The air in the royal palace buzzed with anticipation. Outside the queen's chambers, Amitrochates, the ruler of Batili, paced restlessly. His mind raced with thoughts of his wife, Tisya, in labor. His hands clenched and unclenched, his brow furrowed in concern. Inside, the sounds of the midwives' hushed voices and Tisya's labored breaths barely reached him, but it was enough to feed his anxiety.
Suddenly, a small figure darted toward him—his daughter, Leona, her golden curls bouncing as she ran. Her innocent eyes were wide with concern, her tiny hands gripping his trousers.
"Father, how is mother? And the baby?" Leona's voice trembled slightly as she looked up at him.
Amitrochates' heart softened at the sight of his little girl. She had always had a way of cutting through the tension in the air with her bright innocence. Kneeling down to her level, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Everything is fine, Leona," he said with a warm smile. "Your mother is strong, and the baby is on his way. We'll meet him soon."
Just as he finished speaking, a maid hurried into view, her face lit with news. "Your Majesty, the queen has given birth to a son."
Amitrochates' heart skipped a beat. His joy was immediate and overwhelming, but there was no time to waste. "Thank you," he murmured, then turned to Leona. "Come, little one, let's go meet your brother."
He strode into the room where Tisya sat, her face glowing with joy despite the exhaustion. She cradled their newborn son in her arms, his tiny fingers grasping at the air as if seeking comfort. Amitrochates approached, kneeling beside her, his heart full of gratitude.
"I can never thank you enough, Tisya," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Tisya smiled, her eyes sparkling as she gazed at the child. "He is a gift, Amitrochates. Our gift."
With gentle hands, Amitrochates lifted the baby into his arms, his eyes shining with pride. The infant's delicate features reminded him of his own childhood, of the legacy he was now bound to protect. He turned to a servant nearby. "Bring gold and jewelry. Give them to all the maids and servants."
A few moments later, the servant returned, his arms full of glittering treasures. Amitrochates instructed the servant to distribute them throughout the palace, his heart swelling with the joy of the moment. He was not only a king, but a father again.
As the excitement settled, little Leona climbed onto the bed beside her mother, her curiosity lighting up her face. "Can I hold him, Mama?"
Tisya's smile grew tender. "Of course, my dear." Gently, she handed the baby to her daughter.
Leona's face lit up as she held the newborn, her small hands careful but eager. She leaned down and kissed her brother's forehead, her voice a soft vow. "I'll protect you from anything, little one. I promise."
The warmth of the family moment was interrupted by the arrival of more news. A maid rushed in, breathless. "Your Majesty, Army Commander Osborne's wife has given birth to a daughter."
Amitrochates and Tisya exchanged delighted glances. Osborne, the childhood friend of the king and the chief of Batili's army, had always been a loyal ally. This was a joyous occasion for both families. Amitrochates, grinning from ear to ear, declared, "A grand celebration and banquet will be held tonight! Let the kingdom rejoice!"
That evening, the royal halls were alive with laughter, music, and dancing. The air was thick with the scents of rich food and sweet wine. Guests filled the hall, their faces glowing with the shared joy of the occasion.
Amidst the revelry, an elderly man entered, capturing the attention of the young Leona. She hurried over to him, her eyes wide with awe.
Amitrochates stood and made his way toward the old man. The crowd parted as he approached. "Father," he said, his voice warm with reverence. The elderly man, Androcottus, the former king of Batili and Amitrochates' father, smiled with a mixture of pride and love. He had raised his son to be a ruler, and now he was witnessing the next generation.
Androcottus took the newborn from his son's arms, his hands trembling slightly as he cradled his grandson. "What a fine child," he murmured, gazing down at the baby with tears glistening in his eyes.
With a gentle sigh, Androcottus returned the child to Tisya. "I shall leave you now," he said, his voice rich with emotion. "May you all cherish this moment."
The following day, the royal court gathered in full assembly. Amitrochates sat on his throne, his newborn son nestled in his arms, while Tisya held Leona on her lap. The ministers and advisors filled the room, but one figure stood out above the rest—Osborne, sitting proudly beside his wife, holding their newborn daughter. Androcottus took his place by the king's side, a silent presence, yet one that carried the weight of history.
The ministers rose in respect, offering congratulations. Amitrochates' chest swelled with pride. He had a son, a daughter, and the support of those he cherished most.
an old man entered the royal court, leaning on a stick. Upon seeing him, all the ministers, including the king and Androcottus, stood up. Even Tisya began to rise, but he gestured for her to remain seated. The old man then instructed the ministers and the king to sit down.
