The night had swallowed the world whole, cloaking it in a darkness so thick it felt like the sky itself was holding its breath. Silence reigned, heavy and watchful—an unnatural stillness that seemed to warn of something unseen. And beneath this cloak of quiet, fate stirred.

In the heart of a vast mansion, bathed in the silver hush of moonlight, the halls were still. The occupants slept, lulled into a false sense of peace, unaware that everything was about to fracture.

A woman—elegant, yet hollow-eyed—moved like a phantom through the corridor, each step weighed down by the burden of what she must do. She stopped before a door, her hand trembling as it hovered above the handle. For a breathless moment, she hesitated.

Then the door creaked open.

Inside, on a bed veiled in gauzy canopies, lay a bundle wrapped in innocence. A child. The kind of child whose mere presence could still the world. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her breath slow, even, unknowing.

She slept, unaware that destiny had already marked her—that the world would demand a price from her no one should ever have to pay.

The woman stepped forward, gathering the child into her arms as if she were made of glass. In her place, she left a single folded letter on the pillow—a goodbye inked in desperation and grief.

She did not look back.

Outside, a car idled under the weight of the night. A man stood beside it, the lines of his face carved by time and sorrow. His gaze flicked between the woman and the infant, dread etched into every feature.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “There must be another way. This… this is monstrous.”

Her eyes, once warm, now held the chill of someone who had bled every last drop of hope. “If there was another path, I would’ve taken it. But some fires, we walk into ourselves… and others—we’re thrown into screaming.”

She glanced down at the sleeping child. Her voice broke. “Survival is the oldest instinct. And survival often comes with sacrifice. She must never know about this, no matter what"

She slipped into the car, the man following in silence. The vehicle pulled away from the mansion, the gravel crunching like bones beneath its tires.

No one looked back.

And in the stillness left behind, the house stood silent once more—unaware that a storm had been born within its walls, and one day, it would come to collect its debt.