began to babble softly to her newborn brother, her voice full of promises only a child could make: of dragons to be tamed, of tea parties, of knightly quests yet to come.
The baby slept on, oblivious to the oath just sworn over his cradle, oblivious how true those adventure promises will be.
And Caelum—Aide of Silford Duchy, swordsman, magician, silent guardian and the Emissary of Goddess of Chaos—stood watch in the golden light, as he always been over the past two years.
Year of Idite, 1161
The chapel was dim, lit only by flickering violet candles that cast strange, shifting shadows on the ancient stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of myrrh and old secrets. At the center stood the forgotten statue—the Goddess of Chaos, known only to a dwindling few as Akasha, Mistress of Blood, Mother of Monsters.
Five-year-old Lilith von Silford, her snow-white curls glinting in the candlelight, her ruby-red eyes wide with curiosity, knelt on a worn velvet cushion. Before her stood Count Caelum Thorne, tall and severe in black and red, his long dark blue hair gleaming like midnight silk, teal eyes gleaming with hidden truths.
"Do you know why we kneel here, child?" Caelum asked softly, his voice a low hum, gentle but firm.
Lilith shook her head, small hands resting in her lap. "Mama says I can't tell anyone about Her," she whispered, glancing at the statue's face.
"Good," Caelum murmured. He lowered himself to kneel beside her, folding his gloved hands. "The world above has forgotten. Worse—they have rewritten the truth. This is why you must learn."
He extended a finger, pointing to the statue's central figure: Akasha—arms outstretched, face twisted in sorrow, while also looking motherly and in fury at the same time. "Long ago, before even the cities were built, there was Chaos and there was Order. The two became one. They birthed four children, the so-called 'gods' worshipped in every city now: Idite of Earth, Pyra of Fire, Aeyar of Air, Apton of Water."
Lilith's red eyes blinked slowly. "I know those names… from the stories."
"Stories," Caelum echoed, voice cold, "are written by the victors."
He gestured toward the broken mosaic on the wall—a faded depiction of monsters, beasts twisted by time and myth. "The children feared the monsters their mother allowed to roam free. They demanded she destroy them."
Lilith's eyes widened in shock. "All the monsters? Even half monsters?"
Caelum nodded his head solemnly. "Even the demi-humans. When she refused, they betrayed her. They struck her down. It was Order, her beloved husband, who gave his life to shield her."
Lilith's small fingers crept toward his sleeve. "That's… sad," she murmured, lip trembling.
"Yes," Caelum said quietly. "And in her sorrow, Mother of Gods, released her power upon the world. The miasma, the monsters. And then, she vanished… and the lies began."
He shifted, letting her see the sigil hanging from his neck—the twin red moons with a droplet of blood, ancient and forbidden. "The Four who rule now painted her as evil. Her temples were destroyed. Her name was buried. And those who speak it—" he paused, eyes narrowing— "are hunted."
Lilith's voice was barely a breath: "Why do we remember her?"
Caelum's expression softened—not with warmth, but with an iron loyalty. "Because truth matters. Because she will rise again. And because…" His teal eyes met her ruby ones. "You matter."
The words sent a strange chill through the air, though Lilith was too young to understand their weight. She only frowned, puzzled.
"Am I… bad if I like her?" she asked in a small voice.
Caelum's lips curved in something rare—a genuine smile, faint as moonlight. He touched her hair gently. "No, child. It is not wicked to seek the truth. Remember this: chaos is not evil—it is freedom. It is life that changes, breathes, and cannot be caged."
He stood, offering her his hand. "Come. For today, that is enough."
Lilith took his hand without hesitation, her white strands of hair gleaming as she glanced once more at the Mother of Monsters.
In time, she would learn more. Of the old power sleeping in her blood, of how she was connected to the forgotten goddess.
But for now, she was just a girl, cradled in ancient shadows, unknowingly standing at the crossroads of gods and ruin.