As Levi turned to take his leave, one of the guards called out—
"Wait! What's the boy's name?!"
No answer came.
Another guard stepped forward, watching the stranger disappear into the darkness. "…Maybe the kid doesn't have one," he muttered.
The first guard clicked his tongue. "Yeah. Guess not."
The man was gone within seconds, and just like that, silence returned to the gates. For a moment, nothing stirred.
Then the heat came.
It crept into the air in a way that didn't belong to the dead of winter. The guards stiffened as sweat began to form along their brows.
"…Why is it so damn hot?" one of them asked.
Slowly, their eyes drifted downward to the child.
The guard holding him suddenly winced. "—shit!" He jerked his hands back as the heat surged violently through his gloves, searing against his skin. The sudden pain nearly made him drop the boy, but another guard stepped in quickly and caught the child before he could fall.
"You alright?" he asked, steadying the infant.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," the first guard muttered, shaking his hand.
They both looked down. The boy slept peacefully, completely undisturbed, as if nothing had happened at all.
"…What do we do with him?" one of them asked quietly.
"I'm not sure."
The second guard didn't respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the child, narrowing slightly as the warmth slowly faded from the air.
"…We should report this," he said after a moment.
"And say what?" the first guard shot back. "That a mere infant almost mutilated a guard?"
A pause.
The second guard's voice dropped lower. "…Kids like this don't usually just show up out of nowhere."
The first guard hesitated, glancing down again.
"…You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Another pause.
"…I'm thinking," the second guard said carefully, "that whatever that man was… this kid came from it."
Silence stretched between them.
"…You suggesting we kill him?" the first guard asked under his breath.
The second guard didn't answer.
Instead, he exhaled and shook his head. "…No. That's above us."
Gradually, the heat began to fade, the air cooling once more as if it had never changed. Carefully, the guards examined the child more closely, and that was when they noticed it—an amulet resting against his chest. Silver, set with a deep crimson sunstone known for its rarity, durability, and its ability to store immense amounts of Verdance. Strange symbols were carved into its surface.
One of the guards leaned closer. "…You see that?"
The other nodded, squinting slightly. They read it at the same time.
"…Tamura."
A brief silence followed.
"Well," one of them said, exhaling slowly, "I guess we know the boy's name."
By midday, the child had already been processed. A name was recorded, a file created, and rumors began to spread far faster than ink could dry. A dark elf child appearing at the gates of Xathia Prime, the heart of the Western world—no known origin, no known clan, and wearing an artifact valuable enough to draw the attention of nobility.
He was moved quickly.
Carried from the open gates into the heart of the capital, away from prying eyes and idle curiosity. At first, the streets were lively—merchants calling out to passing crowds, the scent of food drifting through the air, voices overlapping in a constant hum of activity. But the deeper they went, the more that life seemed to fade.
The roads narrowed.
The buildings grew taller.
Cleaner.
Quieter.
Conversations lowered into murmurs as armored escorts passed by. Eyes lingered, but no one dared to ask questions. By the time they reached the inner districts, even the guards had stopped speaking.
The city no longer felt welcoming.
It felt controlled.
By the time Tamura was transferred into the hands of officials, the decision had already been made.
Within hours, the matter reached the upper circles.
"No birth records. No affiliation. No identity," one noble said, tapping a finger against the report. "So... he's a ghost child."
"Then where did he come from?" another asked.
More importantly—"What do we do about the Royal Family finding out?"
A quiet tension settled over the room.
"We all know Vel'Thira will want a claim if she hears of this."
"No," another voice cut in sharply. "She mustn't."
"A dark elf child from the East appearing here is not coincidence," a third added. "Especially not one carrying something like that."
"Everything is coincidence until it becomes a problem," another replied calmly.
"Or an opportunity."
That word lingered in the air.
A pause followed before the decision came.
"Handle it quickly."
"And quietly."
A few nods were exchanged.
"Send the boy to House Mourncrest."
"And be done with it."
"With any luck," one noble added with a faint smirk, "the child will be as profitable as that amulet of his."
"What did you say?"
The servant straightened immediately. "Yes, ma'am. A dark elf child from the East was brought into the city several days ago. No last name, no confirmed origin. But the nobles are in agreement—your house is best suited to handle him."
A soft smile spread across her lips. "Yes… of course they would think so."
Mistress Vayra of House Mourncrest rose slowly from her seat. She was the youngest of her family, yet already its brightest star. Her pearly white skin was flawless, her long brown hair braided with precision and adorned with gold, and her eyes—deep and rich like the red wine she so often drank—carried a sharp, calculating gleam. To high society, she was elegance and perfection. To those beneath her, she was something far more dangerous.
"Bring him to my estate," Vayra said calmly. "I will handle this personally."
"Yes, Madam Vayra."
The servant hesitated. "There is… one more detail."
Vayra's eyes flickered with interest. "The child possesses a pendant of considerable value."
"…Does he?"
A faint spark of excitement lit behind her gaze. She turned slightly, fingers tapping once against the arm of her chair.
"Another dark elf…" she murmured under her breath.
Her thoughts lingered there for a moment. The last one she had acquired had proven useful—obedient, profitable, predictable.
But this one…
Delivered to her doorstep.
Wrapped in such mystery.
"How fortunate."
She turned away, already dismissing the conversation. "Fill out his records, then leave them with one of my children."
A small smile lingered on her lips.
Not just one dark elf.
But two.
What a rare and delightful opportunity.
Far below the polished halls of nobility, the child was carried deeper into the estate grounds without ceremony. No announcement marked his arrival. No name was spoken again.
As the servant adjusted the cloth around him, he paused briefly.
"…Strange kid," he muttered.
For a moment, he thought he felt it.
That warmth.
He frowned, then shook his head and kept walking.
The boy remained silent. Sleeping.
Unaware that the moment he crossed those gates—
His life would no longer be his own to live.