In a dark world ruled by war and suffering, on the continent of Mirellen, in a small town under the Kingdom of Gravemire, the long-awaited prayers of a poor couple were finally about to be answered.
Edward and Clara had been married for nearly four years. Though they lived modestly and struggled to make ends meet, their humble home was filled with warmth and love. Edward, 25, was once a knight. With his tanned skin, dark brown eyes, and towering height of 1.88 meters, he still gave off an aura of strength and protection. Clara, at 24, had brown hair, black eyes, and soft, refined features that gave her a quiet yet striking beauty. She stood around 1.70 meters tall and was eight months pregnant.
That morning, Edward returned from hunting beasts in the forest. Sheathing his sword, he packed up the supplies he'd gathered. Though tired, he was filled with anticipation.
"I wonder what my lovely wife has prepared today?" he mused.
---
A few hours later, he arrived home to find Clara standing on the table, cleaning the windows. Smiling, he walked over, gently helped her down, and took the cloth from her hand.
"My love," he said softly, "leave this kind of work to me. You might fall. You need to be careful."
Clara smiled in return. "You're right… I'm sorry," she replied in a quiet tone. Then, taking a deep breath, she added, "I'm just... restless. This birth has me so excited."
That evening, they shared dinner and went to bed early. But just before dawn, the house echoed with a scream. Edward jolted awake. It was Clara—her labor had begun.
He quickly laid her down and ran out of the house. Shortly after, he returned with an elderly woman. Her white hair and the deep lines around her eyes spoke of the wisdom carried by many years. She was one of the most respected healers in the town.
The baby was coming early—much earlier than expected. This filled both Edward and Clara with dread. As Clara cried out in pain, Edward gripped her hand tightly, trying to support her with his gaze.
After long, agonizing minutes, the child was finally born… but an eerie silence followed.
There was no crying. No movement. No… breath.
The healer turned to the couple with sorrow etched deep into her features.
"May the gods grant you strength," she said softly. "The child isn't breathing…"
Clara's eyes widened. She looked from the healer to her husband, her gaze filled with denial and terror.
"No!" she screamed, snatching the baby from the healer's arms. Her voice trembled, "This… this can't be… My baby… No, please, no…"
Edward wrapped his sobbing wife in his arms. Though he was crumbling inside, he knew he had to be strong—for her.
---
A week passed. Grief lingered in the house like a heavy mist. Clara had not recovered from the trauma.
What if they never had another child?
The thought was slowly breaking her spirit. That desperation drove them deep into the forest, to an ancient temple.
The temple stood cloaked in ivy, its stone walls worn by time, with a towering statue of a goddess watching over it. Clara knelt before the statue, tears streaming down her face.
"Please… grant us one more chance…"
On the way back, Edward supported Clara's weary steps with his arm. They walked in silence, when suddenly, a faint sound echoed from the forest.
A baby was crying.
At first, they thought they were imagining it. But the sound persisted—clear, real, and desperate.
Clara suddenly let go of Edward's arm and ran toward the source of the sound. He followed quickly behind.
Just a short distance ahead, on the stump of a fallen tree, lay an abandoned infant. Crying... shivering... but alive.
Edward approached cautiously. "Clara… This child may belong to someone. Maybe he's lost," he said warily.
But Clara's eyes sparkled with conviction. She turned to him firmly and said,
"No, they abandoned him. Can't you see? The gods sent him to us."
And as she cradled the child in her arms, she whispered:
"He is fate's gift to us."