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A Village of Shadows and Quiet Rebirth
Nestled deep within the misty valleys of the north, the village of Black Hollow sat hidden from the eyes of the world. It was a place of forgotten history, surrounded by dense forests and mountains that cast long shadows over its quiet roads.
The air carried the scent of damp earth and pine, the rivers ran deep and cold, and the people—survivors, outcasts, and those who had abandoned the kingdom—lived in quiet resilience.
Here, Modred was no longer a warrior of Astria.
He was a lord in exile, ruling over a village with no banners, no allegiance, only the silent promise of sanctuary.
The villagers were hardened souls, living off the land, skilled in trade, hunting, and craftsmanship. They had long ceased believing in kings, gods, or salvation.
But they believed in him.
A man who did not command them through fear—but through quiet, unwavering strength.
A ghost of war, now forging something new.
And tonight, within the walls of his home, his life was about to change forever.
---
The Night of Birth – A Father's Trial
The wooden house was filled with tension.
Modred stood outside the bedroom, his hands clenched into fists. He had fought demigods, monsters, and warriors beyond reason, but nothing had ever made him feel so powerless.
Inside, Seraphina's cries of pain echoed—a sound that sent a sharp, unbearable ache through his chest.
Dante leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His long black hair framed his sharp features, and though his presence was colder, more refined, there was an unspoken tension in his gaze.
"You look ready to storm the room and fight the midwives."
Luna, now visibly pregnant herself, chuckled softly.
"It's terrifying, isn't it? That feeling of not being able to do anything."
Modred said nothing.
His breathing was slow, controlled, but his crimson eyes burned with something raw.
Then—a cry pierced the air.
The first child.
And moments later—a second.
Everything inside him stilled.
Luna emerged first, her golden eyes shining. She didn't speak—she only smiled, soft and knowing.
Then, she nodded. "Go in."
---
The Birth of the Future – A Warrior's Tears
The room was dimly lit, the scent of burning lavender filling the air.
Seraphina lay on the bed, her face damp with sweat, exhaustion clinging to her features.
But in her arms—were two tiny, fragile bundles.
Modred took a step forward, then another. His boots felt too heavy, as if the weight of something unseen pressed down on him.
His hands trembled.
Seraphina looked up at him, her orange eyes glowing with warmth and something deeper—something that had only ever been reserved for him.
"Come meet them."
He moved to the bedside, his breath shallow, uncertain.
For all his power, all his victories, he had never felt small until this moment.
She pulled back the cloth gently, revealing the two smallest, most delicate beings he had ever seen.
His children.
One had his black hair, already wild despite its softness.
The other had Seraphina's fiery red hair, as if embers had been woven into the strands.
Both of them had his crimson eyes—his mark, his legacy.
He knelt beside the bed, his heart tightening painfully in his chest.
One of the babies stirred, tiny fingers twitching before curling weakly.
The other made a small noise, barely more than a breath.
Modred reached forward, his hand shaking slightly.
He had never hesitated in battle, but this—this was different.
When his fingertips brushed against their soft skin, something inside him—something buried beneath years of war, loss, and blood—finally shattered.
And before he could stop himself—a single tear fell from his eye.
He barely even noticed.
Seraphina did.
Her smile softened, and she reached up, brushing his cheek gently.
"Even you can cry, huh?" she whispered.
Modred exhaled sharply, blinking.
"…I didn't expect that."
Seraphina let out a tired laugh.
"They have that effect, don't they?"
Modred swallowed, his voice low. "What are their names?"
Seraphina hesitated, then looked at him.
"…I wanted you to decide."
Modred's fingers lightly curled around the tiny hand of his daughter with black hair.
"…Sylva."
Seraphina's lips parted slightly.
He glanced at the red-haired child next.
"And Lyra."
The names settled into the air, as if they had always belonged to them.
Sylva. The shadow. The silent one.
Lyra. The flame. The guiding light.
Seraphina exhaled softly.
"…Perfect."
Modred leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against hers.
His voice was low, steady.
"They will need strong names. The world is cruel."
Seraphina held his gaze.
"But we will raise them to survive it."
Something inside him steadied.
Something became unshakable.
"…Yes. We will."
---
A Father's Oath – The Promise of a King
The night deepened.
Outside, the village of Black Hollow remained quiet, its people unaware that two lives had just begun.
Modred stood by the bed, watching as his daughters slept, their tiny forms barely shifting beneath the blankets.
Seraphina, exhausted, had drifted off beside them.
He reached down, his hand lightly brushing their foreheads.
His mind was filled with the battles yet to come.
The war he could not avoid.
The gods who would come for them.
And yet, for the first time in his life, he felt truly unafraid.
Because now—he had something to protect.
Not just a cause. Not just revenge.
A family. A future. A home.
He turned slightly as Dante leaned against the doorway.
His old comrade smirked. "So, the great demon of Astria is a father now. How's it feel?"
Modred exhaled.
"It feels… like everything has changed."
Dante chuckled. "Well, you better not screw it up. We're watching."
Modred didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped back toward the bed, lowering himself beside Seraphina.
And as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, he whispered his final oath of the night.
"No matter what happens, I will protect you. I will protect them. I will protect this home."
Seraphina stirred slightly, a soft smile appearing on her lips.
Modred closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long, long while—he felt whole.