The cold bite of air.
The weight of a world pressing in on lungs not yet ready to breathe.
He cried—not from pain, not from fear—but because it was instinct. It was life asserting itself through fragile form.
The child opened his eyes. Amethyst irises swirled with a depth no infant should possess, a storm of clarity hidden behind innocent whimpers. His tiny fingers twitched, and around him, the scent of blood mixed with silk.
"Nnngh… M-my baby…" a soft, weakening voice murmured.
She was pale. Regal. Beautiful.
Her golden hair lay in disarray upon the blood-soaked sheets of the royal birthing chamber, her lips trembling with both joy and sorrow. She had pushed herself far past her limit, beyond what any healer warned.
Queen Lyriana Aetheryn, beloved wife of King Sylas, stared at her newborn son with tears streaking down her face. Her hand, frail and shaking, reached toward him.
"S-Serenil… My little starlight…"
He looked at her.
Not as a baby.
But as a man.
A soul reborn.
A Sword King rebirthed into flesh too soft for war, too small for steel. Yet his spirit… remained unyielding.
He saw her—this woman who had given her life to bring him into this world—and for a brief moment, the mask slipped.
His newborn face, blank for the first moments of life, softened.
A flicker of emotion. Barely there. But real.
She smiled.
Even as the light in her eyes began to fade.
"Live… brighter than me… little one…"
Her hand fell limp.
The room froze.
The midwives gasped. The court healers rushed in too late. And standing in stunned silence near the back of the chamber, King Sylas Aetheryn, proud and powerful ruler of the Faeloria Kingdom, gripped his sword with white-knuckled fists.
"…Lyriana…"
No one spoke. Only the cries of the newborn echoed, now louder, rawer—as if mourning for the woman whose warmth still lingered in the air.
A strange silence followed, but all eyes turned toward the baby.
On his left eye, stretching diagonally across the lid and cheekbone, was a faint but vivid scar-shaped birthmark—like a blade had once slashed through his soul before it was reborn.
The mark pulsed faintly with dark energy.
Unseen by all but one.
Far above the realm of men, watching through a veil of stars, Aeliatlonia, the goddess of realms, watched in silence.
Her expression unreadable.
"Thus begins the path of the reforged," she whispered. "Let the world remember the name… Serenil Aetheryn."