The sun hung low in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the sprawling estate of House Castellio. The manor loomed ahead, its towers piercing the horizon like vigilant sentinels guarding secrets long buried. The stone walls, ivy-clad and weathered by time, bore the weight of generations—a fortress of both might and memory.

Jonathan Castellio urged his steed forward, the horse's hooves striking a rhythmic cadence against the cobblestone path leading to the grand entrance. Clad in travel-worn armor bearing the scars of countless battles, he cut an imposing figure. His raven-black hair cascaded to his shoulders, unkempt and tousled by the wind. Piercing brown eyes surveyed the familiar surroundings with a mixture of relief and trepidation. At twenty-three, he bore the mantle of a seasoned warrior, yet the prospect of returning home after years in the Harrowlands stirred a disquiet within him.

"Home at last," he murmured, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The gates swung open as he approached, guards snapping to attention upon recognizing the heir of House Castellio. Their armor gleamed under the fading sunlight, emblazoned with the family crest—a silver lion rampant against a field of deep blue.

"Welcome back, Lord Jonathan!" one of the guards called out, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

Jonathan nodded in acknowledgment, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Memories flooded back—the laughter echoing in the halls, the scent of his mother's favorite lilies adorning every room, the stern yet affectionate gaze of his father. But beneath the surface, he sensed an undercurrent, a shift in the atmosphere that he couldn't quite place.

As he dismounted, a young stablehand rushed forward to take the reins. "Thank you," Jonathan said, his voice gentle despite his imposing stature.

He strode purposefully toward the manor's entrance, the massive oak doors intricately carved with scenes of legendary deeds performed by his ancestors. Pushing them open, he was greeted by the opulence of the great hall. Marble floors reflected the glow of crystal chandeliers, and tapestries depicting historic battles adorned the walls. Servants bustled about, their conversations hushed as they noticed his arrival.

"Mother! Mother, where are you?" Jonathan's voice resonated through the hall, a commanding tone laced with urgency. He removed his gauntlets, tucking them into his belt as his gaze swept the room.

A pair of maids exchanged glances. "He's back sooner than expected," one whispered. "Do you think he knows?"

"Shh!" the other cautioned, eyes darting nervously.

Unperturbed, Jonathan made his way toward the inner chambers. As he passed, servants bowed or curtsied, murmuring greetings. He acknowledged them with brief nods, his mind focused on finding his mother.

In the opulent sitting room overlooking the east gardens, Maria Castellio sat among a circle of noblewomen. The duchess was a vision of timeless beauty—auburn hair cascading in elegant curls, eyes the color of storm clouds, and a poise that commanded respect. Draped in a gown of emerald silk that accentuated her figure, she rested a hand on her swollen belly, the subtle gesture not lost on her companions.

"Your glow is unmistakable, Maria," Lady Eleanor remarked with a sly smile. "The joys of impending motherhood suit you."

Maria returned the smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You flatter me, Eleanor. But I assure you, carrying a child at my age is more taxing than I remember."

"Does Lord Jonathan know yet?" another lady inquired, her tone dripping with feigned innocence.

"Of course not," Maria replied smoothly. "He has been on the Castellio family tradition in the Harrowlands."

The conversation was interrupted by the discreet entrance of a messenger. He approached Maria and leaned in to whisper, "My lady, your son has returned. He is seeking you."

Maria's eyes widened for a moment before she composed herself. "Ladies, it appears I must cut our gathering short. My son has come home." She rose gracefully, and the other women followed suit, exchanging farewells that masked their curiosity. Eleanor could be heard whispering to the others, "Guess he'll find out soon now, maybe he's ready for one himself," followed by giggles from the group.

As they departed, Jonathan appeared in the doorway. His presence filled the room—a blend of ruggedness from his time in the wilds and the noble bearing ingrained since birth.

"Jonathan!" Maria exclaimed, her voice tinged with genuine surprise and delight. She moved toward him, embracing him warmly. "I wasn't expecting you so soon."

He returned the embrace, his arms encircling her gently. "I made better time than anticipated," he replied. Pulling back, he studied her face. "You look well, Mother."

"And you look like you've been wrestling with trolls," she teased, wrinkling her nose at the sight of his dusty attire.

