"Mama..."

The single word cut through the silence like a blade. Your body froze, your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded wildly. Slowly, you lowered your gaze to the tiny child in your arms. He was staring back at you with eyes as clear as dawn, a smile blooming on his lips—innocent, untainted, powerful enough to stop time itself.

It was his first word.

Tears welled instantly. The bleakness of your world flickered with light for the first time in what felt like forever. Warmth surged through you, sharp and sweet all at once, threatening to break you. You pulled him into your chest, holding him so tightly it was almost desperate, as though you could shield him from every cruelty waiting beyond your door. His laughter spilled into your embrace, pure and bright, filling the cracks of your broken heart.

If only Liam were here.

The image of your husband burned vividly in your mind—Liam Darius, the man you loved, the father of your child. The man who had been condemned by the King, executed in the name of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy that declared the bloodline of Darius would one day threaten the throne. And so, Liam had been slain.

You still remembered his final plea—the trembling in his voice, the anguish in his eyes. Run, he had begged. Take our son. Hide. Live. He had placed the weight of their legacy into your hands, entrusting the survival of the last Darius to you.

And you had sworn—you would protect him with your life.

But happiness never lingers. The sound came suddenly, tearing through the fragile moment—the crunch of boots, the heavy rhythm of hooves striking the earth. The air itself shifted with dread.

They had found you.

With trembling hands, you laid your child gently into the straw basket beside the fire. Your gaze lingered on his small face, peaceful and oblivious, and you forced a smile—soft yet resolute. Then you turned, reaching for the old spear in the corner. Its shaft was worn, its blade dulled by years, but tonight it was no longer just a relic. It was your only weapon.

Outside, the forest held its breath. The ground quivered beneath the weight of men. And when you pushed the door open, daylight struck your eyes.

They were there.

Rows of armored soldiers, steel flashing in the sun. And at their head, mounted on a towering black horse, was the man cloaked in royal robes, his golden eyes glinting like frozen fire.

Klaus.

The King. The murderer of your husband. The enemy who had stolen everything from you.

Your eyes met his—no greeting, no pretense, only the hollow indifference of a man who had long forgotten mercy.

You tightened your grip on the spear. Your knees trembled, but your resolve did not. You knew this battle was not about victory.

It was about survival. For your child.

Klaus leaned forward slightly, his lips curving into a cruel smile, his voice low and sharp as it carried across the still air.

"Where is the last of the Darius line, woman?"

You did not flinch. You did not look away. In your gaze burned the unyielding fire of a mother.

In that moment, you were not simply a woman.

You were a mother.

And you would fight.