The sun had not yet risen when the decision was made.
In a grand hall adorned with floating crystals and golden sigils, a noble couple stood before an elder priest, their expressions etched with something between grief and disgust.At the center of the chamber, a newborn child lay wrapped in fine silk, his small chest rising and falling with quiet breaths.
The priests hand rested lightly upon the infants body, his eyes closed as he reached out with his magic, seeking the flow of mana within.Seconds passed.Then minutes.
Nothing.
No response. No flicker of magical presence.
The silence in the chamber deepened, heavy with unspoken words.
Then, the priest opened his eyes, his gaze solemn. He is Hollowborn.
The mother sucked in a sharp breath. The fathers hands clenched into fists.
No, the man growled. Test him again.
I have tested him thrice, the priest said, his voice steady.The result does not change.Your son has no magic.
A single sentence. A sentence that sealed the childs fate.
A child without magic was no child of theirs.
The father turned away, his expression dark.The mother hesitated for only a moment before following.The priest watched them in silence, offering no comfort.He had seen this beforecountless times.
Some parents begged for a miracle.Some wept, unable to part with their flesh and blood.But in the end, they all made the same choice.
The child would be discarded.
The forest was quiet when the man laid the bundle upon the earth.
Moonlight spilled through the gaps in the trees, casting silver streaks across the infants face.The child stirred but did not wake.He was too young to know what was happening.
Too young to know that he had been left to die.
A sharp gust of wind rustled the leaves.The man hesitated, his hands trembling slightly.For a moment, he seemed to waver, as if something deep within him resisted this final act of abandonment.
But then he turned away.
And without a single word, he left.
The child remained.
Alone.
The wind grew colder, and the forest stirred.Distant growls echoed in the darkness, the whispers of hungry beasts drawn to the scent of something helpless.
Something easy to kill.
The night stretched on, the childs fate hanging in the balance.
But fate was not done with him yet.