Chapter 1:
In the age before the silence, when stars still whispered to gods and the cries of war had yet to scar the heavens, there was a child.
He came into the world not with celebration, but in the breathless quiet between death and duty.
A shattered forest cradled him.
Once radiant and brimming with spiritual abundance, the ancient woods now burned low under the weight of ruin. Branches split and sizzled, the soil cracked with ash, and yet — in the eye of the storm — two angels floated motionless beside a high tree branch, bloodied and broken. Their wings, once immaculate and golden, now hung tattered like prayer flags in a forgotten temple. Their clothes, marked by royal emblems and torn by divine conflict, barely clung to their bodies.
Between them, swaddled in silken wrappings etched with royal glyphs, hovered a newborn. His tiny chest rose and fell as if the world outside did not exist. Feathered white wings curled delicately from his back — and, for a moment, two small obsidian horns shimmered through his scalp, vanishing just as quickly into his skin.
The angels — one man, one woman — trembled as they gazed down at the child.
"We are sorry," the woman whispered, her voice brittle like cracked glass. "Astern... we are so, so sorry."
The man's arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. A dim golden aura began to glow around them, slowly wrapping the baby in a delicate lattice of celestial energy.
"You'll hate us. You'll ask why we abandoned you." His voice cracked, raw with regret. "But if there's even a fraction of mercy left in the cosmos… you'll find those who love you better than we could. Stronger. Wiser. Someone who will stand beside you when your burden becomes too great to carry."
Tears fell freely now, vanishing into the energy cocoon. The woman placed a final kiss on Astern's brow.
"May the gods be with you."
And then came the blast.
A brilliant explosion ripped across the horizon — not a fire, but a soundless roar of annihilation that bent light and space. Where the two angels stood, there was nothing. Not dust. Not smoke. Just emptiness.
The baby did not cry.
Instead, the spiritual cocoon around him flared like a dying star, absorbing the residual energy of divine sacrifice. The forest moaned beneath the force, and yet… something responded. Somewhere deep within the woods, roots trembled. Light spilled upward in threads of green luminescence, wrapping the broken land in healing radiance.
A figure emerged through that light — wings vast and dark, his silhouette glowing with restrained power. He moved quickly, yet with grace that defied gravity. The trees bowed to him as he passed, their limbs not out of loyalty, but ancient recognition.
He paused in the air, eyes glowing as he surveyed the child. And then, with an annoyed grunt, he scooped the cocoon into his arms.
Astern, now awake, blinked up at the stranger.
"Pitiful," the angel muttered. "To think His Majesty would hide such a gift in the damn slums. All to keep you away from those greedy, self-serving wretches in the capitals... they'd have torn apart half the world looking for you. All they care about is bloodlines and thrones."
His grip on the child tightened — not in malice, but with protective resolve.
"I don't care what's written in the stars," he said coldly. "You're not dying in the dirt."
The town soon came into view — a meager blot of stone and smoke nestled between jagged hills. Its name was Velhara, a forgotten settlement known more for its poverty than its progress. Here lived angels who had failed to awaken, failed to ascend, or simply failed to matter. They labored, guarded what little they had, and survived. Nothing more.
To most, Velhara was a tomb for dreams.
To Astern, it would become home.
The stranger narrowed his eyes as two guards stood lazily atop the town's low wall, unaware of his presence. With a single flick of his fingers, he summoned a thin barrier of energy that cloaked both himself and the baby from sight — then descended into the alleyways like a wraith.
No one saw the angel land. No one heard his footsteps. Only the shadows noticed as he approached the large, crumbling structure at the edge of town.
An orphanage.
Its stone walls were stained by time, and its door bore a faded engraving: "House of Mercy."
With a long breath, he knelt and gently placed the swaddled baby on the doorstep. His hand hovered over Astern's head for a long moment, hesitating. Then, wordlessly, he reached into his robe and withdrew a small golden emblem — the sigil of the Solmare bloodline, one of the four celestial royal houses — and tucked it inside the baby's blanket.
Astern let out a tiny cry.
The man flinched. "Hush now," he whispered. "Even gods die with too much noise."
Then, like mist dissolving under moonlight, the angel vanished.
Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a young woman with uncombed blonde hair and tired violet eyes. Her wings drooped behind her as she stared down at the bundle on the doorstep.
Another orphan. Another responsibility.
"Oh, come on," she muttered. "Two in one hour?"
Still, she sighed, bent down, and picked up the baby with practiced arms.
Astern blinked up at her — and for the briefest instant, his tiny horn shimmered beneath the skin.
But she didn't see it. No one did.
Not yet.