The group walked slowly back to Edward's Manor, the autumn air crisp and sharp as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the path. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the road, and the golden hues of the evening light danced across the grass, painting the world in a soft, warm glow. It was a serene atmosphere—almost too tranquil, out of place amid the weight of the thoughts pressing down on their hearts.
Eleanor walked closely beside Arthas, her arms protectively wrapped around Aldrich, who clutched her slender fingers with his small hands. The child's innocent laughter rang out like a soft melody—a fragile light amid the growing gloom that surrounded them.
"Mama?" Aldrich's voice, high-pitched and unsure, broke the stillness like a pebble dropped into a quiet stream.
Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. She had been lost in thought, trying to shield herself from the ever-darkening clouds of worry gathering in her mind. She looked down at Aldrich, her heart swelling with love and tenderness. A soft smile curled her lips, and her eyes brightened with a fleeting moment of joy.
She glanced sideways at Arthas, a teasing glint flickering in her eyes. "Well, well," she murmured with mischief in her voice, "he called me first."
Arthas hesitated, his steps faltering as he processed her words. He turned to her with a subtle grin tugging at his lips, though a faint shadow of unease lingered behind his expression.
Eleanor's smile deepened as she knelt to Aldrich's level, her voice warm and gentle. "Yes, my love?" she asked, brushing her fingers lovingly through his soft hair.
Aldrich's little mouth moved, trying to form the words. "Are you okay?" he asked, voice uncertain but sincere, each syllable filled with an innocent concern that pierced her heart.
Eleanor's chest tightened. For a moment, time stood still. Her gaze darkened beneath the weight she carried—but she quickly masked the storm within her, smoothing her features with the practiced calm of a mother who has cried in silence. Her smile returned, gentler now, tinged with sorrow.
"No, my dear. Nothing's wrong," she whispered, though a faint tremor betrayed her. She pulled Aldrich close, cradling him in her arms as she began to hum a lullaby, letting the melody soothe not just him—but herself.
Arthas watched silently, his heart heavy. He turned toward Viscount Edward, searching his face for understanding—for something he himself couldn't name.
Leaning in, his voice low and tight, Arthas asked, "Have you seen this before... when your children were blessed by the All-Mother?" His question carried a quiet fear, one he could no longer hide.
Edward's expression shifted. He looked down, his boots crunching the gravel louder than before. "No, lad," he said with a sigh, his voice thick with unease. "This is different… I can't explain it, but it unsettles me." His eyes flicked toward Aldrich, a shadow darkening his features. "I just hope nothing bad happens to the child."
For a man so often jovial and assured, Edward's vulnerability was stark. The confident veneer cracked—revealing the father beneath, afraid for the ones he loved.
Eleanor caught the exchange. Her expression softened, her eyes reflecting the same quiet dread. The silence that followed between them spoke louder than words—a shared weight they all carried.
Arthas stepped to her side. He ruffled Aldrich's hair with a gentleness that defied the strength of his calloused hands. Then he bent slightly, meeting his son's eyes.
"Aldrich," he said, his voice firm but warm, "I'll train you to be a warrior. Would you like that?"
Eleanor's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with protective fire. "You're not serious, are you?" Her voice was quiet, but the sharpness in it cut deep. Her gaze bore into him. She couldn't imagine her tiny, smiling boy wielding weapons, spilling blood. She would shield him—even from his father.
But Aldrich, blissfully unaware of the tension rising between his parents, looked up at Arthas with wide, excited eyes. He nodded eagerly. "Yes, Father!" he chirped, raising his little hand in an awkward salute, mimicking the soldiers he'd seen.
The gesture, so pure and full of intent, drew soft chuckles from the group. Even the stern-faced escorts smiled. In that moment, Aldrich was no warrior—just a boy, eager to make his father proud.
Eleanor's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. She smiled—but behind that smile was an aching fear. She knew life would test him. She glanced at Arthas again. No words passed between them, but the air pulsed with unspoken promises—and unspoken grief.
Their footsteps echoed with the rhythm of falling leaves. The silhouette of the manor rose ahead, framed by the dying light of the sun. The path widened, the trees fell away, and the scent of earth mingled with smoke from distant hearths.
