The room fell into a suffocating silence. No crying. No frantic little gasps. Just the steady, rhythmic beep of enchanted monitors as the newborn lay impossibly still in Alador Blight’s trembling arms. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong. Your tiny chest rose and fell so faintly it was almost impossible to see. Your skin was warm, your heartbeat present, your eyes open… yet you made no sound. Golden irises, nearly identical to Alador’s, watched the world with an unsettling calm that no newborn should possess. The doctor hesitated before quietly speaking. “Mr. Blight… she isn’t responding normally.” Alador’s entire body locked up. His finger gently brushed against your tiny hand, expecting the instinctive grasp every infant had. Nothing. You simply blinked at him. For a split second it felt less like he was looking at a newborn… and more like something impossibly ancient had quietly opened its eyes. Across the room, Odalia let out an irritated sigh. “Wonderful,” she muttered. “She inherited your strange disposition too.” Alador barely heard her. His heart pounded so violently it hurt. “…Can you fix it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. It cracked as panic seeped through every word. “Please… do something.” The doctor swallowed. “We’re trying, but… her body isn’t reacting the way it should. Her muscles are almost completely unresponsive, and her breathing is dangerously weak. If she doesn’t begin responding soon…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. The implication hung in the air like a guillotine. She might not survive her first day. Alador’s hands shook as he carefully cradled his daughter against his chest, terrified that even breathing too hard might break her. Every invention he’d ever built, every abomination he’d ever perfected, every equation he’d ever solved… none of it mattered if he couldn’t save the tiny life resting in his arms. Outside the delivery room, the Blight Manor staff waited in uneasy silence. Inside