Fate of Fateless

The midnight council of the four ducal houses faded from the scrying mirrors, leaving only the soft hum of dying magic in the cold air of the war room.

Duke Hepton stood silently, hand resting against the hilt of his blade, staring at nothing.

The storm outside had eased, but unease now cloaked the estate thicker than any rain.

Behind him, the heavy door creaked open.

She entered—not carried, not wheeled—but walking, though barely. Her white gown clung to her frail frame, stained with the marks of a birth that nearly claimed her life.

Her presence froze even the duke.

Lady Seraphina, Duchess of House Hepton—daughter of the Emperor, bearer of pain and soul-bound protector of the child the world tried to erase.

Her steps were slow, but her voice was firm.

"You all felt it, didn't you?" she said, her eyes flicking toward the remaining traces of magic in the air. "The pause… the Eye… the force that turned it away."

Hepton nodded slowly, uncertain.

"We're not sure what it was. We think it's—"

She raised a trembling hand. "It's him. But not just him."

She turned toward the cradle, where the newborn lay sleeping, untouched by magic, unseen by divine sense, unmarked by mortal bounds.

Seraphina's voice softened.

"My child was never meant to be born in this age... And someone remembered why."

Hepton stepped forward, worry in his tone. "What do you mean?"

She turned, her gaze sharper now, her lips pale but steady.

"There are histories… truths buried beneath golden lies. Forbidden chronicles kept by my bloodline—hidden in vaults beneath the Imperial Citadel."

"Not in your archives. Not even in the Vaelwyn's spell libraries. Only my family has seen them. My grandfather burned the last copy of the Red Testament before the last king died."

Hepton stiffened.

"You're talking about the forbidden history?"

She nodded.

"Yes. The one the Empire swore to erase. The one that speaks of The Unwanted Born. Of the child whose arrival would shake the world—so much so that the gods placed a seal upon time itself to prevent his return."

Silence.

She clenched her jaw, breath ragged. "I… I will speak to my father. The Emperor may have hidden it, but I was raised in those halls. I know where the Vault of Eclipse lies."

Hepton took her by the arms gently. "You've barely survived, Seraphina. Let me speak to him—"

"No." Her eyes blazed. "He wouldn't tell you. He'd never admit what we sealed away. But he will not lie to his daughter when she stands there—scarred, broken, and holding the price of the past in her arms."

A long, shuddering silence followed.

Then she whispered, more to herself than anyone else:

"Before I die… I must know what we've brought into this world… and why the world itself tried to kill it."

Hepton could only nod, as thunder rumbled once more in the distance—this time quieter, but no less ominous.

And in the cradle, the boy stirred—not crying, not blinking.

Just staring.

Quietly.

As if he, too, was waiting for the truth.