Time is an encompassing aspect of the Lord of all Realms. It influences every part of Creation, no matter how small or insignificant it may be. It also affects the parts of creation that hold importance. The mortals believed their gods and goddesses, the Divines, the Immortals or the Celestials, to be exempt of all rules. Yet that was not the case. Time also affected them.

Regrettably, not many live long enough to find that out. The path of immortality and divine power is is one of thorns. It is a path overgrown with obstacles and filled with enough bloodshed to make mortal souls tremble with fear. Those who learn the truth accept it and realise that no matter how powerful they are, even they cannot rule and live forever. Time is an enemy that none of them dare dream of overcoming.

Much to the dismay of a few ancient beings, even they, the Firstborn and the Stars, the only beings directly created by the two incarnations of the Lord of all Realms, God and the Devil, are not spared by Time. All of creation shall turn to dust to ensure order. All of creation must follow this simple rule.

But there is no life without love. All of creation is loved by the Lord of all Realms. Their love is limited but it exists. It exists in the form of Fate, a mysterious divine construct that governs Life and Death. Fate allows those who ceased to be to be reborn once again. Yet, to uphold the balance of creation, all beings are reborn mortal. Even though mortals are the last and thus weakest creation of the Lord of all Realms, the mortals have Potential, they can walk their own path and change their fate.

Without any memories of their accomplishments, the former children of the Lord of all Realms are reborn once again to attain divinity, to accomplish once again what they had accomplished aeons before Time decided to come for them.

Miracles are a small part of Fate. They can range from the healing of an incurable disease to the attainment of unimaginable fortune or a victory in a battle believed to be lost. But the simplest miracle of Fate is birth and any miracle, no matter how simple, has a price.

Those who deliver and accept the gift of life suffer from pain and sorrow. But many are willing to pay such a price. The gift of life brings joy, joy that a being has been born into the world and joy that they were able to be part of a miracle.

Such a simple miracle happened in the year 1834. In the small town of Wolfsteyn, a young and healthy girl was born.

“Congratulation,” an elderly woman, her face and hair showed all the commons signs of old age, ranging from wrinkles to white hair, said and handed the young child to her mother, “It is a girl. And she just looks like you.”

“Heidi,” the young mother said and embraced her young child, “I thank you for your kind words.”

She eyed her child and could not fathom why the midwife thought that they resembled each other. The only striking resemblance they both shared were two horns. Fiona's were much larger and in the colour of crimson fire. Her child’s horns, if she could call the smalls knobs horns, were black. If she had not known better, she would have dared to say that her daughter's horns consumed all the light that entered the dimly lit room.

Fiona smiled and hugged her firstborn. The young mother wanted to cry in happiness but this was not something her pride would allow to happen. Thus, she simply continued hugging her daughter, the only legacy of her recently deceased husband.

“There is no need to thank me,” the midwife said and her smile of joy turned into a sigh of sadness, “Your man fought for our country and allowing a part of his legacy to remain here on Earth brings me joy.”

She paused, "I may be old, but if there is anything my husband or I can do, please don't hesitate and ask us for help. I was raised by my father after my mother died. I have experienced that raising a child alone is a task that no one should do without help."

Fiona looked up and nodded, "Thank you. If I ever need your help, I won't hesitate to ask. But ... as foolish as it may sound, I want to raise my child alone. I think it's the only thing I can do not to forget Christopher."

The old midwife nodded in understanding. She then sternly said, “I admire your strong will, but we will help you if you need our help. It may seem as if you are alone, but you are not alone. Our town is one large family.”

Heidi, noticing that Fiona felt uneasy, laughed before taking a bundle of paper out.

“Don’t tell me these are what I think they are,” Fiona grumbled in annoyance. She was exhausted and simply desired to fall asleep.

“I fear you know what comes now, bureaucracy. The Lord of Aschen is bound by the laws of the Empire and I, as his subject and a citizen of the Empire, too am bound,” the old woman said with an apologetic tone, “I am terribly sorry.”

The elderly midwife took a quill and an inkpot out of her deep-pocket, an magical tool the size of an average pouch, before asking, “I presume that you have thought of a name?”

Fiona groaned. She had. If the child had been a boy, she would have named her child Christopher to honour and remember her husband. But her child was a girl, so her name would be...

“Elise,” Fiona said, “It was the name of the founder of my family… and I do not want to forget my past.”

Heidi furrowed her brow but said nothing. She barely knew anything about the past of the young woman but decided to remain silent. Asking such a sensitive question, after her husband’s unfortunate death, was bound to be an unwise decision.

“Very well,” she said, “Elise Anker, born on the 10th of October 1834, a child of the Season of Harvest and born on Freysdag. She also is a Monia. I cannot fathom how your kind never has offspring that are halves.”

