It was the 29th Festival Day.
Flags fluttered, children laughed, and the sky wore a thousand colors.
The kingdom celebrated life, sun, and legacy.
But inside the royal palace, silence was stronger than celebration.
The queen was in labor. The king stood by her side. They expected one child.
Then came the first cry — a girl.
Before they could speak her name, a boy was born. Then another. And another. Until, at last — eight children, all born within minutes.
No one understood it. Not the healers. Not the king. Not even the queen herself.
But as the last child took their first breath, the universe shivered.
At that same moment, across realms beyond the kingdom, thrones stirred.
A beast howled beneath a blood moon.
A figure cloaked in shadows froze as if pierced by unseen light.
Flames erupted in a cavern where a dragon slept.
Wings of gold trembled in silence.
Lightning split the heavens without storm.
Oceans raged though no wind moved them.
Ice cracked in the far north.
A spirit queen hushed her court.
Poison dripped where none should flow.
And one, who never bowed, raised her eyes to the skies and saw colors she had never seen before.
Each of them felt the same.
A shift.
Something was born.
Something that was not meant to exist.
In the throne room, the queen held Lyena — the firstborn. She smiled. And she knew joy would not last.
Behind the curtains, betrayal stood waiting.
The king's right hand. A general. A friend.
But something had taken him. His eyes were hollow. His voice — not his own.
He stepped forward and said,
"I'm sorry... Your Majesty. These children are not meant to exist."
The fight was short. Brutal.
The king struck with steel.
The queen with spells.
But it was too late.
With bloody hands and shaking lips, the queen made a final choice.
She used forbidden magic — soul transport — and sent each child across the universe.
Into snow.
Into rain.
Into forests.
Into fire.
Into mountains.
Into oceans.
Into darkness.
Into silence.
The next morning, the universe awoke.
But the children were gone.
The kingdom mourned.
And those who felt it most — the thirteen powers — did not yet know what they had lost.
Nor who they would one day face.
For fate does not exist.
Only choice.
And the eight chose to breathe.
End of Chapter 1 – The Festival of Birth