Chapter 1 – The Birth of the Prince
The Titan Palace did not celebrate loudly.
When Prince Lucius Ashborne entered the world, the ancient palace of obsidian stone and star‑etched pillars remained silent, heavy with the weight of expectations. No heavenly signs tore open the skies—no divine light, no cosmic thunder—only the steady crackle of braziers burning blue Titan‑fire, illuminating the chamber where destinies were shaped in whispers, not storms.
Elera Ashborne, Empress of the Titan Empire, lay exhausted yet composed, her silver‑pale hair clinging to her forehead. Her eyes, sharp as moonlit steel, did not soften even as she cradled her newborn. Beside her, Emperor Valerius Ashborne observed quietly, arms crossed, expression unreadable behind his calm authority.
Lucius did not cry.
His gaze—cold, focused, unsettlingly aware—met the room with an unnatural stillness. The midwives lowered their eyes. Even the veteran palace attendants stepped back as if instinctively keeping distance from something dangerous.
"He is… silent, Your Majesty," one whispered.
"Good," Valerius answered. "Let the world fear a quiet Ashborne."
No blessings were spoken, no meaningless flattery. Only quiet assessment.
Lucius's presence felt wrong for an infant—he seemed to observe more than exist, his attention moving from faces to shadows as though evaluating threats. Even then, in the first moments of his life, he displayed the Ashborne temperament: cold clarity, restrained emotion, and an instinctive distrust of strangers.
Elera brushed a thumb over his cheek.
"You see everything, don't you, my son?" she whispered. "Even now."
Lucius blinked once—slow, deliberate, almost dismissive.
A Titan child was expected to show density of bone, strength in pulse, resilience of physique. Physicians approached with the nervously anticipated tests. But when they touched him, a faint pressure rippled from the newborn. Not spiritual, not energy‑based—something far more primal.
A warning.
"Withdraw." Valerius's tone allowed no argument.
The physicians bowed and stepped back immediately.
Lucius Ashborne had not shown a miracle, yet the absence of weakness was miracle enough. No cries of infancy. No fear. No defects. Only an unnerving, calculating stillness.
This child would not be ruled by emotion.
He would rule through understanding and restraint.
As attendants prepared to escort the Emperor and Empress, a head maid—an older woman with decades of palace service—gathered her courage.
"Your Majesties," she said softly, "he will need warmth. An infant should—"
Lucius opened his eyes again.
Cold. Silent. Watching her like one might study a chess piece.
The maid paled instantly, lowering her head as if confronted by a superior rather than a newborn.
Elera exhaled faintly.
"He is Ashborne. Warmth is earned, not given."
Valerius nodded. "Record today simply: 'The Prince is born.' Nothing more."
The child who did not cry was carried out of the chamber and into a world already uneasy of him.
No prophecy hailed his coming.
No omen blessed his birth.
Only silence, fear, and the cold gaze of a boy who seemed to understand far too much.
A prince born without tears.
A mind sharpened before speech.
A future that would shake empires.
Lucius Ashborne had arrived.