Fiona couldn't answer that. It was simply a part of her race. Her parents had always told her that no one had ever been born with half-blood before. As one of the first magical races, their blood was too strong to mix with that of the others.

The midwife looked up, “Is everything correct?”

Fiona shook her head. It wasn’t due to the midwife’s question. No, it was just her way to get out of her thoughts and focus. Everything the midwife had said was correct. Still, there was a thing she wanted to change. Her surname. But that was impossible. There were many reasons, most she wanted to forget. Others she simply did not understand.

Christopher had been the fourth son of a baron, a baron who had lost his title after having been exiled. Thus accepting his family name would bring her a great deal of trouble. Trouble she did not want or could manage.

“Very well, then we will now test her Potential,” Heidi finally said before putting the papers, the quill and the inkpot into her white pouch.

She carefully took a small white cross out and chanted a silent prayer. It always was a hard task to measure the Potential. Many took for granted that the colour they saw was their limit and so many that had been measured with a bad Potential never dared to improve it through training or hardship. It was always a hassle to inform the parents of this simple fact and that one’s Potential was just an indicator for the soul’s strength at birth. But Fiona was smart, and she wasn’t from here. Heidi knew that one’s Potential had not mattered in her homeland and much to Heidi’s joy Fiona quickly had understood what Potential really meant.

The cross in her hand became hotter and hotter, almost as if the cross wanted to burn her. Yet there was no pain. The old woman frowned, she had never heard or read of such an incident. Heidi stared at the previously white cross. The colours changed quickly, far to fast for her eyes to take notice of all colours. After several moments, the colour did not change. The warmth of the cross was gone. The midwife sighed in relief. It was always a hassle to supply the cross with mana and the longer it took to measure the Potential, the more mana it took from her.

She looked at the cross. It was coloured in such a dark red that it looked as if it was covered with dried blood. In all her years she had never seen this colour. On closer inspection, she noticed that the colour was not uniform. There were places that were much darker. Others were ... she could not describe these strange colours. Heidi prayed to the True God to tell her what was going on, but the answer she received was silence.

Was the True God perhaps trying to tell her to find out the truth for herself?

She closed her eyes until the world around her turned dark. The darkness was unbearable, almost oppressive. Inspecting someone's soul was extremely difficult. Yet she managed to see through the veil surrounding the soul. The soul resided on top of an empty throne made of a dark metal she did not recognize.

Red cold fog rose from the ground and shrouded her surroundings, causing her soul to feel the chilling cold. Something deep inside of her told her that she should stop. That whatever she was witnessing was not meant for mortal eyes. The old midwife opened her eyes before gasping for air.

Heidi silently thanked the True God before staring at the cross again. She had to report this to the abbot and the mayor. But she did not trust this foul man to keep secrets. He was the third son of a merchant turned nobleman, and what he lacked in dignity he certainly made up for in greed. There was no question that he would find a way to use what she told him to his advantage.

“How is her Potential?” Fiona asked, “You have never told me anything about such a colour. It looks like red but feels… different.”

"I ... fear that I can't answer your question either, Fiona," Heidi sighed, "I'll talk to a friend of mine and he may have an answer. Until then, I will write down that her potential is unknown. If a mistake is made here, it could lead to some.... some rather unfortunate problems. A child has the right to have a childhood."

Fiona remained silent before slowly nodding, “Then, please do so. But if you find an answer… I want to be informed as soon as possible.”

Heidi nodded. She certainly would. It would be the right thing to do.

“I will do so. Then I shall leave,” the midwife replied and put the cross into the magical pouch. It was like a miracle, no, a work of magic, that all the objects could fit into the bag. But that was the nature of a deep-pocket.

Heidi approached the old door of the inn's room but turned around before saying, “Don’t forget what I taught you. Caring for a child is hard, especially if you have no experience. There is no shame in asking for help.”

Fiona nodded and the midwife left the room. The young woman sighed and gently put her daughter into the small crib next to her bed. A small tear fell down her cheek and landed on the wooden planks. She quickly wiped her tears away and tried to ignore the sadness that had overcome her. The love of her life had made the crib, full of anticipation of his coming child.

Yet…

She shook her head before approaching the door and locking it. It was not good to think about that. For her daughter, she would suppress her sadness so that her daughter could have a childhood filled with joy and laughter and live without misfortune and worries. She would gift Elise a life she had been unable to live. Hers had been one of fear, fear that those who had framed her parents for a crime would also come and end her life.

Fiona clenched her fist until it turned white. Those responsible would…

The cries of her daughter ripped her out of her violent thoughts, and Fiona gently lifted her daughter up before hugging her. The midwife had said that a newborn would convey its needs by crying. She knew she didn't have to get her daughter' s diaper changed. No, her child was just hungry. Thus Fiona decided to sate her child's hunger.