The world is a planet—but one that no one could ever map. It is infinite—and its gravity is beyond powerful,
And into this infinite, unstable world… a child was born.
The birds sang.
Not with ordinary chirps or idle noise—but in long, fluid melodies that curled through the air like lullabies remembered from dreams. Their voices echoed high above the sky-palace of Solara, drifting down through the crystal domes and ivory towers, weaving into the walls of the birthing sanctum like silk threads drawn through starlight.
The sun did not shine—it watched. A radiant, unmoving white disc suspended above the city, burning with unnatural grace. It did not warm. It revealed. Light poured in through the stained-glass panels above the Queen's chamber, refracting into shifting halos that danced across silver walls and pale skin.
Inside, Queen Elyssia lay in stillness. Her breathing shallow. Her eyes half-closed. She did not scream. She did not thrash. She met labor like a prophecy fulfilled.
Attendants stood silent. Priests clutched their relics and muttered half-formed prayers, as if sensing something beyond doctrine. Scholars with Evolvanth readers and arcane tablets stood paralyzed—their machines had stopped registering life the moment the birth began. No flicker. No pulse. No reading.
Reality itself held its breath.
And then, he came.
The child entered the world with no cry. Only silence. The room dimmed, though no light changed. The scent of crushed starlily and static filled the air. A tremor passed through the chamber floor.
The Queen's eyes opened. Slowly. Her lips moved.
Her voice, weak but steady, broke the spell.
"Arthur…" she whispered. Her hands trembled as she reached for him. "Arthur Starlight."
His hair shimmered like liquid light—white streaked with gold, each strand catching and splitting the sunbeam around it like it obeyed no color but its own.
His eyes—one burned pure gold, ancient and serene; the other, deep red, not angry but alive, flickering with hidden motion, like an ember remembering fire.
No one in the chamber spoke.
The priests lowered their gazes.
The scholars wrote nothing.
Even the wind seemed to hush.
A low hum rippled through the floor. Far above, atop the Sky Spire where no flame had burned in centuries, an ancient beacon ignited, casting a column of white fire into the clouds.
A ripple of air passed through the birthing sanctum—petals fell from their stems, the walls groaned softly, and shadows bled from corners they hadn't been in before.
Queen Elyssia smiled, just once, and let go of her final breath.
And thus, he arrived.
Not a prince. Not a weapon. Not a myth.
A child named Arthur.
And the world began to turn… differently.