(flashback)

Sixteen years ago, in a room elegantly decorated, lit by soft candles casting dancing shadows on the walls, Seline found herself at the peak of pain and hope. Despite the discomfort of labor, her eyes gleamed with pure, uncontained joy. Around her, a team of experienced midwives and a healer moved with silent efficiency, ready to assist in the baby's birth.

"Almost there, Seline. You're doing wonderfully," the healer encouraged, offering a reassuring smile. Seline, despite exhaustion, returned the smile with a weak but genuine gesture.

"The way you all talk, it sounds like I'm performing some heroic feat," joked Seline, trying to ease the tension with a bit of humor.

"Giving birth to new life is, indeed, the noblest of feats," replied one of the midwives, as she adjusted the sheets around Seline.

At the door, leaning halfway against the frame, stood Lord Vermilion. His gaze was fixed on Seline, but his expression was difficult to decipher. There was a certain expectation, yes, but it was tinged with an indifference that seemed out of place at this moment of celebration. He was more concerned with the political implications and the potential for power that the birth could bring to his lineage than with the miracle of birth itself.

Finally, after hours of effort and anticipation, the sharp cry of the newborn filled the room, cutting through the accumulated tension like a knife. Seline, exhausted but radiant, extended her arms to receive her son, tears of happiness mixing with the sweat on her forehead.

"Our son, he's perfect," murmured Seline, amazed, as she caressed the baby's head, still damp and wrapped in a soft blanket. "Look at him, isn't he the most beautiful thing?"

Lord Vermilion, who had until then remained at a distance, slowly approached, looking at the son with a mix of curiosity and assessment. "He will be strong, I can feel it," he said, finally allowing a slight smile to touch his lips. However, even in this moment of union, there was a reservation in his voice, as if he was more interested in the future warrior the baby could become than in the child in his arms.

On a bright day, where the sun's rays bathed the room with a golden light that seemed to emulate the color of the little one's eyes, Seline held her son with a tenderness that could melt the coldest heart. The boy, now a few weeks old, displayed a dense black head of hair as dark as a starless night, strikingly contrasting with his golden eyes, an undeniable inheritance from his father, Lord Vermilion.

Seline, seated in the armchair that had been positioned next to the closed glass window, to bask in the sun's affection, watched her son with a look filled with love and admiration. The baby, in turn, gazed at his mother with innocent curiosity, his golden eyes shining with the daylight.

"You, my dear, shall be called Elio," said Seline, with a soft voice, accompanied by the birds' singing heard outside. "Elio, the bright, the radiant... like the sun that blesses us with its light and warmth."

Elio, upon hearing his name, smiled, a small and charming gesture that made Seline laugh softly. "Yes, you like that, don't you? Elio, my sun," she continued, gently rocking him in her arms.

The scene was one of beauty and tranquility that filled the room, creating an atmosphere of peace and hope. Elio's black hair moved softly with the breeze coming through the window, while the sunlight highlighted the golden contours of his eyes, making them shine even more.

In this moment, there were no concerns about the future, expectations, or power. There was just a mother and her son, united by a love pure and unconditional. Seline, looking at Elio, knew that, regardless of what destiny held for them, that love would be their strength and guide.

"You bring light to our family, Elio," Seline whispered, kissing her son's forehead. "And no matter how dark the world may seem at times, your light will guide us."

Samara spoke with a radiant smile, holding her daughter, Irene, whose curious eyes observed everything around. She heard what Seline said and wanted to tease her. She had just entered the room where Seline was. "The light of our home is undoubtedly my daughter. You have to agree, Seline," she said, joy evident on her face.

Seline, in turn, was sitting in a velvet armchair, holding her son, Elio, with a look of pride. "Hardly," she replied playfully, "He is not lacking in beauty." Then, she made sure to adjust the position of her son so that Samara could see his face better.

"To me, he looks ugly," Samara responded with laughter, provoking a playfully deadly exchange of glances between the two.

"You are the one, just jealous," retorted Seline, the lightness in her voice revealing the affection behind the comment.

The conversation then took a more serious turn, although it kept the friendly tone. "I'm glad everything went well. But where has our husband gone now?" Samara asked, touching her nose thoughtfully, a gesture that denoted her concern.

"Could you stop doing that? Are you nervous for some reason? He just left," Seline replied, trying to reassure her sister.

"I have an idea of where he might have gone. Probably after someone from the church," Samara conjectured, concern coloring her voice.

"Do you believe he'll deliver a class to Elio? The boy was just born, he's only three weeks old," Seline pointed out, incredulous at the possibility.

"You know how our husband is; he doesn't care much about these details. Remember? He brought a priest just three days after Irene was born," Samara reminded, running her hand over her nose, reflecting on how she tried to convince her husband to wait a few more weeks. Fortunately, she managed to persuade him to delay a little longer before bringing a priest for Seline's son, but that did not lessen her apprehension.

"You really can't get rid of that habit, can you?" Seline said, shaking her head in playful disapproval, but with a hint of seriousness in her voice. Since she was little, Samara had this peculiar habit of running her finger over her nose when she felt nervous or anxious. It was such a characteristic gesture that it had almost become her signature.

