The moon hung low over the kingdom of Nyx,

its pale light casting eerie shadows across the twisted,

ancient trees that surrounded the castle. The air was thick with the scent of blood and magic,

a reminder of the dark power that coursed through the veins of the kingdom's inhabitants.

Nyx was a place where night ruled, and the creatures who dwelled within it were as fearsome as they were powerful.

In the heart of this kingdom,

nestled atop a jagged mountain, stood the castle of King Ulric. It was a fortress of stone and shadow,

its towers piercing the night sky like the fangs of a great beast. Within its walls, the king awaited the birth of his heir—the child who would carry on his legacy of darkness and might.

The castle's great hall was filled with the king’s most trusted advisors and warriors, their eyes glowing with anticipation. They were creatures of the night—werewolves, vampires,

and other supernatural beings who had pledged their loyalty to Ulric.

Their loyalty was born out of fear as much as respect,

for Ulric was not a king to be crossed.

His power was legendary,

his wrath swift and brutal.

Ulric himself sat on his throne, a massive chair carved from the bones of his enemies. His eyes, a deep,

penetrating gold, stared into the distance, unblinking.

His expression was a mask of calm, but those who knew him could sense the storm of emotions that brewed beneath the surface.

The birth of his child was imminent, and with it, the future of his kingdom hung in the balance.

The torches lining the great hall flickered as a cold draft swept through the room, causing the shadows to dance along the stone walls.

The air was thick with tension as if the very castle held its breath in anticipation.

The gathered nobles and warriors shifted uneasily,

their supernatural senses attuned to the faintest disturbance.

Among them was Viktor, the king's most trusted advisor and a vampire of ancient lineage.

His pale,

angular face was expressionless,

but his crimson eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

He knew Ulric's expectations for his heir, and he also knew the king's temper when those expectations were not met.

Viktor's mind raced with thoughts of the future, the balance of power in the kingdom,

and the fate of the child who was about to be born.

A sudden wail echoed through the castle corridors, a sound both eerie and foreboding.

It was the cry of a newborn,

a cry that should have been met with cheers of joy and celebration. But in the kingdom of Nyx, where power was everything,

that cry was met with silence—an ominous silence that spoke volumes.

Ulric rose from his throne with a fluid grace that belied his massive frame.

His golden eyes narrowed as he strode purposefully toward the royal chambers, his long cloak billowing behind him like a shadow.

The nobles parted to allow him passage, their heads bowed in deference.

As Ulric approached the chamber doors, they swung open as if by an unseen force, revealing the dimly lit room within.

Queen Seraphina lay on a grand, canopied bed, her face pale and glistening with sweat. Her normally fierce, red eyes were clouded with exhaustion, but they still held the fire that had made her Ulric's queen. In her arms,

she cradled the newborn child, wrapped in a silken cloth the color of midnight.

The room was heavy with the scent of blood and the remnants of the magical energy that had surrounded the birth.

Ulric's gaze fell upon the child

and for a moment,

his expression softened. But as he took in the sight before him, that moment passed, and his eyes hardened.

The child was small—too small for a werewolf of royal blood.

And his eyes, which had just opened to take in the world, were not the piercing gold of his father’s, nor the deep, fiery red of his mother’s.

They were a soft, innocent blue, the color of the sky at dawn—a color that had no place in the kingdom of Nyx.

The king’s lips curled into a sneer as he reached out to take the child from Seraphina’s arms. The queen hesitated for just a fraction of a second, her motherly instincts flaring, but she knew better than to defy her husband.

She relinquished the child to Ulric, her heart heavy with a mix of emotions she could not fully understand.

Ulric held the child up to the light of the moon that streamed through the narrow windows. The newborn's small,

fragile body cast a faint shadow on the stone floor, a shadow that seemed to shrink beneath the king's gaze. The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

The child’s blue eyes met his father’s, and for a brief moment,

something flickered in Ulric’s gaze—something that might have been hope. But it was quickly extinguished.

“This is no son of mine,”

Ulric spat,

his voice cold and devoid of any paternal warmth.

He thrust the child back into Seraphina’s arms as if the mere touch of the infant repelled him.

“This is a human, a disgrace to our bloodline.

He will not inherit my throne, nor will he live in my kingdom.”

Seraphina’s heart ached as she looked down at her child.

He was innocent, unaware of the storm that raged around him. But she knew Ulric’s mind was made up, and nothing could change it.

The king’s word was law, and his decree was final.

The midwife, who had stood silently in the shadows,

stepped forward hesitantly. Her wrinkled hands trembled as she took the child from the queen, her eyes flicking nervously between Ulric and Seraphina.

She had served the royal family for decades,

delivering the offspring of the most powerful beings in the kingdom, but never before had she seen such cold rejection from a parent.

“Take him away,”

Ulric commanded his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber.

“He is not fit to live among us.”

The midwife nodded mutely and turned to leave,

the newborn's soft cries echoing in the chamber as she carried him out.

Seraphina watched them go, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She knew that the king's decree meant her son would not survive long in the wilderness of Nyx. But what could she do? Defying Ulric would mean her death, and possibly the child’s as well.

Outside the chamber, the midwife hurried through the darkened corridors, her heart heavy with sorrow.

She had seen many things in her long life, but this... this was cruelty beyond measure. As she reached the castle gates, she paused, looking down at the tiny, helpless bundle in her arms.

The child looked up at her with those innocent blue eyes, his cries quieting as if sensing her inner turmoil.

“Forgive me, little one,”

she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I cannot change your fate,

but I will do what I can to give you a chance.”

With that,

she pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped out into the bitter cold of the night.

The sky was a deep, velvety black, dotted with countless stars,

but it was the full moon that dominated the heavens, casting its silver light over the land.

The castle was perched on the edge of a vast forest,

its trees twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

The forest of Nyx was a place of danger, teeming with creatures that even the bravest warriors feared.

It was to this forest that the midwife would take the child,

hoping against hope that he might somehow survive.

She moved quickly, her breath puffing out in white clouds as she navigated the narrow,

winding path that led down from the castle. The night was still,

save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant howl of a wolf.

The midwife’s old bones ached with the cold, but she pressed on, driven by a sense of duty and a deep,

inexplicable connection to the child in her arms.

The forest loomed ahead, a vast and dark expanse that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night.

As the midwife approached its edge, the temperature dropped sharply, and a thick fog began to roll in, swirling around her like a living thing.

The trees stood like silent sentinels, their branches creaking in the wind as if whispering secrets to one another.

As she stepped into the forest,

the light of the moon was quickly swallowed by the dense canopy above. The midwife’s path was now lit only by the faint glow of the child’s blanket,

which shimmered with an ethereal light. This was no ordinary cloth;

it had been enchanted to protect the child from the dark forces that roamed the forest. The midwife could feel the magic emanating from it,

a faint warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold of the night.

The forest was alive with sounds that seemed to come from every direction.

The rustling of leaves, the distant howl of a wolf,

and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot created a cacophony of noise that made it difficult to determine where danger might be lurking.

The midwife’s senses were on high alert, her old instincts warning her of the many dangers that lay hidden in the darkness.

She carefully picked her way through the undergrowth, her thoughts a whirlwind of sorrow and fear.

She knew that the forest was a perilous place, but she had no choice but to leave the child there.

Her heart ached with every step, but she pressed on,

determined to fulfill the king’s decree as best as she could.

The clearing where she would leave the child was a small, tranquil spot, bathed in the faintest.