He chuckled. "Close enough. The Harrowlands are not known for their hospitality."

"Come, you must be exhausted. We'll have a proper meal prepared. But first, you should refresh yourself."

"Agreed," he nodded. "I could use a bath that doesn't involve icy river water."

She placed a hand on his arm, her eyes searching his. "It's good to have you home, Jonathan."

"It's good to be back," he replied, though a flicker of unease passed over his features.

As he made his way to his chambers, the familiar corridors seemed both comforting and alien. It had been years since he'd walked these halls, and while much remained the same, subtle changes caught his eye—a new painting here, a different tapestry there.

Entering his room, he found it impeccably maintained. The bed was freshly made, and a fire crackled softly in the hearth. A bath had been drawn, steam rising invitingly from the water. He began to undress, shedding layers of armor and clothing until he stood bare before the mirror.

His reflection revealed the toll of his journey—a lean, muscular frame marked by scars, some faded, others still raw. He traced a finger over a jagged line across his ribcage, a souvenir from a skirmish with a Still-Hawk Wolf. His thoughts drifted to the Harrowlands—the dense mana-saturated wilderness where he had honed his skills, pushing himself to new limits.

He sank into the bath with a sigh, the hot water soothing his weary muscles. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. Flashes of memory surfaced—the discovery of the egg nestled in a cave, its surface warm and pulsing with arcane energy. He recalled the moment he cradled it in his hands, believing he had found a dragon's egg, a symbol of immense power and prestige. The prospect had filled him with a mix of awe and ambition.

"But was it truly a dragon?" he mused aloud. Doubt had crept in during his return journey. The egg's markings, the residual mana—it didn't fully align with the legends he'd studied. A wyvern, perhaps? The thought unsettled him. There wasn't enough ambient mana in this region to sustain a dragon.

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. "Enter," he called.

The door opened to reveal Jones, the steward of House Castellio. The elderly man exuded an air of wisdom and discretion, his silver hair neatly combed, and his attire immaculate.

"Master Jonathan," Jones greeted with a slight bow. "It's a pleasure to see you returned safely."

"Jones," Jonathan smiled warmly. "It's been too long."

"Indeed, sir. Your mother has instructed that dinner will be served shortly. She is eager to hear of your adventures."

Jonathan arched an eyebrow. "I imagine she is. Tell me, Jones, is there anything I should be aware of? The household seems... different."

Jones hesitated ever so slightly. "Change is inevitable, sir. But all is well. Your father is attending to matters at the capital, and your mother has managed the estate admirably in his absence."

Jonathan studied the steward's face, noting the careful choice of words. "And her condition?" he asked pointedly.

"Ah, yes. The duchess is expecting," Jones confirmed. "A joyous occasion, to be sure."

"At her age?" Jonathan's tone was a mix of surprise and concern. "Is she well?"

"She assures us she is," Jones replied. "But as always, she pushes herself. Perhaps your return will encourage her to rest. She has been called to join him as she nears the end of term and plans on leaving shortly."

"Interesting," Jonathan echoed thoughtfully. "Thank you, Jones. I'll dress and join her shortly."

As Jones departed, Jonathan dressed in attire befitting his station—a tailored tunic of deep blue velvet, adorned with silver embroidery that mirrored the family crest. Fastening a cloak over his shoulders, he paused to regard himself in the mirror once more. The visage staring back was that of a noble, yet the eyes held the hardness forged from years of hardship.

Making his way to the dining hall, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The servants' whispers, the subtle glances—they all hinted at undercurrents beneath the surface of domestic normalcy.

Entering the intimate dining room, he found Maria already seated at the head of the table. The room was elegantly appointed—candles casting a warm glow, the scent of roasted meats and fresh herbs filling the air. Silverware gleamed atop fine china, and a bouquet of lilies graced the center of the table.

"Ah, Jonathan," Maria greeted, her smile radiant. "Come, sit. I've had the kitchen prepare all your favorites."

He took his seat opposite her, unfolding the linen napkin with deliberate care. "You've outdone yourself, Mother. It all looks wonderful."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. It's the least I could do. Now, tell me—how was your journey? Did you achieve all you set out to?"