The elderly gentleman was none other than the esteemed master of Androcottus, Aratha. Aratha was the most respected man in the Batili Kingdom and one of the most influential figures on the continent. He was the one who trained Androcottus and helped him ascend to the throne
Aratha entered, his eyes sharp despite his age. He had shaped the kingdom, molded its rulers, and now, he was here to witness another moment in Batili's storied history.
With great reverence, Androcottus approached Aratha. "Master, will you name my grandson?"
Aratha smiled, his eyes twinkling with the wisdom of ages. "Why not?" He turned to face the newborn, cradling the child with great care. A smile crept onto his weathered face as he spoke. "This child was born at a time when all the stars were aligned in a single line. His face resembles that of a lion, and his soul will reflect the qualities of a leader. His name will be Ashora."
The ministers murmured their congratulations, and the room filled with a sense of wonder. Ashora—born under such auspicious circumstances—would be a prince of great destiny.
At that moment, Aratha expresses his desire to also name Osborne's daughter on the occasion. Osborne gives his daughter into Aratha's hands.
Aratha said, "This child will be a genius, and her desires will be very strong. Her name will be 'Ikshita'."
In the vast, ethereal expanse of the heavenly realm, an unsettling disturbance rippled through the tranquil atmosphere. The air, normally thick with serenity and divine order, now crackled with tension. At the heart of the realm, within the sacred halls of the gods, a single angel materialized before the divine assembly. His wings were disheveled, his eyes wide with panic, his breath shallow with urgency.
"A grave mistake has occurred," the angel exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear. His words were heavy, laden with dread, as if they carried the weight of the cosmos itself.
The gods, seated in their eternal council, turned their gaze upon him. Among them, the Goddess of Fertility—radiant, her aura of life shimmering like the sun—rose to her feet. Her brow furrowed with curiosity. "What error has taken place?" she inquired, her tone measured, though the faintest tremor betrayed her concern.
The angel's wings fluttered nervously as he responded, his voice a whisper of distress. "A being that was meant to be born in the heavenly realm has instead been born in the mortal world."
A stunned silence fell over the assembly. The gods exchanged uncertain glances, each one processing the gravity of the claim.
The Goddess of Fertility, known for her connection to the cycles of birth and creation, did not believe it at first. Her powers had never failed her, and such a mistake seemed impossible. Still, doubt gnawed at her, and she closed her eyes, reaching out with her divine senses to seek the truth.
Moments passed. The goddess's breath caught in her throat. The vision before her was undeniable. There, in the mortal world, she saw the face of the child—his features as clear as a reflection in water. His eyes shone with a light not of this realm, an unmistakable spark of divinity hidden within the innocence of a newborn's gaze.
The other gods, noticing her shock, gathered around her, their eyes filled with curiosity. They waited for her to speak, but the Goddess of Fertility remained silent, her mind racing with the implications of what she had witnessed. The air around her seemed to shimmer with tension as her lips parted, yet no words emerged.
Instead, the goddess fell to her knees, raising her hands toward the heavens in a prayer so powerful that it resonated throughout the entire realm. Her voice, soft yet commanding, echoed across the heavens, weaving through the strands of creation itself. As she prayed, the entire heavenly realm trembled, bathed in a radiant golden light that seemed to pulse with the force of a thousand suns.
The gods, overwhelmed by the divine power emanating from her prayer, lowered their heads in reverence. The golden light bathed the entire realm, its brilliance so intense that it cast even the gods in shadows. It was as if the heavens themselves had come alive, reacting to the urgency of the moment.
When the prayer ceased, and the light faded, the Goddess of Fertility rose to her feet, her face solemn, her heart heavy with the weight of divine knowledge. She turned toward the other gods, her voice steady but filled with concern.
"Almighty," she said, her eyes searching the skies for answers, "What is happening in the mortal realm? Why has a being destined for the heavenly realm been born among them?"
A deep, resonant voice—a voice that seemed to echo from the very core of the universe—answered her question. "I understand your concern, my child. This is not an error, but part of a greater plan, one beyond your comprehension."
You must guide that child when he strays from his path."
As the golden light faded, the gods began to discuss how to follow the Almighty's decree, resolving to take action without worrying about the future.
In this desolate place, lava surrounded everything while the sky above was pitch black. Souls were being tortured relentlessly. Inside a room, a dark figure materialized and spoke, "Almighty, what plans are you formulating