The golden eye in the window held his gaze.
It wasn't a reflection. It wasn't a trick of light or a distorted image from the enchanted glass.
It was looking back.
From somewhere beyond through realms he couldn't yet name, dimensions wrapped in silence and fire.
And it had spoken.
"You were not meant to be born."
The child staggered back, for the first time feeling something like… fear. Or maybe not fear weight. The kind of pressure that bends worlds and silences gods.
He looked at his own hand, watching it tremble.
Only slightly. But it was enough.
The golden eye in the mirror didn't blink. Didn't move. It simply faded, slowly, like morning mist burned away by light.
Then the mirror cracked a thin fracture running through its center. A soft, ringing tone echoed in the nursery, unnatural and hollow.
Behind him, the cleric screamed.
At the same time, Emperor Cobard was already running through the eastern corridor of the palace, his cloak whipping behind him, two knights in full armor struggling to keep pace.
Soline's voice echoed in his mind "He hasn't cried. Not once."
The cleric's expression before she left unreadable, tense.
And that pain he'd felt earlier. Like the soul of the empire itself had shuddered.
As he turned the last corner toward the nursery wing, a low growl rattled the floor beneath his boots.
He froze.
The guards halted beside him, swords half drawn.
"Did you hear that?" one whispered.
It came again deeper now, older.
A growl not of beast or man.
It came from beneath the palace.
Sraverjek was stirring.
Back in the nursery, the guards had dropped to one knee. Whether in fear or instinct, even they didn't know.
The child stood in front of the broken mirror, still staring at his own reflection.
"…The hell was that?"
His voice came out low, calm but internally, he was reeling.
The energy in his body was no longer still. It surged like a tide, rising uncontrollably. His vision shimmered. Every object in the room flickered with cultivation levels now the guards, the swords, the cleric, even the air.
Cleric of the Dawn Flame
Cultivation Level: Virelord
Sword of the Imperial Line
Cultivation Level: Crownbearer
Blackened Flames: Cultivation Unmeasured Source: Unknown
"Unmeasured?" he muttered. "That's… new."
And that was when the floor cracked.
Just a hairline split ,but something below was rising.
Something vast.
The guards jumped to their feet, blades drawn. The cleric was weeping now, but her tears weren't from fear anymore they were from revelation.
"I saw it…" she said softly, swaying. "The Empire in flames… The thrones shattered… a child of no name, standing atop a world of ruin…"
The two guards exchanged a terrified glance.
"Witchcraft," one muttered.
"No," the child said, stepping forward. "She's not lying. I saw it too. Or something like it."
He paused, then added, "Kinda sick, honestly."
Before either guard could respond, the nursery doors burst open with a thunderous slam.
Emperor Cobard stormed in, blade in hand, crown crooked, rage and fear in his eyes. Solinine rushed in behind him, gasping.
Her eyes instantly went to the child.
The broken mirror.
The weeping cleric.
The guards holding their weapons.
"What happened?" she demanded, panic rising in her voice.
No one spoke.
Then the child looked at them and something behind his gaze shimmered. An age far older than the body he inhabited. A weight heavier than a newborn could ever carry.
He raised a hand not threatening, but slowly and spoke calmly.
"There's something beneath this palace. And it's waking up."
Cobard's jaw clenched. "How do you know that?"
"I don't know how. I just… do." He turned toward the cracked floor. "It's like something's calling to me."
And then, almost on cue, the palace shook.
Far below, in the ancient vault where Sraverjek slept, the chains that bound the dragon groaned. Ancient runes flared to life, one by one, trying to suppress the divine stirrings.
The dragon exhaled smoke and whispers.
"The child was not born of this world," Sraverjek murmured to the shadows.
"Yet he stands upon my soil… marked by flame and void."
His voice echoed across unseen dimensions.
"He will either end this world… or save it."
Then, with a roar that split the bones of the earth, Sraverjek awoke.
Above, in the nursery, everyone collapsed to their knees all except the child.
The floor glowed beneath him now. A symbol etched itself into the marble a perfect circle, burning black and gold.
The cleric gasped, recognizing it immediately.
"Th-that's the Mark of the Voidflame. It hasn't been seen since the Celestial War"
And then, silence.
A figure materialized in the corner of the room. Cloaked in violet smoke, face hidden, presence heavy.
Even Cobard's knees gave out.
The figure pointed at the child.
"The gods have already decided."
The child narrowed his eyes. "Decided what?"
The figure's voice was hollow. Ancient.
"That you will not live past your seventh year."