He considered his response carefully. "The Harrowlands were... challenging. But I learned much."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"And your training?" she pressed. "Your father will be pleased to hear of your progress."

"I advanced significantly," he replied. "I encountered creatures infused with mana in ways we hadn't anticipated. It pushed me beyond my limits."

She leaned forward slightly. "Any noteworthy discoveries?"

He hesitated, thoughts drifting to the egg concealed among his belongings. "Nothing definitive," he said carefully. "But I sensed a shift in the mana currents. Something is changing."

Her gaze flickered with interest. "Changing how?"

"Hard to say," he admitted. "But I believe we should exercise caution. The Harrowlands are becoming more unpredictable."

She sat back, tapping a manicured nail against the stem of her wine glass. "Your father shares your concerns. He's been advocating for increased vigilance at court. But you know how politics can be."

"Indeed," he agreed, though his mind lingered on other matters. "Mother, about your... condition. Are you certain you're well enough to travel?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am quite capable. We depart for the capital in two days."

"Is that wise?" he pressed. "Given the circumstances, perhaps it's best to wait for Father to return."

She sighed, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. "Jonathan, I understand your worry, but these arrangements have been made. We cannot delay."

He met her gaze steadily. "At least allow me to accompany you."

"Of course," she smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

A servant entered, bearing a tray of steaming dishes. As they began to dine, conversation shifted to lighter topics—reminiscences of his childhood antics, updates on the estate, and anecdotes about mutual acquaintances.

Yet beneath the surface, tension simmered. Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that his mother was withholding something. Her eyes, though warm, held a guarded quality. And then there was Andreas—the captain of the duchy's guard. His absence at dinner was unusual.

"Is Andreas not joining us?" he inquired casually.

Maria's grip tightened ever so slightly on her fork. "He's attending to security matters," she replied smoothly. "With your father away, he's taken on additional responsibilities."

"I see," Jonathan nodded, though the explanation felt inadequate.

As the meal progressed, Maria dabbed her lips with a napkin, her expression turning contemplative. "Jonathan, there's something I wish to discuss."

He leaned forward. "Yes?"

She paused, choosing her words with care. "When we arrive at the capital, there will be... expectations. Your father intends to announce certain alliances that could benefit our house."

"Political alliances?" he queried.

"Marriage alliances," she clarified, watching his reaction closely.

He resisted the urge to sigh. "Mother, we've discussed this."

"And we shall continue to until you see reason," she countered. "Your duty extends beyond the battlefield. Our house's future depends on strong connections."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But I believe in choosing my own path."

Her eyes softened. "I only want what's best for you. We delayed for the family tradition but now you're back, it will be time."

"I know," he replied gently. "But let me carve my own destiny."

Before she could respond, a commotion erupted outside the dining room. Raised voices and hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"Stay here," Jonathan said, rising swiftly.

"Jonathan, wait!" Maria called after him, but he was already moving toward the door.

Stepping into the hallway, he intercepted a guard rushing past. "What's happening?" he demanded.

The guard halted, saluting crisply. "My lord, there's an intruder at the gates. A high-level beast is sniffing around as well. Captain Andreas is handling it."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "A beast all the way here? At this hour?"

"Yes, my lord. The wards are holding, but he insists on checking it out."

"Interesting," Jonathan mused. "I'll accompany you."

He followed the guard through the manor, emerging into the courtyard where a contingent of soldiers stood at the ready. Beyond the wrought-iron gates, a cloaked figure stood, mana swirling faintly around him, emanating an aura of unnatural power.

Andreas stood at the forefront, emanating a palpable aura of power. Mana crackled in the air, a tangible force that set the hairs on Jonathan's neck on edge. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The captain was a formidable man—tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp features and green eyes that missed nothing.

"Identify yourself!" Andreas commanded.

The stranger pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered face marked by scars and eyes that glowed with an unnatural light. "I seek an audience with Duchess Maria Castellio," he declared, his voice resonating with authority.

"State your name and purpose," Andreas replied tersely.

"Names hold power," the man retorted. "I bear a message of utmost importance."

Jonathan stepped forward, positioning himself beside Andreas. "I am Jonathan Castellio, son of the duke. You will address me."

