They couldn't kill me.
So they sealed me.
They summoned forbidden magics, aligned every star and sacred text, pooled every fragment of divinity they had stolen from me—and they still couldn't end me. So they did the only thing they could: they locked me away.
My will, mind, and soul were torn apart, scattered like myths through the folds of the world. And even then, they feared what might come next.
But even sealed, I remain who I am.
And now… I awaken.
In a newborn's cry.
I was reborn—not in divine light or astral flame, but with the pain of compressed infinity being funneled into a fragile body. The pain was not physical—it was spiritual. The ache of galaxies being condensed into the frail bones and soft flesh of an infant.
Thunder cracked above. Winds screamed. Stars blinked in shock. The moon turned red for a single breath before resetting to white. Across the world, old altars burst into bloom, and ink bled from long-dead scrolls.
In the city of Zepharion, on a marble floor etched with ancient prayers, I cried out.
"He's… glowing," whispered the midwife, her hands trembling.
"He has no color… yet shines like all colors combined," breathed the priestess, her eyes wet with awe.
The moment I opened my eyes, the chamber fell still. My irises—white, luminous, with threads of liquid gold—reflected nothing and everything. No hatred. No fear. Only reverence. As though all present knew instinctively:
This child… is not of this world.
I had been born in the House of Valtor, a revered ducal line and military cornerstone of the Zepharion Empire. My father, Grand Commander Kael Valtor, was away at war—leader of the Empire's elite. My mother, Lady Seraphina, descended from kingmakers, mystics, and the silent guardians of ancient order.
My birth was meant to be a blessing.
Instead, it became a storm.
Spirit beasts emerged from legend and knelt at the city gates. The Empire's sacred bell tolled by itself. The holy tree in the capital bloomed frost-lilies out of season, its branches shedding golden pollen like divine snow.
The silks I was wrapped in shimmered with celestial runes. My pale skin seemed untouched by shadow, and where I breathed, the air turned still—as if listening.
Even sealed, I was overflowing.
They called it a miracle. I called it leakage.
Lady Seraphina wept as she held me. Not from fear, but from awe. She whispered lullabies in tongues forgotten by time, not knowing I was the one who gave language its breath.
Two girls stood at her side—my sisters. Twins. Ten years old. Trained in blade and mind. They peeked at me like I was starlight given form.
"His eyes… make me want to kneel," said one.
"He's like the moon and sun… born together," murmured the other.
They loved me instantly.
And for the first time in eternity, I felt something foreign and warm.
Family.
Far away, beyond the silver mountains and blood-lit skies of the warfront, my father had not yet learned of my birth.
Instead, he sat in a dimly lit war tent, surrounded by maps, scrolls, and very tired officers.
War Council: Day 3 of the Bloodsand Siege
The flap of the command tent slammed shut behind a young scout.
"Report," barked Kael Valtor, not lifting his eyes from the map.
"Uh, they're still ugly, sir," said Lieutenant Rhell, chewing on a dried peach strip. "Also, they've brought siege worms. The really big kind."
Kael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Define 'really big,' Lieutenant."
"Like... you could build a tavern inside one and host a medium-sized bar brawl."
Captain Leen groaned. "Gods preserve us. Last time they tunneled under the wall, Torrin ended up pantsless in the latrine for four hours."
Major Torrin looked up sharply. "It was strategic repositioning, not pantslessness!"
"You screamed when a sand grub touched your ankle."
"It was a tactical scream! Designed to confuse the enemy!"
Kael's voice cut through the bickering. "Enough. How's the perimeter?"
Leen straightened. "Barricades holding. Mages are exhausted, but morale's steady. Supply wagons still two days out."
Rhell added, "Also, someone's pet goat is missing. Could be important."
Kael blinked. "...A goat."
"It had a bell. Very commanding presence. Led three of the new recruits into the enemy trenches by accident."
There was a pause.
Kael muttered, "This is why we don't conscript poets and painters."
"They volunteered, sir."
"They followed a goat, Leen."
"Yes, sir."
Kael exhaled. The war dragged on, brutal and strange. The enemy—twisted by corrupted mana—fought like a hive, adapting unnaturally fast. And now siege worms. Of course.
Still, despite everything… there was no news from home.
Not a word.
Back in the Valtor estate, omens continued to bloom.
The moon refused to rise above the manor, instead circling it like a shy guardian. Cats, hundreds of them, lined the outer walls and meowed in unison as if chanting. A blind seer walked fifty miles barefoot, collapsed at the gates, and whispered, "He breathes," before dying with a smile.
In the nursery, time stuttered. One moment stretched longer than it should have. The hourglass paused, just for a breath, and resumed.
Servants left flowers, bread, and sacred coins at my door without knowing why.
Lady Seraphina sat in silence, cradling me as priests knelt behind her in prayers they had never learned.
She could feel it too—the trembling threads of fate rearranging themselves around this tiny form. Around me.
Back at the warfront, the battle lines shifted.
Kael rose from his seat. Tall, scarred, and always tired, he surveyed the map. "We hit their flank at dawn. Leen, prep the firebomb wagons. Torrin, reinforce the rear tunnels. Rhell…"
"Yes, sir?"
"…find the goat."
Rhell saluted solemnly. "The goat will be found, sir."
As the officers dispersed, Kael glanced once at the northern horizon.
He felt something. A flicker. As if the air just beyond the edge of knowing had changed.
But he couldn't place it. Couldn't name it.
He didn't know that at that very moment, a god was sleeping in silken wrappings, glowing faintly beneath a celestial cradle.
His son.
And I? I slept beneath a ceiling carved with runes older than this world, while stars blinked in reverence through stained glass.
The seal was broken.
I could feel pieces of myself now—small fragments, like embers in the wind—scattered through the folds of existence. I would call them home. In time.
For now, I waited.
Wrapped in lullabies and the warmth of a mother's love, I stared at constellations that once bent at my will.
I would wait for the signs. The cracks. The return of what was mine.
This time… I would not be merciful.
Let the world remember who it dared to forget.
Let the second act begin.
End of Chapter 1