Gabriel was surrounded by strangers—giants whose voices rumbled like distant storms. Then came footsteps, hurried and heavy, like war drums on a marble floor.
A man stormed into the room, rain still clinging to his robes. He stopped, breathless, as his eyes met the child's.
"My Son!," the man declared, laughter booming from his chest. "Look at him, not a moment old, and already trying to fight the heavens themselves."
The newborn flailed wildly in his mother's arms, terrified of these giants who held him as though he were sacred. When the man approached, the child cried louder, tiny fists beating against the air.
The man lifted the child with surprising gentleness. "Why does he cry so fiercely? Is he ill?" he asked, concern flickering in his voice.
This was Suyed Ozar Aren, Eleventh Lord of the Order of the Dragon. To most, a man in his prime. But to the realm? He was The Everlasting—Lord of Ortenia, Champion of the Realm. Some whispered he would outlive gods themselves.
"He cries because you stink," said Lady Ariana dryly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You trained until your clothes were soaked." Lady Ariana was the Countess of Ortenia, the youngest daughter of Siegfried the bold Duke of the "White Plains".
"You overdid it."
"I was too worried. We've tried too many times. And every time… they slipped away. Before they could even be named."
Lady Ariana's gaze softened. "I know. But the priest said hope would come when the stars aligned."
Lord Suyed looked down at the crying child. "Then the stars must have aligned today."
"Arion. The brightest of stars shines today, and that shall be his name," whispered Lady Ariana. "Our little star."
Lord Suyed repeated the name, reverently: "Arion… my little star."
"I will give you the world, you only need ask," Lord Suyed murmured. "If dragons rise to take you, I will break their wings. If demons reach for you, I will tear their realms asunder. If gods themselves descend, I will remind them that even they can bleed."
Then, as though the heavens themselves bore witness to his oath, a thunderclap rolled across the skies, shaking the very air.
Lord Suyed did not flinch. He only held the child tighter, his arms trembling not from weakness, but from emotion. His tears, hidden for centuries, fell freely now—shamelessly.
Too many had died. Too many names buried before they were ever spoken. Lord Sued had once believed the heavens cursed his bloodline, that even with his strength, he would die without an heir.
But now… this child. His child.
The baby cried on, unaware. But Lord Suyed only smiled, for it was a healthy cry—full of life, full of will.
His star had been born. And no force in the heavens or below would claim him.
...
Far to the west, where no stars dared to shine and the sky hung heavy with silence, a forgotten statue stirred. Towering and ancient, carved from stone older than kingdoms, it opened its mouth—not with sound, but with thought.
"Bring him," the statue spoke.
The words did not echo through the air, nor pass through lips. Instead, they entered the minds of those bound by forgotten pacts—silent servants scattered across the land. They heard the command not with ears, but in the marrow of their bones.
And they obeyed.