Builder's Child

The grand halls of the Harlow Empire's castle were in chaos. Maids rushed from one corridor to another, their hurried steps echoing against the polished marble floors. The palace was alive with the news—

The Empress was giving birth.

Outside the royal chambers, Emperor Gallio Harlow V stood with his hands clasped tightly, his lips moving in a silent prayer to the goddess of fertility. His sharp eyes, usually filled with regal confidence, now flickered with anxiety.

At his side, a five-year-old girl clung to his robe, her dark hair shimmering in the candlelight of the hallway. Beside her, a four-year-old boy stood, gripping his sister's hand, his tiny face mirroring his father's worry.

"Father, is mother going to be okay?" the girl asked, her voice trembling.

"She is strong," Gallio reassured, though his own heart pounded with uncertainty. He turned to the minister beside him. "Tell me, Minister Oswald, will everything proceed as it should? Are you sure the best maids are helping my empress?"

The elderly minister bowed his head. "Your Gracious, do not fret. The gods watch over the Empress and your child. All will unfold as the Creator wills."

"I hope so," the Emperor murmured, gazing at the grand double doors leading to the birthing chamber.

A piercing scream broke the silence, sending a shiver through everyone's spine. The Emperor's breath hitched, his hands curling into fists. But then, just as suddenly as it came, the screams ceased. A hush fell over the castle.

The silence was unbearable—until the first cry of a newborn filled the air.

Relief flooded the Emperor's chest. Smiles broke out among the servants. Moments later, a maid rushed out, her face beaming. "Your Majesty! The Empress has safely delivered—a healthy baby boy!"

A collective sigh of relief spread through the hall. Gallio smiled, nodding in satisfaction. "Another Harlow blood to carry the greatness of our empire," he declared, before turning to his two older children. "Go with the maids for now. I must see your mother."

The children obeyed, though they cast worried glances back as the Emperor stepped into the chamber. They wanted to run to their mother, but knowing something was going on without the understanding, they obeyed their father.

Inside, the warm glow of candlelight illuminated the exhausted but smiling Empress Matilda. Her dark curls clung to her damp forehead, and she looked up at her husband with tired yet joyous eyes. In her arms, wrapped in the softest silk, was their newborn son.

Gallio approached with a proud smile, eager to see his new heir. But as he looked closer, his expression faltered.

The child was gripping something in his tiny fist.

Gallio's heart pounded in confusion. "What… what is he holding?"

The midwife hesitated before stepping forward, her voice uncertain. "It appears to be… a pickaxe, Your Majesty."

A pickaxe which was so small that it looked like a mere toy, but it also had a golden hue.

Gallio's blood ran cold. At first, he laughed, thinking it some strange miracle. But the weight of the situation quickly sank in. The room grew tense as he stared at the crude tool in his son's hand. His smile disappeared.

Matilda's brow furrowed. "Gallio? What's wrong?"

The Emperor didn't respond. He merely stared at the child, his jaw clenched. His breathing grew heavier, his mind racing.

"This cannot be," he muttered under his breath. "Is this a miracle? If so why is this a pickaxe?"

Matilda looked at him with concern. "Gallio?"

He turned to Minister Oswald, his voice sharp. "Summon the priests. Now."

Hours passed, and the Emperor sat at the edge of the grand bed, his hands gripping his knees. His face was etched with disappointment and something deeper—distrust.

"This child… cannot be mine."

Matilda, who had been silently watching him, gasped. "What are you saying?"

Gallio's eyes darkened. "No son of mine—no son of the Emperor—would be born holding a commoner's tool."

Tears welled in Matilda's eyes. "That's absurd! He is our child, Gallio! Our son!"

The Emperor clenched his jaw. "No. The gods have spoken. This child was not meant for the Harlow Bloodline. I cannot be a laughing material because of him. What would the empire think if they knew their prince was destined to be a builder?"

Matilda shook her head frantically. "You cannot mean that. He is innocent! You cannot punish a child for something beyond his control! Beside that is just a guess. You cannot dictate someone's future just from the birth,"

Gallio's voice was cold. "I will not have a miner-born heir tainting the imperial bloodline."

Matilda lunged forward, clutching his arm. "Gallio, please! Do not do this! What are you..."

He pulled away. "Oswald."

The minister stepped forward, head bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Gallio's voice was heavy with finality. "Find a low-ranking noble—someone desperate for gold. Have them take the child. Ensure he is raised far from here and make sure that noble is provided enough coin to properly raise this child."

