There was no sky, no earth, no sense of direction.

  Only emptiness.

  Within that boundless void, a man sat suspended in stillness, legs crossed, back straight, hands resting calmly upon his knees. His robes were white and immaculate, unruffled by wind that did not exist. His features were sharp yet serene, as if carved from jade and left untouched by time.

  Before him hovered an eye.

  It was enormous—larger than a human head—with a translucent pupil that shimmered faintly, like water under moonlight. Surrounding it were nine concentric rings of gold, layered one within another, rotating slowly, endlessly, each inscribed with patterns too complex to decipher at a glance.

  The eye was open.

  And it was watching him.

  It blinked occasionally, not with fatigue, but with intention, as though contemplating something beyond mortal comprehension. Each time it opened again, its gaze seemed heavier, deeper, as if peeling away layers of existence itself.

  The man did not react.

  Time lost its meaning in the void.

  There was nothing to measure it against—no rising or setting sun, no pulse of day or night. Moments stretched into eternities, and eternities collapsed into moments.

  Days may have passed.

  Months.

  Years.

  Perhaps even centuries.

  No one could tell.

  The eye never stopped watching.

  Then, without warning, something changed.

  The eye closed.

  The translucent pupil vanished behind a smooth lid, its surface rippling once before settling. At the same moment, the distance between the man and the eye began to collapse. It drifted forward, steadily, inexorably, while shrinking—first to the size of a melon, then a fist, then finally no larger than a human eye.

  It pressed itself against the center of the man's forehead.

  And fused.

  Pain erupted like a spear driven through his skull.

  It tore through his senses, searing his eyes, his mind, his very soul. His vision fractured into countless shards of light and shadow, each carrying whispers of laws he could not yet grasp.

  Yet he did not move.

  His posture remained unbroken.

  Only beads of sweat gathered on his flawless skin, trailing down his temples and jaw.

  The nine golden rings detached from where they once circled the eye. They expanded, shifting positions, until they surrounded the man instead—layer upon layer forming a luminous cage.

  A prison.

  His life essence began to burn.

  Not slowly. Not gently.

  It was being consumed at a terrifying rate, as though something unseen had sunk its fangs into the core of his existence.

  "At this rate..." he thought, the first sign of unrest flickering through his otherwise calm mind. "But all is not lost. As long as I live."

  Darkness swallowed the void.

  The second wife of the Viscount of the Country of Red Banner was with child.

  Grace walked slowly through the gardens, one hand resting protectively over her abdomen. Though only three months along, she moved as if any sudden motion might shatter something fragile within her.

  "Shh." She cast a sharp glance around them, lowering her voice. "Keep it down. It's too early."

  The garden was empty, save for the maid walking a step behind her. Flowering shrubs lined the stone paths, their colours vivid against the afternoon sun. There were no walls nearby, no servants in sight.

  Still, Grace's shoulders were tense.

  "Walls have ears," she said quietly.

  The maid—Clara—blinked, then forced a smile. "But there aren't any walls here, my lady."

  Grace stopped walking and turned. The disapproval in her gaze wiped the humor from Clara's face at once.

  "...I won't speak of it," Clara sighed. "I promise."

  "You'd better not."

  After a pause, Clara ventured softly, "Once His Lordship knows, things will be easier. We won't be eating leftovers anymore. That's good for the baby too."

  Grace's expression softened only slightly. "You know how much we sacrificed to get here. One misstep, and everything we endured will be for nothing."

  It truly hadn't been easy.

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  Grace was already in her late twenties—past the ideal age for marriage in her village. But settling down there had never been an option, not after her cousin had married into nobility and become the Baron's first wife.

  Grace had always known she was beautiful.

  In Frozenlake Village, there had been no equal.

  That village had been too small for her ambitions.

  When word spread that Viscount Edmund would pass through the region to inspect his territories, the entire village had mobilised. The chief had ordered preparations, the households had cleaned and decorated, and the young women—Grace included—had adorned themselves carefully.

  They feared the Viscount's temper.

  But they also desired his favor.

  Grace did not rely on beauty alone.

  She cultivated gentleness, innocence, grace. She learned music, refined her posture, softened her voice. She watched how noblewomen carried themselves and mimicked what she could.

  And it worked.

  When the Viscount sent word that he wished to take her as a concubine, the village had erupted with envy.

  He already had a wife.

  He already had children.

  But even so, being chosen was a victory.

  "My lady," Clara said gently, taking her arm. "Let me help you."

  Grace allowed herself to be guided back toward her chambers, though she shrugged off Clara's hand once they neared the inner quarters.

  "Don't act so conspicuous," she murmured. "We can't let anyone guess."

  Only after they disappeared inside did a shadow withdraw from the corner of the corridor.

  Inside the room, after the meal had been cleared away, Grace turned sharply.

  "Why are you acting like this?" she snapped. "Behave normally."

  "Grace," Clara said, dropping formalities now that they were alone, "you're overthinking everything. His Lordship visits you every day."

  "That's precisely why I'm in danger."

  Clara's eyes shone. "Once the child is born, we'll be safe. He'll protect us."

  "We don't know it's a son."

  "It is," Clara said stubbornly.

  Grace laughed softly, her hand drifting to her belly. Her eyes soft with a promise of protection, "Son or daughter—it's my child."

  Her smile vanished.

  Pain twisted her features, stealing her breath.

  "My belly, my s-stomach!" She was gasping for breath and collapsed soon.

  "What's happening!" Clara jumped into panic.

