(First person pov- zen worldheart.)
The heavy scent of iron and sweat hung thick in the air of the corridor. I leaned against the stone wall, crossing my arms as I waited for the healers to finish. It felt like an eternity, though in this world, time was the only thing that was truly free.
"Another mouth," I muttered to myself, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Just what the Town of Oakhaven needs. Another brat taking up space and resources."
I already had two. A daughter, Elara, who was already showing a chilling aptitude for mana manipulation, and a son, Kael, who spent his days swinging a wooden sword until his hands bled. In a world where you either stood on the throats of others or ended up as a meal, having a third child felt less like a blessing and more like a liability.
My marriage to Seraphina wasn't built on anything as fragile as love. She was the daughter of a High Lord, a woman who needed a "husband" to act as a shield against a swarm of unwanted suitors while she maintained her own shadow-grip on the province. I was the "Jackass"—the talented but low-born warrior who was just competent enough to run a town and just expendable enough to be controlled.
The screaming from inside the room stopped abruptly. No crying followed. Just a heavy, unnatural silence.
I pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped inside. The servants were scurrying like rats, cleaning the gore. In the center of it all sat Seraphina, propped up against the pillows, her face pale but her eyes as sharp and predatory as ever.
One of the healers held the child. He wasn't wailing. He was... observing.
"Give him here," I grunted.
I took the small, surprisingly heavy bundle. The boy turned his head—not with the jerky movements of an infant, but with a slow, deliberate focus. He looked at me with blood-red eyes, an exact match for my own, contrasting sharply with the shock of pale blond hair he'd inherited from his mother.
"He's alive, isn't he?" I asked, looking at the lead healer. "He hasn't made a sound."
The servant bowed low, trembling. "He... he breathed immediately, My Lord. He simply did not cry. We dared not strike a child of your blood to force it."
I looked back down at the boy. Those red eyes felt like they were staring through my skull, reading the sins I'd committed to keep this town under my thumb. It was unsettling.
"Finally, you've decided I exist," a cold voice snapped from the bed.
I looked over at Seraphina. She looked more annoyed by the interruption to her schedule than the ordeal of labor.
"You look well, Seraphina," I said, my voice dropping into the neutral, submissive tone I had perfected over the years. "The healers said the birth was—"
"The birth was a waste of my time," she interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "I've spent a year bloated and sluggish because of that thing in your arms. And look at you, standing there like a decorative statue. If you've seen enough of the brat, go back to the docks. The shipment of mana stones is late, and I won't have the merchants thinking we've grown soft just because I dropped a litter."
I felt a surge of familiar irritation, but I kept my gaze firmly on the floor. "Of course. I'll see to the merchants immediately."
"Good," she spat, turning her head toward the window. "And don't just daydream there, Jackass. You're a Lord in name only because I allow it. Remember that."
I heard a muffled snicker from a servant in the corner—a girl I'd probably have to lash later just to keep the household from falling into total disrespect. I didn't say a word. I handed the child back to the healer without a second glance.
"Wait," I paused at the door, looking back. "What about his name?"
Seraphina didn't even turn around. "I'll decide when I see if he has the talent to survive the week. Why name something that might not last until autumn? Get out."
I nodded, my face a mask of indifference, and walked out of the room. I didn't give him a name. I wasn't allowed to. In this world, a name was a luxury, and that boy was currently nothing more than a silent observer in a house full of monsters.