Chapter 2: Birth of a Disgrace

The Von Schwarzenwald estate was a place where opulence and power were tangible. The towering halls, adorned with banners of generations past, seemed to hum with an ancient magic, as though the very walls had absorbed the pride and might of its storied lineage. Yet, for all its grandeur, beneath the surface of this majestic estate, darkness lingered, not in the form of shadows but in the hearts of those who called it home.

And it was here, in the heart of Elyria's most feared and revered family, that a child was born. A birth that should have been celebrated by the entire continent—a new addition to the Von Schwarzenwald dynasty, a name that struck both awe and terror into the hearts of those who heard it. But this child's arrival would bring only sorrow, a seed of disgrace that would grow into a source of shame for the great house.

---

The winter of that year was bitter, even for Elyria. The snow fell heavier than it had in decades, blanketing the landscape in an unforgiving frost that froze rivers and buried roads. The people of the capital huddled in their homes, murmuring superstitious fears about omens and curses. In the distance, the Von Schwarzenwald estate stood tall, its walls unyielding against the elements, much like the family that inhabited it.

Inside the estate, however, there was an air of excitement, a rare and fleeting joy that spread among the servants and guards. Lady Amara von Schwarzenwald, the wife of William von Schwarzenwald, was due to give birth to their third child. The marriage had been a political alliance more than anything, but over the years, there had been whispers of affection between the two—a faint glimmer of warmth in an otherwise cold and calculating household.

Lady Amara was not like the other noblewomen. She possessed a quiet strength, a grace that charmed even the most hardened hearts. Her magic, unlike William's destructive force, was one of healing and nature. She could make the land bloom in the dead of winter, and her presence brought a sense of calm to the estate that was otherwise dominated by her husband's looming aura. She was loved by the people and respected by the nobility. To the outside world, it seemed that she was the perfect counterpart to William's ruthless ambition.

But the truth, as with all things in the Von Schwarzenwald family, was more complicated.

---

The labor was long and difficult, a grueling affair that lasted through the night and well into the next day. The midwives whispered among themselves, exchanging nervous glances as they attended to Lady Amara. Something was wrong. Her vitality, which had always been so strong, seemed to be draining with each passing hour. She was weakening before their eyes, her skin growing pale, her breathing shallow. It was as though the very act of bringing this child into the world was siphoning away her life force.

In the midst of it all, William von Schwarzenwald stood by the door, his expression cold, his eyes unreadable. He had been present for the birth of his other two children, each one a perfect heir to the family's legacy. His firstborn, Marcus, had been gifted with immense fire magic, a true prodigy who could summon infernos with a flick of his wrist. His second child, Seraphina, was no less impressive, her mastery of wind magic unparalleled even at a young age. Both children had proven themselves worthy of the Von Schwarzenwald name.

But this third child… William had no expectations. He knew better than anyone the cost of hoping for something great when the odds were against you. His own past still haunted him, the years spent as a disappointment, an outcast in his own family. It wasn't until he had embraced the darkness that he had finally risen above his weak bloodline. And now, with this new child, he feared he might see a reflection of his own failure.

As the hours dragged on, William's patience thinned. The midwives worked tirelessly, their hands shaking as they tried to comfort Lady Amara, whose cries had grown weaker, her strength nearly gone. The child was coming, but at a terrible cost.

Finally, as the dawn broke over the snow-covered hills, the cry of a newborn pierced the silence. The baby, a boy, was born.

But instead of the triumphant cheers that usually followed such a moment, there was only a tense, oppressive silence.

The midwives rushed to clean the child, casting wary glances toward Lady Amara. She lay still, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her once vibrant eyes were now dull, and her skin had taken on an ashen hue. Her magic, her life force, was draining away, as if something dark had latched onto her very soul.

"Your son, my lord," one of the midwives said hesitantly, handing the infant to William. The baby's cries were faint, his body frail and fragile in William's arms.

William gazed down at the child, his expression unreadable. The baby looked small—too small for a Von Schwarzenwald. His eyes, still closed, and his skin, pale like his mother's, seemed to mock William's hopes.

But there was something more. Something… wrong.

The child's presence felt muted. There was no surge of magic, no aura of power that should have been there, even in a newborn. William's breath caught in his throat. The boy felt ordinary, like a commoner.

William's grip tightened around the swaddled child.

A failure.

The same fear and rage that had haunted him all those years ago surged to the surface. The same feeling of inadequacy, of being less than everyone else, of being trapped in the shadow of a great name with nothing to show for it.

And now, this child—this disgrace—was born into his family.

---

Lady Amara's weak voice broke through his thoughts. "William…"

He turned toward her, still holding the child in his arms. Her face was pale, sweat-drenched hair clinging to her skin, but her eyes, though clouded with exhaustion, still held warmth. She smiled faintly at the sight of their son.

"Let me… hold him," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

William hesitated for a moment, his mind torn between disgust at the child's weakness and an unfamiliar pang of sympathy for his wife. He handed the baby over, watching as she cradled him gently, her touch tender and full of love.

"He's beautiful," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "He's perfect."

William said nothing. In his eyes, perfection was a myth, an illusion created by those too weak to acknowledge the truth. And the truth was that their son was anything but perfect. He was a disgrace to the bloodline, a stain on the family name. No amount of love from his mother would change that.

As Lady Amara held the child close, something strange began to happen. Her already frail body seemed to weaken even further, her breath becoming ragged, her skin growing colder. The midwives rushed to her side, panic setting in as they tried to stabilize her.

"My lady, you must rest!" one of the midwives urged, but Amara shook her head weakly.

"No… I must… hold him…" she murmured, her grip tightening around the child.

William watched in silence, his heart a mixture of cold fury and helplessness. He knew what was happening. He could feel it. The birth of this child had triggered something, something dark that was sapping away his wife's life force. It was as if the boy's very existence was a curse, a leech draining the magic that had once made Amara so strong.

"William…" Amara whispered again, her voice now barely a breath. "Promise me… you'll protect him…"

For the first time since the birth, William's expression shifted. His eyes, once hard and unyielding, softened ever so slightly as he gazed at his wife. Despite everything, despite his hatred for the weakness he saw in their child, he still loved her. And as he looked into her fading eyes, he knew there was no denying her last request.

"I… promise," he said quietly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

A faint smile crossed Amara's lips as her eyes fluttered closed. The midwives rushed to act, casting healing spells and whispering incantations, but it was no use. Her life force had been drained beyond saving.

William stood in the center of the room, watching in silence as his wife—the only person who had ever truly loved him—took her final breath. The baby in her arms, too small and fragile, whimpered softly as if sensing the loss.

The room fell silent.

---

The death of Lady Amara von Schwarzenwald cast a shadow over the estate that would linger for years. In the days that followed, the staff whispered of curses, of dark magic that had claimed her life. But none dared speak openly of it, not in front of Lord William.

He had changed after her death. The coldness that had once been tempered by her presence now dominated his every action. He became more ruthless, more distant. His children, Marcus and Seraphina, grew up under his watchful, unforgiving gaze, their every move scrutinized, their every success met with expectations of more. And the third child? The boy who had been born the night his mother died?

He was forgotten.

---

William kept his promise. He kept the boy alive. But that was all. The child, named Elias, grew up in the shadows of the estate, cared for by servants, but never given the same attention as his elder siblings. To William, he was a reminder of weakness, of failure. He had