Jacob, a commoner bereft of any divine gift, paced anxiously outside his dilapidated wooden home, its warped beams groaning under the weight of neglect. His fists clenched and unclenched, mirroring the restless churn of his thoughts. Inside, his wife endured the throes of labor, attended only by a trusted friend. There was no coin for a clinic, no doctor to guide the delivery, and certainly no gifted healer to wield their powers, granting a near-certain chance of a safe birth. Such privileges were the domain of Acacia's wealthy, a world far removed from Jacob's. He was the lowest of the low, scraping by on paltry earnings that barely staved off starvation. Most days, he and his wife went to bed with empty stomachs, hunger a constant shadow in their lives.
Life hadn't always been so merciless. Once, Jacob had stood among Acacia's middle class, a commoner who defied the odds. His thriving business, built through relentless effort, had promised a future where he could raise a family despite the cruel hierarchy of Acacia. Ten years ago, he had found love, married, and built a life with his wife, their bond a beacon in a world ruled by the gifted. But misfortune, like a predator stalking the weak, began to close in. His wife couldn't conceive, a quiet agony that gnawed at their hearts. They sought answers from doctors across the kingdom, but no cause was found. Desperate, they turned to the gifted—whose services were exorbitantly priced and unreliable. Even their powers yielded no results. Defeated, Jacob and his wife resigned themselves to a childless existence, their dreams crumbling under the weight of reality.
Yet fate, ever cruel, wasn't finished with them. On July 12, 2000 N.W., a cataclysm shook Acacia. Dungeons—mysterious, sinister portals—erupted across the land, claiming random territories with their dark presence. By a stroke of wretched luck, one materialized where Jacob's business stood, its looming maw a death knell for his livelihood. At the time, the dungeons were an enigma, their dangers unknown. Fear kept the kingdom at bay, and no one dared venture inside. The gifted, too, shunned these uncharted realms, leaving them to fester.
On August 13, the first dungeon break unleashed havoc. Monstrous creatures—green-skinned fiends, half-wolf abominations, and towering brutes—poured forth, slaughtering the unprepared. The dungeon near Jacob's store erupted, claiming lives and leaving devastation in its wake. Among the casualties were some of his workers, their deaths a wound that cut deeper than the loss of his business. But fate's cruelty didn't end there. A gifted, notorious for extorting goods from Jacob's store, was caught in the break and grievously wounded. His powerful family, seeking a scapegoat, turned their wrath on Jacob. They demanded reparations, draining every coin he had left. In a single month, the hardworking businessman was reduced to a pauper, his dreams shattered by the whims of the gifted.
Jacob fought to rise again, his resourcefulness undaunted. He tried new ventures, sought work, and poured his heart into rebuilding. But a petty gifted, perhaps nursing a grudge, ensured his every effort failed, as if an invisible hand crushed his hopes. Exhausted and broken, Jacob surrendered to a life of menial labor, toiling in fields that barely sustained him and his wife. Each day, the weight of his failure pressed heavier, filling his heart with sorrow. Only the love he shared with his wife kept him from despair, a fragile thread binding them through the darkest days.
Then, in a bitter twist, his wife conceived. What should have been a blessing felt like a curse—an extra mouth to feed in a life already stretched to breaking. Jacob, his heart heavy with dread, pleaded with her to end the pregnancy, to spare the child a life of suffering in Acacia's unforgiving world. She refused, her resolve fierce and unwavering, determined to bring their child into being. Now, as Jacob paced outside their crumbling home, he awaited news, his mind torn between hope for his wife's safety and fear of the burden their child would bring.
The old door creaked, its hinges protesting as a middle-aged woman stepped out, her face etched with fatigue. Jacob's heart lurched. "My wife?" he asked, his voice thick with worry, fearing she had succumbed to the perils of childbirth.
"Safe," the woman said, her tone steady.
Relief washed over Jacob, a tide that soothed his trembling limbs. His wife, his pillar and hope, had survived. As his racing pulse steadied, he remembered the child—the reason for his restless vigil, though it stirred no joy in his weary heart.
"And the baby?" he asked, his voice flat, betraying his lack of enthusiasm. He tried to mask his indifference, but the woman's keen eyes caught the absence of warmth in his gaze, the weariness that dulled his features.
"The child lives," she replied, a hint of reproach in her voice. "A handsome boy. You should be proud." With a curt nod, she turned and left.
Jacob's patience snapped. He pushed through the creaking door, his eyes seeking his wife. She lay on a worn pallet, her face pale but serene, exhaustion softening her features. He studied her closely, ensuring no harm had befallen her.
"You know," she murmured, her voice faint from the ordeal, "this attention belongs to your son."
"I'll pass," Jacob said gruffly, his tone edged with defiance. "You're more important than the child."
"Jacob!" Her voice, though weak, cut like a blade. "Don't say that. Go look at your son!"
Her eyes blazed with a fury that brooked no argument, a fire that warned of consequences if he defied her. Jacob sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine, you win. I'll see the child. Better be worth it." He shuffled toward the corner where the infant lay, swaddled in tattered cloth, sleeping peacefully as newborns do, oblivious to the harsh world awaiting him.
Jacob gazed at the boy, his tiny face soft and innocent, untouched by Acacia's cruelty. Something stirred within him—a flicker of warmth, then a surge of happiness, pride, and unexpected joy. Tears welled in his eyes, tracing silent paths down his weathered cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you."