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The sky was wrong.
It wasn't the soft blue spoken of in old lullabies, nor the golden dawn painted across temple ceilings. It was red—deep, suffocating red—stained with long streaks of black clouds that twisted like torn flesh. The wind screamed through the settlement at the edge of Aurelion, carrying with it the bitter scent of ash and iron drifting from the Outer Lands.
A sky like this never meant peace.
Inside a modest wooden house, Aurélia Strauss screamed.
Her black hair clung messily to her sweat-soaked face, strands sticking to her cheeks and neck. Her breath came in sharp, broken gasps as pain tore through her body in relentless waves. Her fingers dug into the coarse sheets beneath her, nails scraping wood as she cried out again.
The child refused to come easily.
Outside the room, Maxmilian Strauss paced like a trapped animal.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
His boots struck the floor in uneven rhythm. His short brown hair was damp with sweat despite the cold air leaking through the walls. Light-brown eyes—eyes that had stared into demon maws and survived—kept snapping back to the closed door.
He had fought in the Outer Lands. He had run with blood in his mouth and steel in his hands.
Yet this— this waiting— was worse than any battlefield.
Another scream tore through the house.
Maxmilian clenched his fists so tightly his nails drew blood.
"Please…" he whispered hoarsely. "Hold on."
The door creaked open.
An elderly woman stepped out, her back bent by age, her gray hair bound beneath a worn cloth. Her hands trembled slightly—and they were stained red.
"Mr. Strauss…" she began, then faltered.
Maxmilian rushed to her at once, dropping to his knees without thought. "Please," he said, pressing his palms together. "Just tell me."
The woman swallowed. "The baby… he's stuck. Your wife fainted from the pain."
The words struck harder than any demon's blow.
Maxmilian bowed his head until it touched the floor.
"I beg you," he said, voice breaking. "Try once more. Please. I'll give anything."
The woman studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Pray," she said softly. "And wait."
She turned and closed the door behind her.
The house went silent—too silent.
Maxmilian pressed his forehead against the cold wood.
"Oh God," he whispered. "Ruler of this world… if you exist… I don't ask for strength or fortune. Just let them live."
Outside, the wind howled louder, rattling the shutters. Somewhere far beyond the fields, something roared.
Then—
A sound.
Weak. Fragile. Alive.
A child's cry.
Maxmilian froze.
His breath hitched as tears spilled freely down his face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice shaking. "Thank you… for this gift."
The door opened again.
"Come in, Mr. Strauss."
He stumbled to his feet and rushed inside.
Aurélia lay exhausted upon the bed, her face pale but peaceful. In her trembling arms, wrapped in cloth, was a tiny, crying child—red-faced, fists clenched as if already angry at the world.
"You're a father now," she said weakly, smiling through exhaustion.
The old woman chuckled quietly. "It's a boy. Strong lungs too. You're lucky."
Outside, the red-black sky finally began to fade.
The sun rose slowly, staining the clouds orange, as if the world itself was ashamed of the night before.
Later, when the house had grown quiet, Aurélia turned her head and smiled knowingly.
"Mr. Maxmilian Strauss," she teased gently. "Were you crying? Your eyes are red."
He laughed awkwardly and wiped his face. "Maybe," he admitted.
She pulled him closer, the child nestled between them. "You'll have to work harder now," she said softly. "Two people will be waiting for you at home."
"I know," he said without hesitation. "And I will."
She looked down at the child. "What should we name him?"
Maxmilian hesitated, then spoke quietly. "Rexor."
Aurélia repeated it softly. "Rexor… de Strauss."
She smiled. "It suits him."
Maxmilian lowered his gaze, embarrassed. "Like you."
---
Years passed quietly.
Days blurred into weeks. Weeks folded into months. Months into years.
By the time Rexor turned four, the world had already begun teaching him fear—though he didn't yet understand its shape.
"Did you take your sword?" Aurélia asked one morning, standing at the doorway.
Maxmilian adjusted the leather strap across his chest. The sword at his side bore nicks and scars from countless encounters. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry."
"The Outer Lands are restless lately," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied. "But we don't have a choice."
Silence lingered between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
"Are you going to the shop today?" Maxmilian asked.
Aurélia nodded. "I'll take Rexor with me."
"That's good," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll be back by sunset."
He waved once before walking toward the distant wastelands, where the earth turned gray and the sky always seemed darker.
Aurélia closed the door and turned toward the small bedroom.
"Wake up, sleepyhead."
Rexor stirred, rubbing his eyes. When he saw his mother's smile, he sat up at once.
"We're going to the shop today," she said.
"Really?!" he shouted, leaping from the bed.
"Kitchen first," she laughed.
As they ate, Rexor asked, "Where's father?"
"The Outer Lands," Aurélia replied.
"Why do we call it that?"
"Because people don't live there."
Rexor tilted his head. "Then who does?"
She hesitated. "Demons."
Rexor went quiet for a moment. "Father goes there," he said softly. "He must be brave."
Aurélia smiled, though her hands trembled slightly. "Yes," she said. "He is."
---
The market buzzed with life.
Merchants shouted prices, children ran between stalls, and the air was thick with the scent of fruit, spice, and sweat. Their small fruit shop stood among dozens of others, its wooden crates filled with vibrant produce—some glowing faintly, others oddly shaped.
"Father brings these," Rexor said proudly.
Aurélia nodded. "From dangerous places."
A group of knights passed by, armor scratched and stained.
"Who are they?" Rexor asked.
"Knights," she answered.
"Why?"
"Because they protect us."
"How?"
She paused. "They train… and fight."
Rexor stared at them longer than necessary.
As the sun dipped low, they closed the shop and returned home.
That night, Maxmilian returned safely.
"No demons today," he said tiredly.
"The gods must be watching," Aurélia replied.
Rexor ran into his arms. "Father! You'll train me!"
Maxmilian looked at his wife. She nodded.
"Yes," he said. "But first—you eat, and you sleep."
Under the pale moonlight, the Strauss family ate together—unaware that the peace they shared was already slipping through the cracks of the world.
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