Kingdom: Bluemoon
The afternoon sun spilled gently through the narrow windows of a modest village home, painting the wooden floor in shades of gold. Outside, a cart stood quietly by the road, its wooden wheels still warm from travel. From the distant marketplace came the faint rise and fall of voices—life moving on as usual.
Inside the house, however, silence reigned.
Only the soft clink of porcelain broke the stillness as a teacup was set down.
Mr. Oceayne, a high-ranking officer of the kingdom, leaned back in his chair, savouring the warmth of the tea in his hands. His sharp eyes wandered briefly over the simple interior—the plain walls, the humble furniture.
"Hm," he murmured. "This tea is good. I didn't expect such a taste from a place like this."
Reyansh, the master of the house, offered a polite smile. His back was straight, his hands folded calmly, though his heartbeat told another story.
"I'm glad you like it, Officer," Reyansh said respectfully. "But may I ask… what business brings you here?"
A thin, crooked smile slowly spread across Mr. Oceayne's face—one that carried more threat than warmth.
"Ah, right. I nearly forgot."
He reached into his coat, pulling out a folded parchment.
Before Reyansh could react, a man who had been standing silently near the wall stepped forward and handed Reyansh the document.
"Here, Mr. Cyan…," the man said flatly. "A noble certificate."
Mr. Oceayne's voice cut through the room like a blade—sharp, cold, and absolute.
"Congratulations," he said. "You are a noble now."
The words carried no joy, only the weight of command, as if even this moment of honour was nothing more than an obligation for him.
Reyansh moved forward, his hands trembling as he accepted the certificate. The document was thick, sealed with wax, and every word inked upon it declared his rise: Reyansh cyan is hereby recognized as a noble.
For a heartbeat, Reyansh could only stare. His breath caught in his throat. This—this was real. His name had been lifted beyond that of a common villager.
Mr. Oceayne leaned back again, eyes cold and unreadable.
"Your village will no longer be called a village. It is hereby promoted to a city—Neelgarh. From this day forward, you hold dominion over it."
He continued without pause.
"Each month, you will receive enough money to keep your home standing with the respect your new position deserves. The kingdom has also sent maids and servants to help you manage it."
Reyansh nodded slowly, the weight of those words pressing heavily against his chest.
He wanted to smile.
Wanted to feel proud.
Instead, unease settled deep within him.
There were no cheers. No applause. No voices to honour this rise.
Only the scratch of parchment against his palm…
and Mr. Oceayne's cold, watchful gaze.
In the silence that followed, Reyansh felt it clearly—the beginning of something far greater than himself.
A single step forward into a world of authority, obligation… and burden.
Yet as he tried to hold onto the weight of honour, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, pressing against his chest. It was as if his newfound nobility had already wrapped unseen chains around his soul—tight, cold, and inescapable.
Reyansh forced a smile and lowered his head respectfully.
"Thank you, Mr. Oceayne."
Mr. Oceayne's eyes narrowed. A smirk curved his lips—one utterly devoid of warmth.
"Do not thank me," he said coldly. "If you must thank someone… thank your son."
His voice echoed faintly through the hall, lingering longer than it should have.
A pause followed. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then Mr. Oceayne leaned back in his chair—again, arrogance dripping from his posture, from every word that followed.
"By the way, Mr. Cyan… you are a very lucky man."
He chuckled softly. "In the entire history of the World of Living, this is the first time a son has evolved before his parents."
His gaze sharpened.
"With the help of your Twelve-year-old son, you became a noble. And what did you do?"
The smile widened.
"Nothing. Except give birth to a son."
Each word struck Reyansh like a blade.
His smile trembled—but he held it in place, even as his heart bled beneath the mask. Every syllable Mr. Oceayne spoke dug deeper, twisting what should have been an achievement into a cruel reminder of his insignificance.
He had wanted to stand proud.
To celebrate this moment.
Instead, humiliation burned through him.
This was meant to be a triumph.
Yet it felt like an open wound—hidden behind a carved smile, while pain stabbed deeper into his chest with every breath.
"Oh…" Mr. Oceayne continued casually. "I heard your wife is pregnant."
His voice slithered across the hall as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with predatory calm.
"How many days are left until the delivery?"
Reyansh froze.
His chest tightened, breath catching painfully in his throat. Slowly—reluctantly—he lifted his gaze to meet Mr. Oceayne's.
"It's soon," Reyansh said.
A faint, mocking smile curled across Mr. Oceayne's lips.