"It's my charm," Samara replied, smiling mischievously. She had indeed tried to get rid of this peculiar habit over the years, but to no avail. Eventually, she came to accept it as part of who she was. "Some call it a habit, I prefer to think of it as a personal touch," she added, keeping the smile as she looked at Seline.

"I think someone is getting sleepy," observed Seline, with a tender smile blooming on her lips. She noticed that Irene, Samara's little daughter, was slowly closing her eyes, finding comfort in her mother's arms. Irene seemed to fight against sleep, but the calm and security of the arms that enveloped her were irresistible.

"Let her sleep in my arms, I'll stay here with you," said Samara, with a soft and welcoming voice. She did not want to cause any inconvenience to her childhood friend, especially now that Seline had just had her first child. Samara deeply understood the whirl wind of emotions and challenges that accompany motherhood, having gone through it with the arrival of Irene. She was there not just as a visitor, but as support, a source of comfort and aid for her dear friend.

"Seriously, you don't have to. You can go put her to sleep," insisted Seline, gratitude shining in her eyes. She always valued independence and hated the idea of bothering others, even if that "other" was her childhood friend, someone with whom she had shared countless moments of joy and sadness.

Seline smiled gently at Samara, noticing the hesitation in her gaze. "Go, let Irene rest a bit in the room. She seems to need it," she said, with a voice full of understanding and affection. "You'll come back soon, right?"

Samara, after a brief moment of reflection, nodded with a smile. "Of course, I won't be long. She really seems to need a bit of peace," she agreed, still holding Irene tenderly. "I'll be right back," she promised, before getting up and walking toward the bedroom, leaving Seline and Elio alone in the living room.

With the living room now more peaceful, Seline allowed herself a moment of silence. She observed the sunlight entering through the window, delicately illuminating the room, and commented to herself about the pleasant warmth that filled the room. She gracefully stood up, still holding Elio in her arms, and walked to one of the windows to open it further, allowing a fresh and revitalizing breeze to enter.

After opening the window, Seline returned to her armchair and settled in again, closing her eyes for a brief moment to appreciate the peace that moment provided her. She very much enjoyed this tranquility, something rare in her life full of obligations. Seline pressed her son against her chest, nurturing a feeling of gratitude for the calm that surrounded them.

However, she could never have imagined that, beneath the surface of that temporary peace, forces and events were aligning in a way that would bring unimaginable suffering to Seline and her son. Fate, capricious and unpredictable, was about to show that not all moments of light precede happiness. And on that bright day, darkness was approaching, ready to test Seline's strength and resilience in ways she had never faced before.

(End of flashback)

Seline abruptly opened her eyes, shaken by the vision of the two deadly cards advancing towards her, the same that had almost claimed her son's life, leaving him with severe wounds. A feeling of fury, more intense than anything she had ever felt before, took hold of her. With a firm movement of her right hand, she created two powerful vortexes that sucked in the threatening cards, making them reappear right in front of the clown who had launched them. The next moment, the cards exploded, but the clown vanished without a trace.

"He disappeared!" Seline thought, confused and still consumed by anger. But then, the clown's mocking voice echoed through the space, "Ohohohohohoh, what's with the attitude? What did I do to deserve such anger? Ohohoho."

"I told you to shut up!" Seline retorted, channeling her fury to concentrate the space around the clown, making it shrink in an attempt to capture him. "It won't work," taunted the clown, throwing a card that teleported him away from Seline's attack, reappearing at a safe point.

"The cards! That's a novelty," Seline reflected, surprised by the clown's ability to dodge her attack. "Aren't you going to counter-attack? Are you calming down, or are you trying to figure out how I'm doing this? I've gotten stronger, my proficiency has increased, but yours hasn't. Could it be because you're warming the bed of clown Vermilion? Ohohohohoh," the clown taunted, laughing scornfully.

"He mentioned proficiency? That means..." Seline interrupted her thoughts, a flash of understanding shining in her eyes, now wide with sudden realization. "You're from the southern region!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying a mix of shock and certainty. The peculiar way he had mentioned 'proficiency' was a clue she couldn't ignore; it was a term from the southern region.

"It took you long enough to realize, dear Seline. Ohohohohoh, I'm even sad about the time it took you to realize that I'm from the southern region. But still, I feel a bit sad that you didn't realize it sooner, ohohohoh," the clown replied, a wide, mocking smile adorning his face.

"It doesn't matter where you're from, you will pay for what you did to my son!" Seline said, the anger boiling within her, turning her words into a vow of vengeance. Each syllable was a spark of fury, ready to ignite and consume any obstacle in its path.

"Ohohohoho, really? I'm curious to see you try!" the clown challenged, his carefree stance violently contrasting with the intensity of the situation. "You're angry, I know. It's not pleasant, is it? But your suffering is nothing compared to what you deserve. You haven't suffered enough, you need to suffer more for what you did to me!" thought the clown, giving a wide and sinister smile.