Far away from the southern region, deep within the bustling heart of the Central Continent, the city of Vane slept under the same full moon. Vane was a wealthy city, filled with towering stone mansions and wide, paved roads.
In one of the largest estates in the upper district lived Elian and Clara Vance. They were a young, incredibly wealthy couple. Elian ran one of the largest merchant guilds in the city, controlling the flow of high-quality ores and rare monster cores. Clara was the daughter of a prominent noble family. They had money, power, and a massive home filled with servants.
But their massive home was completely silent. It was too quiet.
Elian sat in the grand study on the first floor, staring at a stack of trade reports. He wasn't really reading them. Across the room, Clara sat in a velvet armchair, staring blankly into the fireplace. The flames danced across her pale, sad face.
They had everything a person could ask for, except the one thing they wanted most. A child.
For five years, they had tried to start a family. They had visited the best healers in the Central Continent. They had paid holy priests for blessings and bought rare elixirs from Elven merchants. But nothing worked. The healers could not figure out what was wrong. It was an unknown problem, a cruel joke played on them by fate.
"Elian," Clara spoke softly, breaking the silence.
"Do you think we should stop trying? Maybe the gods simply do not want us to be parents."
Elian set his papers down and rubbed his eyes. He walked over and knelt beside her chair, taking her cold hands in his.
"Do not say that, Clara. We will find a way. I will hire better healers from the magic tower. We just need more time."
"We have spent years hoping," Clara whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I am just so tired of the quiet in this house."
Elian squeezed her hands, feeling his own heart ache. He hated seeing her cry. He felt entirely powerless. All his money and influence could not buy them a family.
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed from the floor above them.
It was faint at first, muffled by the thick ceiling. But in the dead silence of the mansion, it was unmistakable.
*Waaah...* *Waaah!*
Elian froze. Clara's breath hitched.
"Did you hear that?" Clara asked, her eyes widening.
"It came from upstairs," Elian said, standing up quickly.
"From our bedroom."
He grabbed a Sword from beside the fireplace. Thieves sometimes broke into the upper district, though it was rare for them to make a noise like that. And it did not sound like a thief. It sounded like... crying.
Clara did not wait for him. She picked up the hem of her long dress and ran out of the study.
"Clara, wait! It might be dangerous!" Elian shouted, rushing after her.
They hurried up the wide marble staircase, their footsteps echoing loudly.
*Waaaah...* *Waaaaah!*
The crying grew louder and clearer. It was definitely a baby.
Elian stepped in front of Clara as they reached the master bedroom. The door was slightly cracked open. He pushed it open with the Sword, his muscles tense, ready to fight an intruder.
But the room was completely empty. The windows were locked from the inside. There was no sign of a break-in, no shattered glass, no magical residue on the walls.
The only thing out of place was on their large bed.
Right in the center of the mattress lay a small bundle of cloth. The blankets were stained with a few drops of blood, and a tiny pair of arms flailed in the air.
Clara gasped loudly and dropped to her knees. She scrambled across the thick carpet and reached the edge of the bed.
"A baby..." she breathed out, her voice trembling.
She carefully reached out and picked the child up. The baby was crying loudly, its face red and scrunched up. But the moment Clara held him against her chest and rocked him gently, the crying stopped.
*Sniff...*
The baby let out a small sniffle and opened his eyes. Bright, clear amber eyes stared up at Clara. A tuft of pitch-black hair rested on his head.
"Where did he come from?" Elian asked, dropping the iron poker. He looked around the room in absolute confusion. "How did a child get inside a locked room?"
"I do not care how," Clara whispered, tears freely falling from her eyes. She smiled brighter than Elian had seen in years.
"Look at him, Elian. He is beautiful."
Elian cautiously walked over and looked down at the child. He was incredibly small. Tucked inside the blankets, a silver locket rested against the baby's chest. Elian gently reached out and touched the metal. It was cold and bore no family crest or markings. There was no note, no name, no clue to where the child came from.
'Teleportation magic?' Elian thought to himself.
'To bypass our wards, it would take a massive amount of mana. Who would send a baby here?'
"Someone must have left him," Elian said slowly.
"We should call the city guards. His parents might be looking for him."
Clara pulled the baby closer to her chest, glaring up at her husband fiercely.
"No. We are not giving him to the guards. Do you see the blood on these blankets? Someone was hurt. Someone sent him away to save him. If we give him to the guards, they will throw him in an orphanage. Or worse, whoever sent him away might be tracked down by the people trying to hurt him."
Elian hesitated. He knew she was right. The political climate in Astrix was often brutal. If a noble family was wiped out, their heirs were usually hunted down to prevent future revenge. The lack of a crest on the locket was probably intentional.
"Clara, we do not know who he is. Taking in a child with a mysterious past could bring danger to our door."
"I do not care about the danger," Clara said firmly. She looked down at the baby, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek. The baby grabbed her finger, squeezing it tightly. Clara let out a wet laugh.
"Hahaha..."
"The gods heard me, Elian. I asked for a child, and they placed one right on our bed. I am not letting him go."
Elian looked at the baby's amber eyes, then at his wife's desperate, hopeful face. The heavy, crushing silence that had haunted their home for years was finally gone.
He let out a long sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around Clara's shoulders.
"Alright," Elian said softly.
"Alright, we will keep him. We will say you were pregnant and we kept it a secret for your safety. I will bribe the house staff to keep their mouths shut. He will be a Vance."
Clara leaned her head against Elian's shoulder, sobbing with relief.
"Thank you. Thank you, Elian."
"We need to give him a name," Elian said, looking down at the boy.
Clara wiped her eyes and looked at the silver locket around the boy's neck. She thought about the sudden, sharp cry that broke the silence of their miserable night. It was like a clear note ringing out in a quiet room.
"Note," she said softly.
"We will name him Note."
Elian smiled.
"Note Vance. It sounds like a strong name."
Baby Note closed his amber eyes, exhausted from the magic and the journey. He let out a soft breath and fell asleep in Clara's arms, completely unaware of the tragedy he left behind, or the massive wealth and love he had just landed in.
Years passed quickly in the Vance household. The gloomy, quiet mansion was transformed. Toys littered the grand study. Laughter echoed down the marble hallways.
Three years later, little Note was running across the courtyard garden, chasing a golden butterfly. His black hair bounced with every step, and his amber eyes were wide with excitement. He was a fast, healthy child, completely adored by his new parents.
"Note! Do not run too far!" Clara called out from the patio, holding a cup of tea.
"I am catching it, Mother!" Note yelled back, his little legs moving as fast as they could.
Elian stood beside Clara, watching the boy with a proud smile. Note had brought life back into their world. They didn't care about his origins or the blood on the blankets anymore. To them, he was simply their son.
But beneath Note's shirt, the silver locket still rested against his chest, a silent reminder of the bloody night in the southern region. The boy's destiny was tied to a past he could not remember, waiting patiently for the day he would finally uncover the truth.