  Bile rose in Grace's throat, and she managed to say, at the brink of unconsciousness. "C-Call the Viscount!"

  ...

  The matter of Grace's pregnancy could not be hidden anymore. When she started bleeding, Clara knew they couldn't hide it anymore. She left Grace in the hands of a trustworthy maid and quickly made her way to the Viscount's study. The estate physician was alerted and made his way to the outer courtyard, where Grace was stationed.

  She had already lost consciousness. Her wrist hung down from the edge of the bed, a pool of blood staining the bedsheets.

  The physician took a chair and grabbed her wrist.

  "What's the condition?" Soon, a robust man in luxurious attire appeared. Clara followed behind with her head lowered.

  "Viscount, the lady had been with a child for three months."

  "Three months?" Viscount Edmund was taken aback. He eyed Clara in anger.

  "M-My Lord, my Lady wanted the fetus to stabilise before personally giving you the good news." Under the cold glare, Clara nearly lost her footing. The man was powerful, and since she was living in his estate, her life was practically in his hands. If he wished, he would have her punished to death with flogging.

  Luckily, a more concerning matter drew Edmund's interest than punishing a lowly maid. "How's the child now?" His voice was cold, not indicating any inclination towards concern as a father would for his child. Perhaps it was because the woman was not his main wife.

  "There... There is no heartbeat, My Lord."

  "The child is lost?" A look of irritation appeared upon Edmund's face. He glanced at the unconscious woman in bed.

  For some reason, he didn't behave in a manner he used to in the past. Who knew what was going through his head, but there was a hint of accusation in his stare. The affection they had cultivated in the past couldn't move his heart.

  "So let it be." The words descended as cold water on a biting winter night upon Grace.

  She knew what it meant.

  An irrevocable wedge between them. She could already see herself and Clara being sent back to the Frozenlacke village.

  "M-My Lord, I didn't mean to..." She attempted to undo the damage and reached out for his hand but he didn't let her touch him.

  "What's done is done. You made your choice."

  As those words landed on Grace, her eyes watered. Tears rolled down one after another. For once, she felt a tinge of regret. 'So is this all I'm worth in his eyes. Did I make the right choice?'

  "How is this possible. Why don't you check again?" Clara was unresigned.

  "With how much blood she has lost, I'm afraid." The physician shook his head.

  If Clara was unresigned, Grace was too unresigned. She didn'tcare for the pain and supported herself into a sitting position. She looked at Edmund with a pitiful face.

  "My Lord, I-ah!" Before she could come up with anything, something strange happened.

  Grace's face contorted as she grasped her abdomen. The pain had subsided, but just now it was as if a strange cooling sensation had infiltrated her abdomen. It was a painful yet weird experience. It was as if some strange entity was penetrating her abdomen. And she knew it had something to do with her unborn child.

  "My-My child. Check again!" Her eyes alight with newfound hope.

  "What is happening?"

  "The fetus is dead. It should clear on its own. Slight pain and weakness are expected." The physician explained.

  "No, it's not like this. My child is alive. You must check again!" Grace extended her wrists. Her heart spiked. She could feel it. Her child was, after all, a part of her body.

  The physician looked at the Viscount. Upon getting a permissive gesture from him, he stepped forward to grab her wrist. His eyes widened.

  "What is it!" Clara asked out of turn.

  "This is so strange. I have never observed such a thing happen before."

  "Is there something?" Clara couldn't stop herself.

  "The heartbeat had clearly stopped earlier."

  "Is the child alive?" Viscount asked.

  "I hear a heartbeat, My Lord, a robust one."

  The silence stretched for a few seconds before Viscount's expression altered from confusion to mild happiness. "Is he stable?"

  "He is healthy and stable. It seems it's an entirely different fetus."

  "The heartbeat should be weaker if she survived a miscarriage." Edmund took a seat on the bed and grabbed her wrist. As a part of training, he had some preliminary knowledge of medicine. "Are you sure you did not make a mistake?"

  "I'm certain the pulse had disappeared, my Lord." Edmund's eyes scanned the room until he found a shattered porcelain bowl. "That's the last thing she had for dinner?"

  Clara, who had been crying at the bedside while holding Grace's hand, recovered from the rollercoaster of emotions and stood on ceremony to respond. "Yes, yes, My Lord. It was sent by the inner courtyard kitchen."

  Edmund exchanged a look with his aide, who understood at once.

  While Clara tended to Grace, the bowl was quietly removed, and appropriate action was taken.

  From that day on, Grace's days changed. Although Viscount was a bit alienated, she was offered the amenities deserving of someone carrying the Viscount's child.

  ...

  Covered by a dark space, the entity that could once shake mountains and freeze rivers could only extend his cute little limbs and throw an occasional kick.

  'This is so insulting'

  'The fetus was very weak. Hanging on to the last specks of life.'

  'My soul transference technique wasn't as effective as I expected it to be. I was lucky to find a life form this weak otherewise I would have to be reborn as an animal.'

  Dyrian mentally sighed. There was only darkness.

  But he hadn't sacrificed his life essence to be reborn for this darkness.

  'So it was all for a lost cause?' He thought before succumbing to an unknown period of darkness. All the while, he kept slipping in and out of consciousness. Until his body grew, a white dot appeared between his brows.

  'This is...'

  Dyrian focused on the strange sensation between his brows.

  He closed his eyes and adjusted himself into a meditative pose.

  There was an eye in his mind, and he could scan his whole body with it. And just then, he realised that the amniotic fluid in which his body floated was full of clots and luminous green specks.

  'Well, well, we gotta get started somewhere...'