The birthing chamber smelled of copper and terror.
Evelyn's nails carved half-moons into her palms as another contraction ripped through her. The midwives whispered behind their hands - this was no normal labor. The child resisted being born, as if it already knew the world waiting beyond the womb was hostile.
When the infant finally slid into the world, the silence that followed was thicker than blood.
No cry. No whimper. Just the slick sound of tiny limbs moving against linen.
Lord Tyrus pushed past the trembling women, his ceremonial dagger already drawn. He froze when the torchlight caught the child's face.
One eye gleamed the exact shade of steel-blue that had marked his lineage for generations. The other pulsed like an ember, its pupil a five-pointed star of deepest amethyst.
"The Devourer's Mark," breathed the oldest midwife, making the sign of the warding eye.
Tyrus' dagger found the babe's throat before conscious thought caught up. The blade pressed against paper-thin skin where a pulse fluttered - too fast for any normal newborn.
Evelyn's scream tore through the chamber. She lunged, still bleeding, still broken, and wrenched her child away. "You will not!"
The infant - no, he who had once been Kaelos - watched with detached interest. This fragile body infuriated him. His thoughts moved like thunder, but his tongue was useless fat. When he tried to summon his power, nothing answered but the faintest spark.
Yet.
Tyrus' face twisted. "That thing is no son of mine. The prophecies—"
The castle shook. Not from thunder, but from something deeper, as if the earth itself remembered its old master. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere in the keep, glass shattered.
Kaelos felt it then - a presence he hadn't sensed in two thousand years. His star-eye flared in recognition even as his infant lungs burned for air.
Under the bed, where the torchlight didn't reach, something shifted. Ragged nails scraped stone. The scent of burnt hair and myrrh seeped into the room.
"Vareth," Kaelos thought, the name echoing in his skull. His last loyal general. The traitor who had wept as he helped seal him away.
Evelyn clutched him closer, her heartbeat loud in his ear. She saw only her husband's madness. But Kaelos saw the shadow pooling at the chamber door, saw the way the candle flames bent toward him like worshippers.
Tyrus raised his dagger again.
Then the screaming started in the courtyard.