Within the sacred temple of the god of wisdom and knowledge, a rare event was unfolding.

The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the ragged breaths echoing through the small chamber. Vyldra, wife of the god Mythrion, lay writhing on the birthing bed, her sweat-drenched hair clinging to her pale face. The old midwife urged her on, her voice a mixture of encouragement and worry. Pain wracked Vyldra's body, her fingers clutching the bedsheets until her knuckles turned white. Then, at last, a frail cry pierced through the tense atmosphere.

The midwife swiftly cleaned the newborn, cradling the fragile body before presenting him to Mythrion. The god gazed down at his son—a small, delicate form, crimson skin still fresh from birth, tiny hands curled into fists. A strange emotion flickered through him. But when the infant blinked for the first time, Mythrion froze.

Golden eyes.

No god should possess such eyes. That sacred golden hue carried an ominous power long forbidden since the dawn of time. Those eyes belonged to Thalvior—the Primordial God who had been defeated by Yvharos and the other deities millions of years ago. His body had been torn apart, cooked, and devoured by the victors, in the belief that consuming him would allow them to absorb his strength completely.

But Yvharos had been too greedy. He did not merely destroy Thalvior; he hunted down every descendant, consort, and follower of the Primordial One. What he failed to anticipate, however, was that the devoured flesh of Thalvior would become a part of their own divine essence. Over time, fragments of his being embedded themselves within their lineage, causing some deities to be born bearing Thalvior's traits. And those beings, with the resentment of their past lives imprinted upon their very souls, had risen against their own kin, leaving trails of blood and ruin.

Fearing another uprising, Yvharos created a ruthless god whose sole purpose was to hunt and eradicate all such descendants. From that moment on, none had escaped his wrath.

And now, Mythrion’s son had become the next target.

Mythrion tightened his hold on the infant, his heart sinking. He had been among those who consumed Thalvior’s flesh—these golden eyes were undeniable proof. To kill his own child? He could not. But to let Yvharos slaughter him? That was equally unbearable.

As the midwife left the room, Mythrion turned to his wife, gently shaking her awake.
"My love, wake up."

Vyldra’s weary eyes fluttered open, a faint smile gracing her lips at the sight of her husband. But when he lifted their son into view, his voice grew solemn.
"Look... our child has golden eyes."

Vyldra paled. "No! I swear I did not betray you! I swear it!"

"I know." Mythrion sighed, stroking her hair. "But this means our son carries Thalvior’s blood. And Yvharos will not spare him."

Trembling, Vyldra clutched the baby tightly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "My child... why must you suffer so?"

The infant stared up at her, golden eyes glowing with an eerie light. A shiver ran through her spine, but she forced herself to hold on. Desperation filled her voice as she pleaded with her husband. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Mythrion remained silent for a long moment before answering.
"There is a way, but it will only hide him until he is grown. However, the most perceptive of gods may still see through it. The best course is to raise him in secrecy, away from the divine realms. When he matures, I will find him a suitable consort—one whose power will complete my enchantment, making it so even Yvharos cannot perceive him."

Vyldra nodded, though her heart ached. Without hesitation, Mythrion called upon his divine wisdom, weaving a complex enchantment unlike any before it. Arcane symbols swirled, binding together into an intricate seal that encased the child’s eyes. As the forbidden magic took effect, the brilliant gold in his irises faded into a more ordinary shade. But the newborn writhed in distress, his small body twisting under the unnatural force suppressing his true nature. His cries were sharp and agonizing, cutting into Vyldra’s soul. Yet she held him tightly, unwilling to let go.

As the infant finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Mythrion and Vyldra sat in heavy silence, burdened by the uncertain future awaiting them.

Then, the door creaked open.

A small girl ran inside, her bright eyes shimmering with excitement. "You promised that if I behaved, I could see my baby brother... Where is he?"

Mythrion lifted his daughter, allowing her to peer into the cradle where the newborn lay. Orinthia frowned, pouting. "He’s ugly... Like a wrinkled tomato... And his eyes are all puffy."

Despite his exhaustion, Mythrion chuckled. "Orinthia, you shouldn’t say that about your brother."

Vyldra gently brushed her daughter's hair, her voice soft but pleading. "One day, you must protect him, Orinthia..."

But Orinthia seemed indifferent. Seeing her hesitation, Vyldra’s tears spilled once more, her voice breaking. "He was born into misfortune... Please, Orinthia... promise me you'll watch over him..."

Alarmed by her mother’s tears, Orinthia hastily nodded. "I promise, Mother! I promise!"

Vyldra wiped her tears and forced a trembling smile.

After a pause, she turned to Mythrion, her voice unsteady. "What will you name him?"

Mythrion remained silent for a long time before answering.
"Elarion."

Vyldra blinked. "Elarion?"

"It means the resonance of light and our divine protection..." Mythrion placed a gentle hand on the sleeping child’s chest, his gaze filled with both love and apprehension. "He will be safe..."