Children of Fyre

Prologue

To say the newborn child was different was an understatement. The eyes were a sparkling coppery mist, the hair unnaturally long. The teeth were sharp, coming to a point, the nails long, able to draw blood if not careful. Looking into the copper eyes of the crying baby would cause nightmares to even the strongest willed people, destroying themselves from the deepest, darkest fears in the fringes of their minds. The newborn child was special.

"Keep it away from me," the mother cried out, adverting her eyes away from the child to watch her husband, the baby's father. The young mother pushed the midwife away, of whom held the newborn. 

The father sat down by the mother's side, holding her hand tightly. "We must care for it though," he murmured softly, just as distraught as the mother. 

"We can't," she responded, entrusting the midwife to stay where she was. She then set her hand on top of the clasped one. "We can take the consequences, but I'm not raising a...a demon. An abomination of nature." Her own brown eyes displayed desperation. Fear.

"Alright, alright," he ceded. He looked up at the midwife, carefully keeping his gaze away from the still crying baby. "Cast it to the woods," he demanded. 

The midwife shook her head, hugging the baby close. "I can't do that," she responded desperately. "This baby, he has a right to live. Please, I beg of you to reconsider." Her green eyes were pleading to choose another option. 

"You heard my wife, that child is a demon, therefore it must be cast to the woods," he said curtly. 

"He's still just a baby," the midwife cried.

The father glanced down at the mother briefly, then shook his head. "No. Take it to the woods or take him to raise yourself," he replied coldly and sternly. "If you do raise him, neither him nor you are ever welcome back into this home."

The midwife took a deep breath, knowing she had to keep the newborn, no matter the cost. "Very well," she agrees bitterly, considering her options. "What's his name?" 

The mother found herself speaking, which shocked both herself and the father. "Damien. Damien Wynters," she replied before the father could reply. She watched the father carefully, hoping he would stick to her decision.

The man nodded quickly. "Damien Wynters," he repeated, in case the midwife had not heard the mother's soft voice. "He is not to carry our surname," he warned. "He is not our child. Not get out of our sight and our home with that beast."

After the midwife ran out of the room, the mother burst into tears. "Agatha," the father said softly. "It's alright, we made the right decision." He comfortingly squeezed her hand. "We'll be alright." He wiped the tears falling down Agatha's face with his spare cloth as they watched each other. 

"I hope so, Sofoklis," she murmured. "I hope so." 

"We did," Sofoklis reassured her calmly.

"How did...how could this even happen," she asked softly.

"I don't know, but I plan to find out to prevent it from happening again."

Silence ensued for a minute and the midwife, who decided to eavesdrop just outside the door with the now silent baby, determined there was nothing else to be heard. Her eyes flashed copper as she smiled down at the baby boy in her arms. The boy would grow to be very powerful, a leader, more powerful than the others.

The midwife's eyes went back to their original green colour. Moments later, the midwife and her new child disappeared from sight, vanishing without a trace from the enormous castle. The only thing that remained from their presence was a small locket of hair, left on the ground in the birthing room and kept safe by Agatha as a reminder of her lost child.