The stranger appraised him, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Ah, the prodigal son returns. Very well, Lord Jonathan. The Harrowlands stir. Forces beyond your comprehension are in motion. Your family is entwined in a destiny that cannot be escaped."

"Enough riddles," Jonathan snapped. "Speak plainly or be gone."

The man's gaze flickered to Andreas, then back to Jonathan. "The wyvern egg you carry—it is not what you believe. Darkness follows you, and it will consume all if left unchecked."

Jonathan felt a chill run down his spine. "How do you know about that?"

"Knowledge is my trade," the stranger replied cryptically. "Heed my warning. The path ahead is fraught with peril."

Before Jonathan could respond, the stranger turned and vanished into the night, his form dissipating as if made of mist.

"What in the realms was that about?" Andreas muttered, tension evident in his posture.

Jonathan clenched his jaw. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."

Andreas glanced at him, concern etched in his features. "Perhaps we should inform your mother."

He shook his head. "Not yet. No need to alarm her until we have more information."

"As you wish," Andreas conceded, though doubt lingered in his eyes.

Returning to the manor, Jonathan's mind raced. The stranger's words echoed ominously. Could the egg truly be more than a mere wyvern? Had he unwittingly brought danger to his family's doorstep?

Entering his chambers, he secured the door and retrieved the ornate box hidden within his travel pack. Placing it on the table, he opened it carefully. The egg lay nestled within, its surface shimmering with iridescent hues. Tendrils of mana coiled around it, almost as if alive.

He reached out to touch it, but hesitated. "What are you?" he whispered.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. "Jonathan?" Maria's voice called softly.

He closed the box hurriedly. "Come in."

She entered, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Is everything alright? I heard there was an incident."

"Nothing to worry about," he assured her. "A wanderer causing a scene. Andreas handled it."

She studied him closely. "You're troubled."

He forced a smile. "Just weary from the road. Perhaps rest will do me good."

She approached, placing a hand on his cheek. "You've grown so much. I barely recognize the boy who left here years ago."

He covered her hand with his own. "Time changes us all."

She seemed about to say more, but then thought better of it. "Very well. Get some rest. We'll have much to discuss on our journey. We're leaving tomorrow instead. No arguing with me on this."

"Okay. Goodnight, Mother."

"Goodnight, my son."

As she departed, Jonathan locked the door. He knew sleep would elude him. Too many questions hung unanswered, and the weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon him.

He moved to the window, gazing out at the moonlit landscape. In the distance, the Harrowlands loomed—a dark expanse pulsing with untamed mana. The stranger's warning gnawed at him.

"Darkness follows you..."

---

The following morning dawned with a golden hue, but the brightness did little to lift the heaviness in Jonathan's heart. Preparations for the journey were underway—carriages loaded, horses saddled, and provisions secured. Servants scurried about, attending to last-minute details.

Maria was already dressed in elegant travel attire, her gown tailored to accommodate her pregnancy while maintaining an air of sophistication. Andreas supervised the guards, his demeanor as stoic as ever.

As Jonathan approached, Andreas nodded in greeting. "All is in order, my lord."

"Thank you," Jonathan replied. "I've assigned additional scouts to ride ahead. I want no surprises on the road."

"A wise precaution," Andreas agreed.

Maria joined them, her gaze warming as she looked at Andreas and then settling on Jonathan. "You seem restless."

"Just ensuring our journey is safe," he said.

She smiled faintly. "Always so protective."

"Is Father aware of our departure?"

"He expects us at the capital," she confirmed. "There's much to discuss with the king."

Jonathan considered pressing for details but decided against it. There would be time enough for politics later.

As they set off, the estate faded behind them, replaced by rolling hills and dense forests. The road ahead wound through territories bordering the Harrowlands—a region both revered and feared for its untamed magic.

Hours passed in relative silence. Jonathan rode alongside the carriage, ever vigilant. The air grew cooler, and an unnatural mist began to creep along the ground.

He signaled to one of the scouts. "Report."

The scout pulled alongside. "All clear ahead, my lord. Though the mist is unusual for this time of year."

Jonathan frowned. "Maintain heightened awareness."

The procession continued, but an uneasy feeling settled over the group. The horses grew skittish, their breaths visible in the chilling air.

