"Are you hungry, Lucy? Do you want to drink Mama's milk? Here you go…"
Warmth. That's always the first thing I feel when Mother lifts me into her arms—gentle yet secure, like nothing in the world could reach me while pressed against her chest. I nuzzled close, drinking until my tiny stomach was full.
A year had passed since I was born into this strange but comfortable world. I still couldn't walk or talk; my days were a blur of eating, sleeping, and crying. Boring, yes—but pampered boredom wasn't so bad.
I rarely left this room. Once, Susan had begged to take me to the garden, but Mother scolded her sharply. "There are ghosts outside". Probably an excuse, but I wasn't in a position to argue.
When I gave a soft burp, Mother smiled proudly. "There we go."
She then turned to the maids. "Dress him nicely. Today is the day of the ceremony."
Ceremony? My curiosity stirred.
Mother kissed my forehead, then left as the three maids fluttered around me like cheerful sisters. Nina, the eldest, fussed over me the most. Pico, calm and practical, fetched my clothes. Cina, the youngest, playful, made silly faces until I gurgled.
"Look at our young master today," Nina said proudly. "We must make him shine."
"The tunic is ready," Pico murmured. "Cina, fetch the hat."
"A crown for the little prince!" Cina chirped.
They slipped me into a blue tunic embroidered with gold threads—soft, light, and far too fancy for a one-year-old. Then came the hat. The instant it touched my head, I tossed it away.
"Young Master!" Nina gasped.
Pico chuckled. "If he dislikes it, don't force him. His golden hair suits him perfectly."
Right. Golden hair—like Mother's. Jason had inherited Father's dark hair, but Susan and I carried that sunlit color. Nina sighed. "Fine. Without the hat, then. Still adorable."
The door burst open. "Lucy!" Susan's bright voice filled the room as she ran in, green gown swishing. Her ribbons bounced, golden curls glimmering. "You look so cute! I wanted to dress you myself, but Mama said no."
Thank goodness. I could already imagine her stuffing me into her old clothes. No, thank you.
Jason followed, slower, dressed in a red suit with gold trim, every inch the miniature noble. He looked proud, but his eyes softened when they met mine.
Susan puffed her cheeks. "Brother wanted to dress you too, but Mama said no. So he's grumpy today."
Jason cleared his throat. "You look good," he said stiffly, then added, "Better than I imagined."
Ouch. Backhanded compliment much?
Susan twirled in her gown. "Do I look good, Lucy?"
I blinked.
"Miss Susan," Pico said kindly, "the young master is too little to answer—but he's staring, so he must think you're pretty."
Susan froze, then blushed, whispering, "Thank you, Lucy."
Jason straightened his cuffs, clearly trying to look dignified. Honestly, he resembled a sulky portrait of a great man forced to attend a tea party.
The door opened again. Mother entered, radiant in a blue gown that shimmered like the sky. Even Susan went quiet.
"Oh, Lucy…" Mother cooed, lifting me. "You look so handsome in your little tunic. Just like Mama."
Susan tugged her sleeve. "What about me? I look like you too!"
Mother chuckled, kissing her. "Yes, Susie—you do."
Jason simply nodded, but pride flickered behind his calm mask.
"Come now," Mother said gently. "The ceremony is about to begin. Your father is waiting."
Mother carried me through long marble halls lined with portraits of our ancestors. Chandeliers sparkled above, each crystal catching the light. Someday, maybe my face would hang here too.
We reached the banquet hall doors, flanked by two suits of armor—one silver with a halberd, one gold with twin swords and a crimson cloak. Souls-game level intimidating.
The butlers bowed and opened the doors.
My infant eyes widened as brilliance spilled out. The hall wasn't lit by flickering candles or smoky torches but by something far stranger—glowing orbs embedded in chandeliers and crystal lamps along the walls. They shone with a steady white-gold glow, bright as modern bulbs back on Earth, but without electricity.
From the balcony, I could see nobles below—feasting, laughing, glittering with jewels. Mother's arms tightened as Father appeared beside us, regal in crimson and gold.
"Risa, my love, you look radiant," he said warmly. "Jason, Susan—you've grown well. And little Lucian…" He brushed my cheek. "You are the jewel of the night."
He took Mother's hand like a true gentleman, and together they descended the stairs. Jason and Susan followed, perfect posture on display. I clung to Mother's dress as countless eyes turned toward us.
At the foot of the stairs, Father's deep voice carried easily. "Thank you all for joining us. Tonight, we celebrate the first-year ceremony of my son—Lucian Vanheart."
Applause rippled through the hall.
"I hope you will regard him with the same respect you've given my other children. Please enjoy the evening's feast until the ritual begins."
Mother handed me to Nina, then joined Father in greeting guests. Betrayal. It's my ceremony! Don't ditch the main act!
Susan tugged Jason's sleeve. "Did this many people come to my ceremony?"
Jason shook his head. "No. There was unrest in the north that year."
Susan giggled. "Then Lucy's lucky! He'll get lots of gifts!"
Gifts? I perked up.
The chatter hushed again as Father raised his hand. "We are honored by the arrival of His Holiness, Pope Leo. "
The double doors opened. A tall man entered, white robes embroidered in gold, radiating authority. The nobles bowed deeply.
The moment he stepped into the hall, every noble straightened instantly. Plates and goblets were set aside, and the room filled with the rustle of fabric as men and women alike bowed low in reverence.
"The stars are aligned," he intoned. "The moon is full. Bring forth the child."
Nina followed his assistant to a small stage near a wide window, moonlight spilling over a golden chalice. My instincts screamed, bad idea.
The assistant handed me to the Pope. His grip was too firm. Without warning, he plunged my head into the chalice.
WHAT!? Cold water rushed into my nose and ears. My legs flailed uselessly. I'M A BABY, NOT A SACRIFICE! Arrest this man, he's a child abuser!
Just when darkness edged my vision, he lifted me out. I gasped and cried, glaring daggers through tears.
He pressed his thumb against my forehead, murmuring incantations I barely understood. A golden light flared, warm but heavy, then vanished.
"He is blessed," the Pope said solemnly. "When he reaches eight years of age, he shall be ready."
Mother wept softly; Father bowed in gratitude. Meanwhile, I sulked silently in Nina's arms. I never want to do that again.
The ceremony shifted into blessings. Nobles approached one by one, touching my head. "May the gods watch over you." Each blessing was paired with a wrapped gift placed beside me.
A mountain of presents piled up. My exhaustion deepened, but I couldn't deny it—half-drowned or not, the loot almost made it worth it.