The night the prince was born, the sky burned with falling stars. From one horizon to the other, flames tore across the heavens, and the people of the Azure Dominion trembled in fear. The palace bells rang as priests, generals, and nobles gathered, whispering that the end of the world had come.
Inside the royal chambers, the queen labored through pain and fear. Her cries echoed against the walls as midwives worked, and the High Priest stood nearby, whispering prayers. At last, a newborn's cry cut through the night.
The child was born.
Gasps spread through the chamber as the midwife raised the infant. A glowing mark was visible on his chest, shaped like a broken star. It pulsed with a silver light, strange and unnatural.
The High Priest fell back in terror.
"Your Majesty, this is the Mark of Ruin. The child is cursed. His life will bring calamity to the empire."
The queen reached for her baby, tears running down her face. She held him close, trying to shield him with her body.
"He is my son. How can my child be cursed?"
The king rose to his feet, his robe trailing across the floor. His eyes were cold and sharp as steel. He looked at the mark on the child and spoke with a voice that silenced the room.
"No son of mine bears the brand of destruction. If he lives, kingdoms will fall. He must not remain here."
The queen pleaded desperately, but the High Priest bowed and said,
"The omens are clear. For the safety of the empire, the cursed child must be cast away."
The decision was made.
That very night, while the city still feared the storm of stars, the infant prince was carried beyond the gates of the capital. Wrapped in cloth, he was left in the wastelands, far from the walls of the empire.
He was abandoned. He was nameless. He was forgotten.
Yet the heavens had not finished with him.
The storm of stars ended, and the night became still. High above, one last star remained, shining brighter than the rest. Its light fell directly upon the child, as if claiming him.
The mark on his chest pulsed again, slow and steady, like a second heartbeat. Though rejected by his father, though cursed by priests, though cast away by the world, the child endured. His fists clenched as if holding on to life itself.
One day, the world would remember this night. One day, the abandoned infant would rise again.
People would call him cursed. Kings would call him an enemy. Even the gods might call him a heretic.
But the stars had chosen him.
The Cursed Star Child had been born.