"I also heard a rumour," he said softly. "A rather tragic one."
He tilted his head.
"They say your wife is cursed. Her womb gives life… yet every child she bears is claimed by death before its first breath."
The words dragged through the silence like daggers.
"Isn't that right, Mr. Cyan?"
A pause.
"You've already lost one child… haven't you?"
Reyansh's hands trembled, but he clasped them tightly behind his back, forcing the shaking to stop. His face remained calm—composed—but beneath that mask, his heart bled freely. Every word had cut deeper than steel, tearing open wounds he believed long buried.
He wanted to shout.
To strike.
To defend the honour of his wife and unborn child.
But the weight of Mr. Oceayne's authority chained him in silence.
Reyansh stood there, unmoving, enduring it all. Each cruel syllable echoed inside him like rolling thunder, stabbing deeper into his soul with no escape.
Slowly, he forced himself to breathe. He could not afford to appear rude—especially not before Mr. Oceayne, a high-ranking officer of the kingdom.
Mr. Oceayne's sharp eyes swept across the room, quietly observing every corner, every detail.
"Hm," he said at last. "You should consider upgrading this house. The kingdom rewarded you quite generously… didn't it?"
Reyansh did not answer immediately.
Mr. Oceayne looked straight at him, his tone firm and unquestionable.
"You are now a noble of the Blue-Eye Clan. You must maintain your status."
Reyansh nodded silently. He listened without argument.
After a few more formal words, Mr. Oceayne rose from his seat, clearly preparing to leave.
Just as he reached the door, he paused.
"Oh, Mr. Cyan," he added casually, as if recalling something insignificant.
"Has your son, Rowan, decided which technique he wishes to use?"
Reyansh stiffened.
"Inform him that his training will begin earlier than scheduled—starting next month."
Before Reyansh could respond, Mr. Oceayne stepped outside.
The door closed.
Reyansh released a long, restrained breath.
"Thank God he's gone…" he muttered under his breath. "If he'd stayed even one more minute, I might've ended up kicking him out with one leg."
He clenched his fist and punched the air in frustration.
At that moment, Rowan entered the room.
He stopped short when he saw his father standing there, breathing heavily.
"Dad… what are you doing?" Rowan asked.
Reyansh turned around quickly. The frustration on his face vanished in an instant. He forced a smile—thin, awkward, and clearly fake.
"Oh, nothing," Reyansh said lightly. "Just practicing… ha… ha…"
Rowan stared at him.
That smile…
It didn't reach his eyes.
"Dad," Rowan said softly, "Mom is calling you."
Reyansh nodded and walked past him, heading toward his wife without another word.
Rowan remained where he was, watching his father's back as he disappeared from sight.
That fake smile burned itself into his mind.
Dad… Rowan thought, his fists slowly clenching.
I'll become stronger. Strong enough that no one will ever look down on you again.
Next time… I want to see you smile properly.
A real smile.
Scene Shift — Before Agni Chakra Appears
Midday light filled the house—bright and warm, yet strangely heavy in the air.
"Papa… what are you saying?"
Myra's voice trembled as she spoke. "Why do we have to leave this place?"
Kavish stood before his children, calmly explaining about his new job. His tone was steady—but his eyes betrayed the storm within.
"This place… it's our home," Vihaan said, his fists clenched. "I don't want to leave."
Myra slowly looked around the room—the walls, the corners, the quiet memories buried in every inch.
"This place holds everything," she whispered. "Our memories… our loved ones."
Kavish stepped closer and gently placed his hands on their shoulders.
"It's okay," he said softly. "I know leaving this place hurts. It's close to our hearts. Our friends are here. Our past is here."
He paused, his voice lowering.
"But we have to think about our future. There is no future for us here."
Silence spread through the room.
Myra and Vihaan said nothing.
The silence stretched—heavy, suffocating.
After a moment, Myra slowly moved her father's hand away and turned toward the exit.
"Myra, where are you going?" Kavish asked.
She paused for a second, but didn't turn back.
"Just getting some fresh air," she said quietly. "I'll come back soon."
Outside, the midday air felt strangely heavy, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Myra walked faster, a single thought repeating in her mind.
I'm not leaving…
Not without seeing Kaal.
Then—
A sudden light pierced the sky.
Myra froze.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes upward.
A blazing radiance burned through the clear blue heavens—too bright, too sharp, too wrong to be natural.
The sky grew brighter…
yet watching it felt like a shadow was descending.
It wasn't the sun.
It wasn't lightning.
It was something else.
Something coming down.