Fate of Fateless

After the meeting concluded,all the members of royal family wal towards a emperor's chamber

The Emperor's grave restriction regarding the Vault of Unspoken Kings

The timing limitation — once every century, and last used 88 years ago

The Vault's Seal – A Century's Silence

The obsidian arch stood cold and unmoving now, the spectral chains that sealed it dimly pulsing with ancient magic. Seraphina stared at it, her heartbeat echoing louder than the runes that guarded the threshold of forgotten truths.

But the Emperor didn't step forward.

He kept his hand at his side, jaw tight, gaze locked on the darkened door.

He said quietly. "The vault cannot be opened."

Seraphina blinked.

"What…?"

"Not now," he continued. "The Vault of Unspoken Kings can only be opened once every hundred years. The magic that binds it feeds on time itself."

Valcian's brow furrowed.

"When was the last?"

Kaelith exhaled slowly.

"Eighty-eight years ago."

The chamber fell into tense silence. The vault stood as impassive as death.

"It will open again," the Emperor said at last, "when this child turns twelve. On that day, I will walk with him into it myself—if the world still allows it."

Seraphina swallowed. Her shoulders sagged—not in weakness, but in acceptance. Another burden, another wait. But one she was willing to carry.

"Then… until that day," she whispered.

Kaelith stepped forward, his battle-hardened hand gently brushing his daughter's hair back. No longer the Emperor now—just a father, staring at a woman who had given all to protect what she barely understood.

"You look like your mother," he said softly. "She, too, defied everything—custom, prophecy, even me—for love."

He glanced at the child in her arms.

"You need rest. The imperial palace has the best physicians and life-casters in the realm. You'll stay here until your health recovers. That's not a request."

"Father—"

"Enough, Seraphina. You are my daughter. Let me act like your father, if only for a while."

A long pause.

"Besides…" he added, voice softening as he glanced down at the infant, "he's the first child in this palace who has ever made the gods hesitate. I'd prefer to keep him close."

And So He Was Named

Valcian knelt slightly toward his sister.

"The ministers will begin their whispers. They'll want to know the name… of the boy who cannot be blessed."

Seraphina looked down at her child, swaddled in robes of light gray, face calm in her arms. His eyes, those strange black-violet orbs, were closed now.

She kissed his forehead and whispered:

"Chris Originus."

A name like stone and sky. Like beginning itself.

Kaelith repeated it slowly, weighing it.

"Chris… Originus."

Even the runes across the obsidian walls flickered once—recognizing, perhaps, a word not spoken in this age.

Hepton Estate – Archives of the Originus Duchy

Far from the polished marble of the Imperial Palace, the grand citadel of the Originus Duchy loomed under a turbulent sky.

Banners of blue and black snapped in the high wind as Duke Hepton, head of the House of Originus, descended deep into the vaults of his family estate. This was no ceremonial visit—he had not slept in two days. Not since the boy was born.

Not since the world held its breath.

The Hidden Chamber

Two layers beneath the visible archives, beyond the sealed door etched with the sigil of the First Lineage, lay a forgotten room: the Room Without Year.

Lit only by crystal flame, the chamber housed no more than a dozen scrolls—and no entry was recorded in the family ledgers.

Hepton's fingers trembled—not from fear, but reverence—as he spread the scrolls before him.

"The Prophets say he's beyond the weave of fate," he murmured. "But I no longer care for prophecy. I want records. I want truth."

He read through lineages, wars, records of kings and betrayals. And yet, between two eras—the birth of the Empire, and the rise of its first Emperor—something was… wrong.

There was nothing.

A Hole in History

Hepton frowned.

One scroll should have chronicled the Great Migration of the Old Houses. Another, the founding of the Divine Temple. But where that chapter should've begun—there was only blank parchment, the ink faded not by time, but wiped clean, as if it had never been written.

He stepped back, breathing heavily.

"This isn't damage," he said aloud. "It's erasure. Someone removed it."

His hand touched a final scroll, sealed with wax marked by a symbol he didn't recognize—one older than the Hepton line, older even than the Empire.

A sun eclipsed by a ring of thorns.

░Reflections and Realization░

The Duke's mind raced.

"Before the Empire… before the Temple… someone or something restructured reality's memory."

He recalled the way divine aura bent around his son. How time froze. How magical beasts had sought the boy before birth, like predators chasing a threat to the very laws that held them in place.

And now this:a thousand years of historygone.

Erased like a guilty name from a royal bloodline.