Fate of Fateless

The Emperor commanding a blessing ritual for mother and child

The child's unnatural response to divine power

A holy phenomenon where even the gods seem to hesitate

And the ministers' growing dread that this infant may not belong to either heaven or hell

The Throne Hall – When Faith Faltered

The gilded throne hall of the Empire, a sanctuary of order and divine will, had never felt so unnervingly uncertain.

Emperor Kaelith Elvarion, the Flame Sovereign and ruler of the Eternal Empire, stood with his newborn grandson in his arms. His golden eyes, forged from dragonblood and war, narrowed as he looked toward the white-robed figure kneeling at the far end of the dais.

"High Hierophant Caelis," the Emperor said, his voice like tempered steel, "I command you—bless my blood."

The head of the Imperial Temple, known across continents for his communion with the higher realms, bowed deeper.

"By the sacred fires of the heavens, it will be done, Your Majesty."

He stepped forward, hands raised in prayer, his voice beginning to echo in the sacred language of the gods. The ministers looked on with reverence.

At first, light blossomed above his hands—pure, silver-gold strands of holy essence, weaving into a gentle spiral. It descended like mist toward Seraphina, who stood beside her father, her child now cradled in her arms once more.

But the moment the holy blessing touched mother and child, something changed.

The Child's Cry – And the Divine Hesitation

The infant opened his eyes—pure black with a faint glow of violet at the edge.

He did not scream like a child in discomfort.

He cried with a tone that cracked the air—a sharp, echoing wail that reverberated not through ears, but through souls.

And the holy light?

It shattered.

Not violently—but in fear.

It dissolved before it could touch him, retreating like a wounded animal. The blessing refused to land.

The Hierophant fell back two steps, hands trembling as his eyes widened.

"I… I do not understand," he whispered. "The blessing—ran."

Around them, the glow of divine sigils etched into the marble pillars dimmed.

The golden phoenix mural above the Emperor's throne flickered for the first time in a thousand years.

Even the sacred fire that burned at the center of the hall… shrunk.

The Unblessable Child

> "You mean to say," Emperor Kaelith said quietly, "the heavens… rejected my blood?"

"N-no, Your Majesty," Caelis whispered. "They did not reject him. They… feared him."

Gasps spread among the ministers like a disease. One collapsed to his knees, muttering half-forgotten prayers. Another reached for a protective charm but found it cracked.

Seraphina clutched her child tighter, her breath shallow. Yet she did not retreat.

"What are you, little one…" she whispered.

The baby looked up at her, no longer crying—only watching.

Still.

Silent.

Present.

And yet, not of this world.

The Emperor Decides

At last, Emperor Kaelith turned to face the silent, stunned ministers, his expression unreadable.

"The gods will not touch him. The beasts tried to erase him. Even time bent to glimpse him."

"This child is not a blessing," he said coldly. "He is a threshold."

He raised his hand and pointed toward the exit of the throne hall.

"None of you will speak of this beyond these walls. Not until we understand which side of that threshold he stands on."

And the throne hall—seat of absolute power—fell into the kind of silence that comes only when the world changes.