The soft glow of lanterns illuminated a modest home in the heart of the Lancaster estate. Kyra Lancaster, her long white hair cascading over her shoulders, rested one hand protectively on her swollen belly. Then suddenly, the talisman hanging from her neck began to vibrate violently, its runes glowing a bright crimson—a warning.

  Patrick Lancaster, her husband and a renowned swordsman, was in danger.

  “No…” Kyra’s voice wavered as her fingers tightened around the talisman. She remembered her husband said he was invited to complete a job with their fellow party member in the Abyssal Cradle dungeon. This was supposed to be the last job for a while because he was planning to take a long break to spend time with his wife and new baby after Kyra gives birth in a few days.

  Her sharp blue eyes darted toward the window, where the crescent moon hung in a starless sky. She could feel it—her husband’s life was slipping away.

  Without hesitation, she stood, despite the protests of her midwives. Summoning her mana, she traced intricate patterns in the air, opening a portal that connected her to Patrick’s talisman. The air crackled as the spell completed, and she stepped through.

  What she saw on the other side made her heart stop.

  Patrick was kneeling, his broadsword plunged into the ground for support. Blood poured from a gash on his shoulder, his once-powerful frame trembling. A portal swirled ominously behind him, its dark energy pulling at his body like a hungry beast.

  Standing a few feet away was one of their closest comrades, a fellow adventurer they had trusted with their lives. The traitor smirked, holding a magical device that kept the portal stable.

  “You…why?” Patrick’s voice was weak yet filled with disbelief.

  “For power,” the traitor sneered. “With you gone, I will be the sole heir to our group’s fame and fortune! You were always in my way, Patrick.”

  Kyra’s fury ignited. Her mana surged, filling the dungeon chamber with an overwhelming pressure. The traitor’s smug expression faltered as she appeared, her hand already forming a spell. She quickly launched a barrage of light arrows at him, but he dodged, retreating further into the shadows.

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  “Patrick!” she screamed, rushing toward her husband. But as she reached out to pull him away from the portal, its pull intensified.

  “No!” she cried, her magic flaring in desperation. Patrick gripped her hand tightly, his once-steady gaze now filled with sorrow.

  “Kyra…protect our child,” he whispered. Then, with a final push, he released her and was swallowed by the portal’s void. It vanished with a deafening crack, leaving only silence in its wake.

  Kyra fell to her knees, her trembling hands clutching the air where Patrick had been. Tears streamed down her face, but her grief was cut short by the sound of footsteps. The traitor was still there, watching her with wary eyes.

  “You’ll regret this,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom.

  The traitor smirked, but his confidence faltered as she stood, her mana flaring once more. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sealed container etched with dark runes. Before she could act, he threw it at her.

  A seed, dark and pulsing with malevolent energy, embedded itself in her chest. Pain unlike anything she had ever felt surged through her body. She screamed as her skin began to harden, dark bark spreading over her limbs like a curse.

  The traitor fled, leaving Kyra to her fate.

  Struggling against the curse, Kyra collapsed. She could feel her body changing, her mana fading. But she refused to give in—not yet. She placed a trembling hand on her belly and began chanting a spell, pouring all her remaining vitality into her unborn child.

  Her labor was swift but excruciating. As the curse consumed her, turning her into a lifeless tree, she held her newborn son in her arms. His tiny hand reached up, grasping her finger. Tears streamed down her face as she smiled weakly.

  She removed her talisman from her neck and quickly carved her child’s name on it using a rune pen. Kyra then placed the talisman around her baby and give a silent prayer in her heart.

  “Kenji,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Grow up…and become strong.”

  With those final words, Kyra’s transformation was complete. Her body became a dark, gnarled tree, cradling her child in its branches.

  Hours later, deep within the dungeon, a nameless ogre queen stumbled upon the scene. She approached cautiously, her heart heavy with both fear and curiosity.

  The baby’s cries broke the silence. As she reached out, his small hand wrapped around her finger. In that moment, something within her stirred—a maternal instinct she thought had been extinguished with the loss of her own child.

  “This must be destiny,” she murmured, cradling the baby against her chest.

  With the human child in her arms, the ogre queen turned and disappeared into the shadows of the dungeon, unknowingly setting into motion the rise of a legend.