Matilda's hands trembled. "No… No, you can't…"

"It is done."

The doors swung open, and two guards stepped inside. Gallio took the infant from Matilda's arms, his expression unreadable. She screamed, thrashing against the maids who tried to hold her back.

"Please, Gallio! He is our son! Our baby!"

The Emperor refused to meet her eyes. He handed the child to Oswald. "Leave. Now."

The minister bowed, clutching the infant carefully as he hurried out.

Matilda collapsed onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "My baby! My baby…!" she screamed through her tears. "His name is—"

The doors shut, sealing away her cries.

And the nameless prince was taken from the castle that night, never to be spoken of again.

***

In the dead of night, Minister Oswald crept through the dimly lit corridors of the palace. His hands clutched a small bundle wrapped in fine silk, and a pouch of gold coins hung from his belt. His heart pounded as he stepped outside, his mind racing with thoughts of the consequences should he be caught.

This was a tricky situation for empire. If the news about the new prince get out he knew it would be a problem so getting rid of him as soon as possible was a must.

"No turning back now," he muttered under his breath, glancing over his shoulder.

He quickly mounted his horse and rode out of the capital, pushing through the darkness despite knowing the dangers of night travel. The road ahead was treacherous, but he had no choice—he had to reach one of the lesser baron households by dawn. There, he would leave the child and rid himself of this burden.

The wind howled through the trees as he galloped through the dense forest. Moonlight barely pierced through the thick canopy above. The minister shivered but pressed on, ignoring the old warnings of spirits and beasts lurking in the dark as the forest warned him with howls and screeches.

Hours passed, and as he finally neared the forest's edge, his horse abruptly stopped. The sudden jolt nearly threw him from the saddle.

"Tch! What now?" Oswald hissed, pulling at the reins.

But the horse refused to move forward, its nostrils flaring, ears flicking back in distress. It stomped its hooves anxiously, muscles tense as if sensing an unseen predator.

A chill crawled down Oswald's spine.

"C-calm down, don't start acting up on me," he said, his voice uneven. "We're almost there. Just a little further—"

The horse reared back with a terrified whinny, nearly throwing him off. The minister barely managed to steady himself before he noticed it—

A whisper.

Faint. Indistinct. Coming from all around him.

He swallowed hard and reached for his sword, but it was clear from the way he gripped it—awkwardly, unsteadily—that he was no seasoned fighter.

The baby in his arms stirred and let out a weak cry. The sound seemed to echo unnaturally through the ruins ahead. The moment the child wailed, the whispers grew louder, twisting into laughter.

Oswald spun around, his breath ragged. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"

A gust of wind howled through the ruins, bringing with it the sickly sweet scent of aroma—yet underneath it, something metallic. Blood?

His vision blurred for a moment. Then—a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head. His grip on the sword loosened, and the world spun as he collapsed onto the cold, hard ground.

His vision swam as he struggled to focus. And then he saw her—

A woman.

Or rather, something that only resembled one.

She stood over him, barely clothed with her almost naked body vivid in his eyes, her crimson skin gleaming under the moonlight. Sharp, bat-like wings unfurled from her back, and her piercing golden eyes glowed with an unnatural hunger.

Oswald's mouth moved, but no words came out. His body refused to respond, sinking into the abyss of unconsciousness as her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Then, darkness.

Morning light pierced through the trees when Oswald awoke. His head throbbed, his body cold with sweat.

For a moment, he lay still, staring up at the sky, trying to remember what had happened. Then, like a floodgate bursting open, the memories of the night before rushed in.

His breath hitched. "The baby!"

Scrambling to his feet, he looked around in panic. The bundle he had carried so carefully the night before was gone.

"No… no, no, no!" he gasped, frantically searching the ground. "This can't be happening!"

The area was eerily silent, as if the night's horrors had never occurred. No footprints, no blood, no sign that anything had transpired. But the baby was gone.

Oswald's stomach twisted into knots. If the Emperor learned of his failure—if he discovered that the child had vanished—

He would be executed.

His hands shook as he clutched his face. "Think… think, damn it! I can't go back empty-handed!"

Desperation clawed at his chest. He had to find another child—one that could take the missing infant's place. No one needed to know what had truly happened here. He could still salvage this mission.

With renewed urgency, he mounted his horse, forcing himself to push past the fear still lingering in his bones.

"I'll fix this," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I have to."

And with that, he rode off, not daring to look back at the ruins, where unseen eyes still watched him with amusement.