chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The End of the Battle**

On a battlefield covered in destruction, corpses lay scattered as far as the eye could see. There was no sound, only the cold wind that carried the stench of blood and the remnants of a once-ferocious war. The ground, drenched in death, was still and silent, as though mourning those who had fallen. Amidst the piles of bodies, a lone woman lay weakened. Blood poured from her wounds, her once-strong body now frail and failing. A large sword was deeply embedded in her abdomen, the blade stained red with her life's essence.

Yet, despite the overwhelming pain, she held onto something more precious than her own life—two newborn twins. One boy and one girl, still breathing, nestled in their mother's arms. Her pale, trembling hands cradled them as gently as she could. Her face, though ghostly pale, still bore a faint smile of love as her strength slowly ebbed away. She knew her time was running out, but in these final moments, she wanted to leave something behind for her children.

"Forgive me, my little ones... I won't be able to watch you grow," she whispered weakly, each word a struggle as her breath grew shorter. Her voice was full of sorrow, but her eyes were filled with love, gazing tenderly at her babies. "But... before I go, I want to give you your names."

With the last of her strength, she reached out and gently caressed the head of her baby boy. Her hand trembled as she smiled faintly. "You are the eldest," she whispered, her voice soft but determined. "Your name will be Ryan Jerga. You will grow strong, my son, like your father."

Then, her gaze fell upon her daughter, her eyes full of warmth and affection despite the overwhelming pain. "And you... Mia Jerga," she whispered. "You must protect each other. Always remember, I love you both... forever."

Mia let out a small, heartbreaking cry, as if sensing the tragedy unfolding around her. Her wails echoed across the silent battlefield, a stark contrast to her brother, who remained calm. Ryan, even as a newborn, did not cry. His small eyes gazed up at his mother with an unspoken understanding, an awareness beyond his years. **How can it be that, just as I am born, my mother must leave?** His thoughts were silent, but in his heart, a bond was already forming. **I love you too, Mother.**

His gaze, full of serenity and innocence, brought peace to his mother in her final moments. Seeing the calmness in her son's eyes, she smiled once more, even as the light in her own eyes began to fade. That smile, filled with both sorrow and hope, was her final gift to her children.

Her time was running out. With what little strength remained, she grasped the sword embedded in her abdomen and, with great difficulty, began to pull it free. The pain was unimaginable, yet she persisted. Blood flowed even more freely now, but she did not falter. She knew she had one last thing to do before she left this world.

After removing the sword, she placed it beside her and reached for a smaller, beautifully crafted blade that had been hidden beneath her cloak. Its hilt bore a name engraved in delicate letters: **Athanasia**, a word that meant "immortality." This sword, a symbol of her family's legacy, was to be her final bequest.

With trembling hands, she lifted the sword and placed it between her children. Then, with a voice that was weak but unwavering, she began to recite an ancient spell. The words of the spell were soft but powerful, resonating with a magic that had been passed down for generations. As she spoke, a faint glow began to emanate from her body, slowly enveloping her in a soft, ethereal light.

Her body, fragile and worn, began to dissolve into the light. Bit by bit, she faded, her form merging with the magic she had summoned. The sword **Athanasia** now stood upright, planted firmly in the ground where she had laid, glowing faintly in the dim light of dusk. Two small drops of her blood floated upward, shimmering in the fading light. These drops, imbued with the magic of her spell, slowly drifted down toward her children.

The blood touched the foreheads of Ryan and Mia, merging with their skin. The glow from the sword brightened for a moment, as if acknowledging the power it had just bestowed upon them. The magic of their mother's blood, infused with the ancient spell, now flowed through their veins, though they were far too young to understand what had just happened.

The battlefield, once full of the noise of war, was now silent. The wind whispered softly, carrying the last echo of a mother's love. "Forgive me... and know that I loved you both, more than anything in this world."

Those were the final words, a quiet whisper that lingered in the air before fading into the stillness. The only thing left was the sword **Athanasia**, its glow gentle but steady, standing as a silent testament to the bond between a mother and her children.

Years would pass, and the twins would grow, unaware of the tragedy that had occurred on the day of their birth. They would be raised by those who found them on the battlefield, taken in and cared for as if they were their own. Yet, even as they grew older, there would always be something missing, an unspoken emptiness that neither could explain.

The sword **Athanasia** remained where it had been left, untouched and undisturbed. It stood as a symbol of the love and sacrifice of a mother who had given everything for her children. Whenever Ryan and Mia ventured near it, they would feel a warmth, a sense of familiarity, though they did not yet understand why. The sword would call to them in ways they couldn't comprehend.

As the twins matured, the legacy of their mother, and the power they had inherited from her, would begin to reveal itself. The magic in their blood, born from the ancient spell she had cast, would slowly awaken, guiding them toward their destiny—a destiny shaped by the love and sacrifice of the mother they had never truly known.

And so, the story continues, just as the light of **sword** never fades, waiting for its time to shine once more.