Then—without warning—Marvin appeared.
The Apprentice Mage strolled along the path with theatrical flair.
"Greetings, Viscount Edward," Marvin said with an exaggerated bow. He nodded to Arthas and Eleanor, but his eyes lingered too long on Aldrich. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—curiosity, or perhaps calculation—before being masked behind his smirk.
Edward's jaw tightened. His hopes for a peaceful evening soured in an instant. "I heard from Arthas that you scammed him out of two gold for a few drops of mana potion?" His voice was low, sharp.
Marvin chuckled, unconcerned. "It wasn't scamming, Father. Mana potions are expensive," he said with a shrug, voice laced with smug charm.
Edward's eyes narrowed. "That potion came from me," he snapped. "Don't abuse your title to cheat my people."
Though father and son shared resemblance, the gulf between their values was glaring. Marvin's arrogance grated on Edward like sand against stone.
Turning to Eleanor and Arthas, Marvin said casually, "I heard your child was blessed by the All-Mother. What was the result? He looks sharp—surely a mage?"
Eleanor's smile vanished. Her body stiffened.
Edward stepped in before she could speak. "That's not your place, boy," he said coldly.
Marvin waved him off. "Relax, Father. I'm just making conversation." His gaze returned to Aldrich, sharp and appraising. "His eyes… they're brighter. I'd love to be his mentor when he starts."
Something about his tone—too casual, too cold—sent a chill down Eleanor's spine.
Without waiting for a reply, Marvin turned and walked away, his boots crunching on the gravel, leaving behind a silence thick and uneasy.
Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That boy… I'm sorry for his words, Eleanor."
She let out a tired laugh. "It's alright, you old fool. Maybe ease up on him a bit. He was just trying to tease you." She nudged him lightly, but her eyes remained troubled.
They finally reached the Manor. Edward placed a hand on Arthas' shoulder. "Come. There's something we must discuss."
"What is it, Milord?" Arthas asked, closing the door behind them.
Edward's face darkened. "The orcs in the South—they're mobilizing this winter. Kingdom intelligence confirms it."
Arthas stiffened. "Is it certain?"
Edward nodded grimly. "Straight from the Third Prince's men."
Prince Samuel Bravemoore, their liege, had long relied on warriors like Arthas. And now, the time had come again.
Arthas exhaled slowly, a cold weight settling in his chest. "What do you need me to do?"
"Lead our army," Edward said firmly, meeting his eyes.
Arthas straightened, resolve hardening his spine—though the thought of leaving Aldrich ached deep in his bones. "Yes, Milord."
"We march in one month."
Arthas nodded. Then he returned to the living room with a forced smile.
"Hey Aldrich, want to explore Lord Viscount's manor with me?"
"Sure, Father!" Aldrich beamed.
"Go on, you two," Eleanor said, chuckling. "I'll stay here and enjoy some tea."
"Thank you, dear." Arthas scooped Aldrich up, and they vanished down the hall.
Eleanor smiled faintly—until Edward's voice broke the moment.
"How are you holding up, lass?" he asked, his tone softer than usual.
She sighed, closing her eyes. "I told you—I'm fine." But the edge of irritation in her voice couldn't hide the fragility beneath.
Edward leaned forward, his voice quieter. "You know what I mean, little girly. The attack… back when you were still carrying the lad."
"I'm recovering. Thanks to potions. And I'm happy—I brought Aldrich into this world." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the pain that still haunted her.
Edward nodded slowly. "Ellie… the priest's blessing was holy, yes. But it felt… wrong. Like something that shouldn't be."
A shiver ran down Eleanor's spine. His words echoed her own fear—the one she had buried for months.
"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking, "just let me be happy."
The silence that followed was heavy, raw.
After a pause, Edward added, "If you need help, you can stay here in the Viscounty, especially when Arthas and I march. My retainers will tend to you."
Then, without another word, he left her alone.
Eleanor breathed out, exhaling the fear she'd been holding.
'I know that spell particularly well,' she thought.
