Chapter 2 — The Trial of the First Breath
Viltrum Standard Year 7361 – Three Days After the Podfall
Viltrum's nursery spires were nothing like the gentle cradles of other civilizations.
They were towers of steel and stone, their walls carved with the names of warriors who had survived the brutal crucible of infancy. A narrow bridge connected the spire to the main city wall, flanked by banners that rippled in the icy wind. Every child raised here was born — or forged — for war.
Kael lay swaddled in silver cloth, unaware of the dozen pairs of eyes studying him from the observation balcony. The High Nursery Matron, a broad-shouldered Viltrumite woman named Veyra, stood beside Thraxis. Her white hair was pulled back in a soldier's knot, her armor polished to a dull silver.
"You found him three days ago," she said, watching the infant's steady breathing. "Already he breathes easier than our own."
"That," Thraxis replied, "is why I brought him to you."
Veyra's expression was unreadable. "You know what happens next."
Thraxis nodded once.
The Ceremony
The Trial of the First Breath was older than the empire itself. In the age before interstellar conquest, Viltrum's ancestors lived in cities so high above the ground that the air was thin enough to kill the weak within minutes. They used this trial to cull the frail from the strong.
Even in the modern age, the tradition persisted — not out of necessity, but as a test of a newborn's endurance, and as a reminder of Viltrum's roots.
On the 73rd floor of the nursery spire, a circular platform jutted out into open sky. A guard released the locks, and a section of the ceiling retracted to let in the biting wind.
Veyra lifted Kael from his cradle and carried him onto the platform. His small body tensed against the cold, his eyes squeezing shut as the wind rushed over him. The air here was thin, dry, sharp as glass.
The trial was simple: the child was to be left on the platform for a full turn of the chronometer — about four minutes under Viltrum's rotation — with no assistance.
The Watching Eyes
A dozen warriors stood along the edges, some curious, others indifferent.
"Too small," one murmured. "Even Viltrumite-born have trouble with their first breath."
"Then he will die, and the matter will be ended," another said flatly.
Only Thraxis remained silent.
The First Breath
Kael's chest rose and fell quickly at first, his tiny mouth opening in short gasps. Veyra watched closely, ready to declare failure if the child's skin paled or his heartbeat faltered.
But instead… his breathing slowed. The gasps became steady draws of air, deeper than before. His body seemed to adjust on its own, as though some inner mechanism had recalibrated for the thin atmosphere.
Then, in a move that startled even Veyra, Kael opened his eyes and looked directly at Thraxis. The wind tugged at the silver cloth around him, but his gaze was steady — almost defiant.
The warriors exchanged glances.
"Impossible," one muttered. "Even our blood-born struggle at first."
Veyra said nothing, but she stepped back, allowing the child to finish the trial without interference.
When the chronometer chimed, Kael was still breathing easily, his skin warm to the touch.
Whispers in the Hall
Later, as the cradle was returned to its place, the whispers began in earnest.
"He's not Viltrumite, but he endures like one of us."
"Endures? No — he adapts."
"Adaptation is the rarest strength of all."
Thraxis ignored them, but he noted their tone. Some voices carried curiosity. Others… caution.
Veyra's Warning
When the hall was empty, Veyra approached him.
"I've overseen hundreds of trials, Commander. None have passed as quickly as he did. Not even you."
Thraxis folded his arms. "Then perhaps he is meant for something greater."
Veyra's eyes narrowed. "Or something worse. Be careful what you forge, Thraxis. Some blades cut the hand that sharpens them."
That night, Kael slept without stirring, his breathing slow and even. Outside the nursery spire, Viltrum's pale sun sank below the horizon, and the banners of the warrior clans swayed in the night wind.
The boy had passed his first test. The next would not be so gentle.