The Child

The camp loomed ahead, strangely quiet. He stepped into the clearing, eyes sweeping for threats—but instead found something far worse.

Elpenor sat hunched on a wooden stump, rasping for breath and clutching his side. The sight twisted Andravion's gut, but he forced himself to stay composed.

He rushed over, knelt beside him, and pressed two fingers to his neck.

"This is bad."

"C'mon, Cap, I'm fine," Elpenor wheezed, flashing a crooked grin. "Been through worse shit, right? I'll be fine."

Andravion said nothing. But he saw the truth. Elpenor's skin had gone pale—waxy. His veins bulged in sickly patterns, tinted a dark, unnatural red. This wasn't a normal wound.

"How?" Andravion asked, his voice low and steel-hard.

Elpenor opened his mouth to reply but was overtaken by a violent coughing fit. He doubled over, gagging and groaning, before finally spitting to the side—trying to rid his mouth of the bitter taste of blood and metal. When he sat back up, his face was drawn and pained, but he managed to speak.

"When I got here, I cleared the place. Took the head of their leader. Thought I was done… but I didn't see the kid."

A child? Here? Something's not right.

Andravion's eyes narrowed.

He was hiding in the corner. I was doing a final sweep when the little fucker jumped out and stabbed me. Poisoned blade." Elpenor hissed, trembling with fury and pain. He nodded toward a silver knife lying on the ground. The bloodstained blade shimmered faintly with a purple sheen.

"Were you able to knock him out?" Andravion asked, his voice gruffer now.

"I'm sorry, Captain. He ran before I could grab him. But he can't be far. The little rat's probably still hiding somewhere.

"There's… a presence. I can feel it."

Ramona's voice whispered in Vion's mind, soft but charged with unease.

Vion's eyes narrowed. The battlefield around him was still, painted in ash and silence. "What kind of presence?"

"It's peculiar. Unnatural."

He exhaled, his heart already quickening. "I'll go after it."

"Captain! Wait!"

Elpenor coughed from where he lay, pale and trembling. "I can still move. Let me come with you."

"You fool." Vion strode over, kneeling by the fallen soldier. "Want to see the gates of Rah'um so quickly?"

He fished a small vial from his belt pouch and pressed it into Elpenor's hand. "Drink this. It won't cure the poison, but it'll ease the pain and slow down the poison's circulation. That's an order."

Elpenor's strength failed him and he collapsed to his knees. He drank the concoction in one go, gagging immediately. " Gods, tastes like horse shit mixed with rotweed."

"Then thank the gods for horse shit." Vion gave a dry chuckle and turned away,

"It's moving."

Ramona's voice returned, sharper. "Fast. We must hurry."

Vion ran. The screams of battle faded behind him as he plunged into the forest, trees towering above like sentinels, their leaves whispering secrets. Shadows danced between the trunks. His lungs burned. His heartbeat drummed a frantic rhythm. But it wasn't just physical exertion that gnawed at him—it was the quiet certainty that something was wrong.

"We're closing in," Ramona urged.

" Faster!"

And then—he saw it.

"We're close," Ramona said, her voice tight. "But something… something's wrong."

A small figure darting through the trees. A child, legs churning through underbrush, desperation in every motion. But a child's legs could only go so far.

Vion surged forward and caught him with ease, lifting him effortlessly off the ground by the collar. The child twisted in panic, but his strength was no match.

"Well, Mona?" Vion panted. "Is this what you felt?"

Ramona's voice came slow. Hesitant.

"Yes. That's it. The source is… him."

Vion stared. The boy couldn't have been more than seven.

"He's a child."

"There is a weight in him," Ramona said. "Heavy. Distorted. I don't know how—but it's there.

"Is he dangerous?"

"I don't know." A pause. Then, firmer: "But I sense a fracture in fate. A potential breach in your path—something that could undo all you've done."

Vion's stomach turned. "You're not making sense.""I don't need to," she snapped, sharper than usual. "I feel what I feel."

Ramona continued, but something in her tone faltered. "You should end it. Now. Before it grows."

Vion's grip tightened. The boy whimpered.

But doubt rooted itself in him.

"You've never been this unsure," he said quietly. "Not like this."

Ramona was silent.

Then: "My sight is clouded. I… I don't know why. Something is distorting the flow."

Vion's blood turned to ice. "What?!"

What could possibly block the sight of a divine being ?

Is another Guardian Contractor even more powerful than Mona doing this?

Even though. This is has never happened before.

"I can't explain it. It's like trying to see through fog someone else put there.

Vion's grip trembled. "He's just a boy…"

"I am aware," Ramona said. "But I am not wrong. You must end this now. Before what lies dormant inside him awakens. Before whatever is guiding him from the shadows uses him further."

Vion's chest tightened. Ramona had never been wrong. Not once. She had saved him time and time again—guided him when no one else could.

But this? A child? On no battlefield had he ever lifted his blade against one so small.

He didn't speak. He couldn't. He only stood there, frozen, staring into the face of something he didn't understand—and fearing that someday, he would.

Vion's grip faltered. A boy. Just a boy. His eyes… Gods, they look just like—

"No… No, I've spilled blood before." He paused "But never from a child. I won't stain my hands with a child's." He replied resolutely.

"Then you sentence your future to ruin. Besides that child stabbed a fully grown man with a poison coated dagger."

"The boy is obviously no innocent child you're pathetically hoping to be."

His knees buckled. He collapsed to the forest floor, the boy still in his grasp. The child stopped struggling, staring silently into his captor's face. Vion's eyes stung.

Gods help me, what am I doing?

He's just a child. But… if I spare him—and Ramona's right—am I condemning everyone I swore to protect?

Is this what a protector looks like? A murderer with trembling hands?

His chest heaved—not from exhaustion, but from everything inside him fracturing beneath the weight of choice.

All my life… I was taught to walk one path. One unyielding line carved before I could speak.

The path of a prince. A future emperor. Raised on discipline and duty, fed on ideals too heavy for a child to bear.

A blade to my enemies. A shield to those I love. A voice of reason. A face of justice.

To be noble without pride. Powerful without cruelty. Calculating, yet kind.

To carry my people with honor, not break them beneath it.

And yet now—here I am.

Knees in the dirt. Heart in my throat. Blade in my hand.

Trembling before a boy. A boy with eyes like mine.

"One day," his father had told him, sitting tall in the firelight, eyes carved from iron, The crown that usually adorned his head now gone and standing before him was no longer a ruler. But a father .

"when you're older, you may stand before someone—or something—that looks small, weak, helpless… fragile."

"And your heart will ache, because you were raised to protect. Because you are good."

"But your duty will ask for blood, and you will hesitate—not from cowardice, but because your heart is pure."

"That is what it means to wear the crown, my son."

"That moment… the crown will either bless you with strength—or break you beneath its weight."

...

And now, with that memory ringing in his skull like a bell tolling for judgment, Vion couldn't breathe.

"Please…" His voice barely carried. "Please don't make me do this…"

But Ramona's voice was as unforgiving as stone:

"The blood on your hands is no longer a question. Only the name it belongs to."