It hadn't been for her—it had been for her unborn child. She knew it. And their prime suspect? An enemy of Arthas. Orc—or human.
Being his wife came with luxuries… but also dangers. She had to be careful—of everything. Especially after last year…
Flashback – One Year Ago
The Road Between Kane's Town and Aldenreach City
The Kane family carriage rocked gently along the cobbled road, the rhythmic clatter of wheels blending with the occasional chirp of birds from the trees lining the trail. The sun hung low, casting dappled light through the canopy—an almost idyllic scene.
Inside, Eleanor sat with her hands resting on her swollen belly, her breath steady, a tired smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Arthas and Magnus sat across from her, the tension of a long journey beginning to ease.
"Just a few more hours," Magnus muttered, stretching his arms with a groan. "I swear, if I don't sleep in a proper bed soon, I'll throw myself off this carriage."
Arthas gave a quiet chuckle. "You're too soft, boy. A Kane should endure longer than this. Your brother will be back from his studies soon—and you'll need to start finding your own path into nobility."
Magnus looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yes, Father."
"Shh," Eleanor whispered, eyes closed, her voice light but firm. "You're both giving me a headache. Let me enjoy some peace. The baby doesn't like it when you argue."
"Yes, Mother."
"Of course, dear."
For a moment, everything felt warm. Whole. Safe.
Then—twang.
A sharp snap in the distance. Then another. And another.
Eleanor's eyes flew open.
Thud. Thud. THUD.
Arrows slammed into the carriage roof like war drums.
"AMBUSH!" someone screamed outside.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
Steel rang. Hooves screamed. Men cried out.
The carriage rocked violently as the horses neighed in panic.
Arthas's eyes flashed with fury. "Protect her!" he growled to Magnus, drawing his blade.
"Wait—"
"Stay with your mother!" Arthas roared, kicking the door open.
Light and chaos spilled in. He leapt out—and slammed the door shut behind him.
Magnus drew his sword, teeth clenched. "Stay back, Mother. I'll handle anyone who comes near."
Eleanor clutched her belly, pale, trembling. "No… no, not now. Not when I'm so close—"
Then—cold.
A shadow slipped through the seam of the door like smoke.
The temperature dropped, the air thickening with something… wrong.
From the darkness, a figure emerged—hooded, face obscured by a shifting black veil, eyes burning green beneath it.
"The target is within," it hissed.
The voice wasn't human. It echoed, layered—like several mouths speaking at once.
Magnus lunged. "GET AWAY FROM HER!"
Steel met nothing. The figure moved like mist, phasing aside, impossible to follow.
"The child," it hissed again, hand crackling with a vile, pulsating glow—red and green, like poison and flame made flesh. "The spawn must not live. By the Creator's will—"
Eleanor screamed. Magnus threw himself forward.
But the spell flew first.
CRACK.
A bolt of vile magic slammed into Eleanor's chest—just above her womb.
She gasped. Her back arched, eyes wide with agony.
"NO!" Magnus howled.
He hurled his dagger with all the strength he could muster, aura flaring in a desperate burst. The blade struck true—embedding itself into the creature's shoulder.
The thing shrieked. Its form flickered—dissolving like mist in sunlight. It staggered, hissed, and vanished into smoke, retreating as fast as it had come.
Magnus dropped his sword, catching Eleanor before she could fall.
"Mother—Mother, stay with me!" His hands trembled as he touched her face, her skin clammy and pale. "Please. Please!"
Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes fluttered.
He could hear pounding footsteps.
The carriage door burst open—Arthas. Bloodied, wild-eyed.
"HAH! We beat the bastards—"
Then he saw her. The color drained from his face. His sword clattered to the floor.
"…Magnus. What happened?"
His voice was a whisper. A prayer. A curse.
Magnus looked up, his arms still wrapped around Eleanor's unconscious form. His eyes were wide, stricken.
"I— I couldn't stop it. I wasn't fast enough."
Arthas dropped to his knees beside them, gathering Eleanor into his arms.
Outside, the battle had ended.
But inside that carriage—something far more terrible had begun.