In the Alpin Kingdom's Castle — Snowfall Night
A soft knock. The heavy oak door creaked open on ancient hinges.A maid entered, breath misting in the cold chamber. Her linen apron trembled in the moonlight.
"Congratulations, my Lord. It's a boy."
Arthur Alpin sat by the window, silver hair cropped neat above cold blue eyes. His gloved hand tapped the armrest — not with joy, but calculation.Wrapped in black from boots to high collar, he looked more like a funeral's master than a new father.
He didn't rise. He didn't smile.His voice slid from his throat like a blade from its sheath.
"Where is it?"
The maid swallowed. "L-Lady Diana sleeps, my Lord. Weak, but alive. The child is beside her."
Without a word, Arthur stood. His coat whispered over polished marble as he walked — a wolf come to sniff his cub, not cradle it.
Inside the bedchamber, golden braziers flickered in the draft. Diana lay pale and frail, sweat matting her fair hair to her temples. Next to her, the baby slept — a scrap of cloth swaddling a future yet unproven.
Arthur stared at the infant as if judging a flawed gemstone.
"Fetch the butler."
The maid scurried off like a startled mouse.
Joe arrived soon after. Old. Upright. White hair bound tight behind his ears. He bowed low — but behind the mask, grief simmered.
She bore you this child through pain and near death. And this is your greeting?
"You called, my Lord?"
Arthur didn't glance up. "Bring the mana recorder."
Joe inclined his head, hiding the pity in his eyes. The babe hasn't even cried yet, and you weigh him like coin on a scale.
He returned swiftly, breath fogging the glass cube cradled in gloved hands. A crystalline core pulsed faintly within — waiting to judge.
Arthur took the recorder without ceremony. He grasped the baby's tiny wrist, pressing soft flesh to hard fate.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then — a swirl of sickly violet.
Joe's pulse stilled. Ah, gods. Vessel.
Arthur's eyes narrowed, a viper testing its next strike."Explain."
Joe's voice stayed level, though sorrow burned in his chest."Purple means vessel, my Lord. He holds no natural affinity. No spark for mana. No marrow for Qi. He is… empty."
The child mewled. A fragile, human sound. It bounced off Arthur's stony silence and died there.
"Speak plainly."
Joe's throat worked. "A waste, my Lord."
For an instant — just an instant — grief for the boy's fate curled Joe's old hands into fists behind his back.
Arthur exhaled, disgust twitching his thin lips. "Prepare a carriage. And a chest of gold. By sunrise, this mistake is gone."
Bastard. You have killed him in your heart before he could say 'Father'.
"My Lord," Joe dared softly. "Lady Diana— when she wakes—"
A flick of the wrist. As if brushing dirt from a boot."Tell her the child died before dawn. She'll weep a week, then thank me."
Beyond the Castle Gates — Snow Lashing the Night
Lanterns swayed on frost-bitten poles as servants struggled with the heavy chest of coin. Joe stood silent by the carriage, thick cloak hiding the heartbeat curled beneath.
He heard them whisper.
"Why send this at night?""Hush. Do you want your tongue nailed to the wall?"
Joe's voice cracked the cold like iron."Enough chatter. Mount up. We ride now."
Inside his cloak, the baby twitched, a faint warmth Joe would protect at any cost.Not the church, Arthur. Not your filthy hush-money. Over my bones.
Mountain Orphanage — Just Before Dawn
The iron gates groaned as Joe trudged through knee-deep drifts, boots soaked, heart steady. The servants behind him carried the gold — but only Joe carried the boy.
One gasped when they saw the bundle in his arms."Sir Joe… you—"
Joe's glare cut him to silence. "Bring the pastor. Now."
Snow drifted onto the baby's soft cheeks. Joe shifted the child closer to his chest, a human shield against the wind.
"Sleep, little shadow. You are not Arthur's spawn anymore. You are mine to deliver from hell."
When the pastor appeared — robes half-wrapped, breath steaming — Joe wasted no time.
"This boy," he rasped, voice like stone ground on stone, "is the true firstborn of Arthur Alpin. He is nothing to that snake now. To you, he is an orphan — nameless. You will feed him. Shelter him. Teach him no pride of that house."
The pastor's mouth opened, shut. "And… Lady Diana?"
Joe's mask cracked — sorrow flickering like a candle before a gale."Tell her nothing. Let her believe her boy sleeps among angels."
He pressed the baby — the only warmth left in his old bones — into the pastor's arms.
"Amon," Joe whispered against the boy's ear. "Grow strong. Grow cruel, if you must. When the day comes… devour the kingdom that cast you out."
He flicked his wrist. Fire danced across parchment — Arthur's lie, burned to ash in the falling snow.
As the gates swung closed behind him, Joe turned one last time.A smile, ragged but true, ghosted his lips.
Forgive this old fool. This is the only war I have left in me.