On a festive day at the Dasmareo estate, a black-haired boy was born — slightly asymmetrical. Those present, guided by instinct, sensed something unusual: the very first thing the baby did was roar. Not a scream of rage, but something more primal, more animalistic.
Hovering above, in non-corporeal forms, were two figures: one with angelic wings and a halo of kindness around him; the other with dark bat wings and goat horns, radiating cruelty. Together, they spoke in unison:
"Let's become a trio now."
After exchanging glances, as if they shared an ancient understanding that they would remain together, they pulled the chains that bound the three: one being drawn to the light, the other to darkness, and in between them, a creature of pure instinct.
Today was a very important day for Funsos, my friend, the count of the court I now serve, and for his wife, Desbete. They had managed to have a child. They still held onto hope — though no one else did — due to the intense vitality known to run in their bloodlines.
On their wedding day, they were captured by an evil wizard. But by an incredible coincidence, a star fell from the sky — something that hadn't happened for centuries. During the ritual meant to create a homunculus, using their vital energies, the star inexplicably destroyed everything in the area — except the couple.
After that day, they remained secluded in their mansion for nine months. When they emerged, Desbete was visibly pregnant. The child was born, and life seemingly returned to normal. But everyone present at the birth knew: it felt as if we were standing before a fallen star.
Few noticed it at first, but the baby was born lifeless. Until Lord Funsos touched the shard of the star that had saved them — and then, the child roared. Not with fury, but with something raw, instinctive. Then he cried, like a normal baby.
I spoke with the couple after the others had left. They told me that the wizard's ritual failed because, within Desbete's womb, there remained the tiniest fragment of a spark. And then, the star fell. By a stroke of extraordinary luck, it was a star aligned with vitality — and willing to listen.
My wife had always believed in the legend that if one makes a wish upon a falling star, it might be granted. And it seemed the star had indeed been listening. However, the wizard also believed — and he wished for eternal life. But he was too late and too vague in his words. The star, apparently, merged both wishes and sent two lights toward him.
In a surge of pure will — both to save his wife and out of rage toward the wizard — Lord Funsos used the leaking energy of the star to free himself from the chains. When the star touched the wizard's body, it killed him. The light had crystallized, and Funsos gave that crystal to his wife, who was still glowing.
Because of the star, the crystal lost its light. And in that moment, they saw the possibility — and did everything they could to ensure that fragile life could be born.