The morning air is crisp, yet heavy with expectation. Your mother has spoken little since dawn, her gaze unreadable as she leads you outside. The slums are quiet, as if holding their breath for what is to come.

Then, the knights arrive.

Their horses stand tall, their polished armor catching the sunlight in sharp glints. At their helm, a knight of noble bearing sits astride his steed, his expression void of warmth.

"Hearken, good plebeians," he declares, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "For I bring word most urgent. The noble General bids thy child to his residence forthwith. It is his will and command, and thus it must be honored without delay. Pray, see that the summons is obeyed, for the matter bears great import."

Your mother stands firm, her hands clenched at her sides. She does not plead, does not argue. She knew this day would come. And so did you.

Your fate has been sealed the moment you bore his blood. Now, the only question remains—will you embrace it, or defy it?