Chapter 6: The Woman in White

The door hissed open.

Arthur's pulse quickened. Still nestled in the crib's gentle curvature, his eyes flicked toward the source of the voice that had called him "young master" only moments earlier. But what he saw was not what he expected.

Not a nurse. Not a maid. Not another stoic servant from this strange, sterile world.

A woman entered the room—radiant, almost ethereal.

Her presence changed the very air.

Her hair fell like silver silk down her back, gleaming under the soft artificial light like a waterfall under starlight. Her blue eyes—deep, not with innocence but with strength, like a stormcloud ready to break—locked onto his. She wore a white silk gown embroidered with subtle crimson patterns along the hem. It looked ceremonial or formal, yet moved with the ease of something lived in.

Arthur stared, stunned. The maternal warmth in her eyes, the fierce protectiveness behind her smile—he didn't need anyone to tell him who she was.

In this life…

She was his mother.

And she was breathtaking.

"Arthur," she whispered, crossing the room in elegant strides.

The name hit him harder than the footsteps.

He blinked slowly. Arthur. Not some fabricated fantasy name or randomized identifier. But… Arthur.

The same name. Again.

His breath caught in his infant throat.

What…? Why?

Before he could spiral into the implications, she was beside him—arms reaching gently, confidently. She lifted him from the cradle with practiced ease, pressing his tiny frame against her chest.

"I was so scared," she murmured into his hair. "When they told me you'd fallen—"

Fallen? That explained the earlier scan. The concerned maid. The unconscious body.

So that's how it happened.

He must've entered this body just as the child collapsed or blacked out.

How convenient… and strange.

Arthur squinted slightly, his baby muscles barely responding to his will. Internally, his mind raced. He had so many questions. And now, with her so close, another wave of thoughts surged.

He hadn't been held like this since—

No. That part of his life was over. Earth was gone. Alice was gone.

But this woman... she held him with the same gentleness.

Her voice trembled. "You scared me so much, my little Arthur… don't do that again, alright?"

The weight of her words echoed inside him like a warm dagger.

He wanted to respond—say he was fine, that it wasn't her fault, that he wasn't truly her son. But his body betrayed him.

So he remained still, pretending to be soothed by her presence.

She swayed gently, holding him. Rocking slightly. Her warmth was real. Her heartbeat steady. Her perfume—something floral, but laced with unfamiliar spices—was intoxicating in the most calming way.

"You're safe now," she whispered. "And everything's okay."

The Soldiers and the Sigil

Behind her, two men stood silently at the doorway—warriors in sleek, tailored uniforms. They didn't wear armor or carry weapons—this wasn't a battlefield. But the cut of their outfits was sharp, with straight lines and reinforced seams, designed for precision and readiness. A fusion of military fashion and smart-fabric technology.

Their presence was unmistakable—loyal guards, standing like statues. Black uniforms with dark blue trim across the collar and shoulders marked them as standard combat warriors.

But it was the insignia over their hearts that struck Arthur cold.

He recognized it instantly.

A lightning-ring crest—sharp, stylized, unforgettable.

The sigil of House Ragnar.

From the Valkar Empire.

He'd seen it a thousand times in Astral Genesis—on banners in warzones, on generals' armor, on player emblems during PvP duels.

Now it was here. Woven into real fabric. Bathed in real light.

It was all real.

Arthur stared at it, his mind scrambling for stability.

House Ragnar… part of the Valkar Empire… meant a heritage of thunder affinity. Aggressive martial tradition. Renowned for battlefield supremacy. A name both feared and respected.

And he was in one of their chambers. Being cradled by a woman who called him "Arthur" and claimed to be his mother.

But his instincts screamed: stay cautious.

He didn't know his standing here.

A noble? A bastard? An afterthought? A pawn?

Best not to assume anything.

The Name That Shouldn't Be

He couldn't stop thinking about it.

Arthur.

Why that name?

Out of billions of player-chosen names in Astral Genesis, there was no preassigned "Arthur." Not for NPCs. Not for nobles. Not even a side character bore that title in all his years of playing.

He had created "Zenith" from scratch. Arthur was just… himself.

So why now?

Why him?

Coincidence? Cosmic irony? Something deeper?

He didn't know. But the fact that it was his real name—his true name—meant something.

Something he didn't yet understand.

Feeding and Departure

His new mother—Lyra, as a servant whispered outside the room—sat beside a crystal-inlaid feeding bench and began to feed him.

The liquid wasn't traditional milk—neither breastfed nor bottled. It came from a vial of shimmering, golden-tinged fluid. She poured it into a tiny silver spoon, warm and faintly glowing. Sweet and strangely familiar.

Like something infused with basic soulfire essence.

A nourishment blend for noble-born children.

She fed him slowly, patiently, whispering words in a refined dialect. It was nearly English—but cleaner, with a tonal lilt. Musical and ancient.

When the feeding was done, she kissed his forehead and stood.

"My brave little boy. Sleep now. I'll be back before sunset."

He didn't move.

She left without another word, giving a brief nod to the guards still stationed at the door.

The room fell quiet again.