Tiny hands and chubby cheeks, pouty lips that stretched into a wide yawn, a single wispy patch of dark hair standing up in permanent disarray. Jerika held the child as if the little boy were made of glass. She had never imagined a child of her own, especially not after her parents had sold her. She glanced at the green leaf on her hand, the mark that had started it all. Ironic that it was the same shade as the dye she used to make. Her mark had grown as she had used her magic, leafy vines wrapped around her wrist now, like a delicate bracelet and had begun to inch up her arm.

She returned her attention to the little boy in her arms, the little miracle. She had gone through torment to have him but now that she did, she was never letting him go. It had been a few days since his birth and Jerika could almost swear he had grown already. His stubby fingers grasped her own in a surprisingly strong grip. She cooed at him and continued her search for an appropriate name. She had immediately ruled out most members of her family since they had sold her. She had ruled out any names related to the imperial family. And while his father would likely be in his life, Jerika wasn’t convinced that was a good thing, so any variations of Vekir were out. 

“How about Fheyr, hm? To match your fiery soul.”

Just then, Vekir Feol swept into the room, his large frame crowding the small room Jerika called her own. He smiled at the child, the very image of a proud father, and Jerika tried to smile back but there was something off in his smile, something sharp and cold. He presented her with a small box, the type generally used for jewelry and something like panic twisted in her chest. He opened it, revealing a collar of woven silver, the mark of his elite, the mark of a mage killer. 

Jerika clutched her child to her chest protectively, her grip tightening on the child until he began to squall. She watched with trepidation as Feol’s face changed from the facsimile of a kind smile into a feral sneer. She had suspected that there was some nefarious plan at work behind his seemingly kind treatment of her these past few months, but not this. She had heard rumors of how his assassins were made, forged in the blood of their murdered offspring, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it. The child was as much his as it was hers, how could he even consider it?

He leaned in close, his hands snaking through her hair to clasp the necklace behind her. Once the cold metal settled around her neck, he whispered, “Now, my mage. Kill the brat.”

Jerika closed her eyes, tears escaping to run down her cheeks, as she shuddered, fighting his command. The binding sigils embedded in her shoulders burned ever hotter the longer she refused. She could smell her skin burning now, but still she refused, clutching her baby to her chest like the most precious of things. 

Feol chuckled low as she began to weep, smirking as her hands began moving of their own accord, “Fight all you like. You are mine now, mage, and you will never escape me.”