Suddenly, a piercing screech shattered the silence. From the canopy above, a massive shadow descended—a creature of scales and wings, eyes glowing with malevolent intent.

"Wyvern!" Andreas shouted, drawing his sword.

Chaos erupted. Guards scrambled to form a defensive perimeter as the wyvern swooped low, its tail lashing out and sending men and horses sprawling.

"Protect the duchess!" Jonathan commanded, unsheathing his blade, which hummed with enchanted energy.

The wyvern circled back, its jaws opening to unleash a torrent of venomous spit. Jonathan raised his sword, casting a barrier spell that deflected the attack, though the force pushed him back.

Maria peered out from the carriage, eyes wide with fear. "Jonathan!"

"Stay inside!" he yelled.

The creature landed with a thud, crushing a carriage wheel beneath its clawed foot. It reared its head back, preparing another assault.

Jonathan charged, channeling mana into his sword. He struck at the wyvern's flank, scales shattering under the impact. The beast roared in pain, swinging its tail toward him. He dodged narrowly, the tail smashing into a guard behind him.

Andreas joined the fray, his movements precise and deadly. Together, they pressed the attack, but the wyvern was relentless.

"Focus on its wings!" Jonathan called out. "Ground it completely!"

They coordinated their strikes, aiming for the membranous wings. A well-placed arrow from a guard pierced one wing, causing the wyvern to shriek and stagger.

But just as they gained the upper hand, a second screech echoed—a smaller wyvern emerged from the mist, its eyes locked onto the carriage.

"No!" Jonathan shouted, realizing too late.

The smaller wyvern lunged at the carriage, its claws ripping through wood and fabric. Maria screamed as the creature seized her, lifting her into the air.

"Mother!" Jonathan's heart pounded as he watched in horror.

He sprinted toward them, but the original wyvern blocked his path, swiping at him with renewed fury. He parried desperately, adrenaline fueling his every move.

"ANDREAS, HELP!" Maria's voice was faint, growing more distant as the wyvern ascended.

Andreas threw a dagger, striking the smaller wyvern's leg. It faltered but didn't release its grip.

"Archers! Bring it down!" Jonathan commanded.

A volley of arrows soared upward, but the mist and the creature's erratic flight hindered their aim.

Jonathan watched helplessly as his mother was carried off into the distance, the larger wyvern catching one of the guards in its mouth before retreating after the other.

"MOOOOOM!" His desperate plea echoed through the forest, reverberating for miles.

---

Maria felt the wind whip through her hair, the cold biting her skin as the wyvern carried her away. The beast's screech was deafening, and the world below blurred as tears filled her eyes. Fear gripped her, more intense than anything she had ever known—until a familiar, agonizing pain surged through her body.

The pangs of childbirth had begun, sharp and unrelenting. Alone and suspended in the wyvern's grip, Maria's fear reached a crescendo beyond anything she had ever felt.

The creature eventually landed in a cave high in the rocky outcrops of the Harrowlands. It dropped her roughly to the stone floor, turning away and disappearing into the misty sky. The cave was dark, the air damp and heavy with the tang of old magic. Weak and barely conscious, Maria knew she didn't have long.

She cried out in pain, her body wracked with convulsions. The child was coming—there was no stopping it. Through sheer determination, she delivered her son, her weakened state making each breath a battle. She cradled the newborn, his cries mingling with her own sobs of desperation.

With the last remnants of her strength, Maria began a spell—one she had never attempted before, one she had hoped she'd never need. It was an ancient form of teleportation, bound by the user's intent rather than precise coordinates.

"To his kin," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind that whipped through the cave. "Please... keep him safe."

The magic surged around her, swirling in erratic, colorful streams. But something went wrong. The spell, affected by the lingering mana of the Harrowlands and Maria's own weakened state, splintered. The child vanished, his cries swallowed by the echoes of the spell.

Maria collapsed, her vision fading as exhaustion and pain overtook her. In her final moments of consciousness, a thought crossed her mind: Had her son reached safety? The spell had felt... different. Twisted.

But she would never know.

The wyvern's cave fell silent, save for the steady drip of water and the distant rustling of leaves beyond the entrance.