Chapter One - Oculi Sanguis

“Push!” the midwife, an elderly woman that resided in the capital city Isyndril tended to the birthing of the next heir to the Boraian empire. On the bed was a young woman, no more than sixteen years old and the current first princess Gianna. She is the daughter of the noble house that governs Odea, the gate city that guards the inner lakes and access to the two grand cities within the inner parts of the island country. Her husband is first prince Bastion, son of the current king Edwards.

At the moment however she was no more than a would be mother, the would be mother of the future heir of Boraia.

“Gyaa!” sweat and tears flowed on the face of the struggling mother. “Hmng!”

“Breathe girl,” the midwife soothed her giving her an encouraging smile. “He’s coming. Breathe and then give another good push. He’s almost out. Everything is going very well.”

“*huff* *huff*,” For a moment her consciousness wandered and wavered, but her resolution maintained and again...she pushed! “Gyaaa!”

“He’s coming!” the elderly woman announced as the head of the babe made way out of the mother.

“GnnnHA!” Gianna pushed with all her might to give birth to her child.

“I got him,” Gianna felt the child fully leave her body and in her painful daze she saw the midwife place the infant child in a tub of warm water where two other attendants cleaned him and cut the cord tying her baby to her. She could hear the cries of her child filling the room, his frantic cries filled her with relief and for a moment all the pain and exhaustion washed away as joy filled her heart.

“Congratulations my lady,” the midwife whispered as he brought the still crying child over to her. Gently the woman placed the infant in the mother’s arms. “You have given birth to a healthy baby boy, a strong prince to be sure.”

A light laugh of joy left the mother’s lips as she caressed the boy in her arms, his crying had died down.

“My little leo,” Gianna whispered into his ear as she gently kissed his soft cheek.

The name was decided for him months ago, Leonardo Wolfmund Cazador Thorian, the first of his name. Wolfmund refers to an ancient hero that led the armies during the tribe unification wars that formed Boraia and its growing empire. Thorian is a tribute to Gianna’s family, the Thorsvan house, Cazador is the name of the current royal house.

“Nmmm,” the baby started trying to move, but his small body didn’t have any more strength to do more than just wiggle around.

“Maybe he hungers,” the midwife suggested. The strain the infant was putting on moving himself around was turning him red with force. It wouldn’t be healthy for the infant to continue pushing himself.

Gianna shuffled her son towards her tit and attempted to entice him to open his mouth. For a moment there was only resistance and she feared that with the force of the strain he would bi…

“Hyap…” she barely contained her cry as the soft gums clamped onto her breasts. “Tss…”

She panicked for a second, she didn’t know how to make him release her without forcing him away, but the pain quickly subsided. At first he only tugged at her unsure of what to do.

“My lady,” the midwife stepped forward worried after noticing the pain on the mother’s face.

“No its nothing,” she waved her away. “He only bit me a little.”

She encouraged him again moving the tit in his mouth, her spine chilled when his gums started to clamp down again, but before she could pull away he started to suckle her. She breathed a sigh of relief and gave a slight giggle.

“He’s feeding well now,” she informed the midwife who had been just as tense as she had been the whole time. Her body visibly relaxed.

“Quite the young lord,” was all the woman said as she started ushering the attendants to clean up the room and get the things out that were no longer necessary.

The midwife helped prop the young mother up with pillows so her back would not tire as she fed her newborn child.

After her little Leo was born she found herself taking care of him much like a common mother, normally this was a task left to a designated head nanny, but she found it hard to separate herself from him. He was a strange little one, even through the biased eyes of a mother she couldn’t help but notice his differences, for one he didn’t cry often. He cried when he needed to eat, or be changed otherwise he remained silent most of the time, but every once in awhile he would cry with such might that she felt he would hurt himself with the intensity of his crying.

Ever since the day he came into the world he was always struggling, as if angry with his own physical weakness.

Gianna was very adept at feeling the flow of life and mana as a clerical healer, though her skills are mediocre, and from his cries she felt something that made her heart beat in fear. Insanity and rage. Fearing for what her child held inside him whenever he cried she couldn’t help but sing to him a high elven song of life magic passed down to her through her family. This was a song designed for the battlefield where strong clerical healers would sing this song to the dying wounded. It was designed to alleviate the pain and horror of death, to allow the dying to pass on to the next world as peacefully as possible.

At first many would come to tend to the child, healers and those with experience in handling young children, but nothing they did or recommended helped the child. His state of despair and desperation only grew in magnitude until one day it reached a crescendo. Six months had passed since his birth and the castle had been filled with the chaos created by the song and its clash with the morbid mood of the child. Somehow the child had started to influence the song reversing its effects at times when the darkness in his heart was too strong.

“My lady!” the steward of the castle woke her from her sleep. She felt chilled and noted that there were several people in her room including several guards. They were generally huddled around her and the cradle at the foot of her bed. She stood, her legs shaking. Two maids rushed to her placing a robe over her as she was still in her night wear and should not be seen so indignantly dressed by the men in the room.

“What is happening?” her mind felt clouded as she struggled on her feet to reach her child.

“It's the young lord miss,” Gerald, the castle steward, said as he aided her walking by lending her a shoulder.

Within the crib was her infant surrounded by miasma, plagued mana that was harmful to any and all who would touch it. It explained why she felt so weakened. The miasma must have been draining her, but what was it doing to her child?! He was so pale, so weak, he was not moving, he did not even look like he was breathing, her son was dead or dying before her very eyes.

Without thinking she lunged for him ripping him out of the crib and away from the poisonous force that surrounded him. Her maternal instincts took over and she began pouring everything she could into the elven song.

My son will not die!

“My lady the miasma!” Steward Gerald cried out trying to pry the infant from the princess. If the young lord died the princess could always make more, but if both died it would be a heavy blow to the royal house.

The miasma stung his hands and he was unable to even touch the boy, the plagued force ate away at the princess’s robe and strained her veins as it poisoned her body.

Even as the chaotic force threatened to kill her she did not give up, she cried with all her motherly love in her voice. For a moment all seemed lost as the miasma only seemed to grow stronger, many were forced to leave or fainted outright as they were also poisoned by it. The miasma grew to such an expanse that it filled the room and those that remained lost consciousness, but the first princess would not give up on her only child.

When even her body could no longer stand she cradled him on her knees.

His eyes opened slowly revealing powerful crimson eyes, a daemon, she had given birth to a daemon. In history very few were ever spoken of, but what is well known is that they always have glowing eyes and unrivalled command of the forces of the world. Maybe his sadness was that he was born to humans and not of his own kind.

His small hand reached out, with what strength she had she placed a finger in his tiny palm, his sadness had become her own. If he was going to choose ending himself then she would happily go with her son.

Her song had started to wither, her strength was leaving her.

The profound sorrow in his eyes that did not belong on any infant was replaced with something else, curiosity. The poisonous mana suddenly wavered.

A new voice suddenly joined hers, this was a strong male disembodied voice. A miracle took place that day, a strong aura on par with what the collective might of a dozen grand mages might be capable of filled the entire city. It was the high elven song on a magnitude scale never before projected at. The air was filled with healing and mending magic that invigorated and rejuvenated everything within its influence.

From then on the infant was changed, his cries were no longer filled with misery.

Everything was chucked up to an assassination attempt on the young lord, only Gianna knew the truth, that her son was a Daemon.