The throne hall of the Azure Dominion was vast and cold, its marble pillars rising like the bones of a giant. Golden braziers cast flickering light across the polished floor, but the fire could not warm the tension that clung to the air.
Upon the high throne sat King Darius IV. His crown gleamed, yet his eyes were heavy with unease. Time had not dulled the memory of the night he ordered the child cast away. To him, the decision had been necessary — the kingdom could not risk harboring a cursed heir. But in the shadows of his conscience, the cries of that newborn still echoed.
The priests knelt before him, their robes black and silver, the sigils of the stars stitched across their chests. The High Seer rose slowly, his voice a rasp that carried like smoke.
"My king," he said, "the omens stir again. The broken star burns brighter in the heavens. The curse you cast out may yet walk this earth."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Several nobles shifted uneasily, their jeweled sleeves whispering against one another.
King Darius's grip tightened on the armrest. "Impossible. The child was left in the wastelands. No mortal survives that place."
The High Seer's eyes, clouded yet sharp, seemed to pierce through the king's certainty. "He was not mortal, my liege. You knew that the moment you saw the mark upon him."
A silence followed, thick as stone.
Another priest stepped forward, clutching a scroll. "Reports from the borderlands speak of strange lights in the wastelands. A glow like silver fire, seen at night. Hunters whisper of a shadowy figure who moves with a child cloaked in stars."
The king's breath caught, though he masked it with a snarl. "Rumors. Nothing more."
But the priests pressed on.
"My king, if he lives, the curse will grow. The broken star will not fade. Already the heavens align — the same alignment foretold in the ancient prophecy."
At that, the hall fell into fearful whispers. The prophecy. The one sealed in temple vaults, warning of a star-born child who would bring ruin to kings and topple empires.
The king rose from his throne, the weight of his crown seeming heavier than ever. His voice thundered across the chamber.
"Then we will end this curse before it takes root! Summon the Shadow Legion. Send them to scour every wasteland, every ruin, every forgotten path. If the child lives, I want his head brought to me."
The nobles bowed quickly, eager to align with the king's wrath. Yet in the corners of the hall, some eyes gleamed with unease, others with calculation. A living cursed heir was both a threat… and an opportunity.
As the priests withdrew, the High Seer lingered, his frail frame bowing low. But as he turned, his lips curved into the faintest smile, unseen by the king.
"The cursed star burns," he whispered to himself. "And no hand, royal or divine, can snuff its light forever."
Far away, in the wastelands, Kael stirred in his sleep, his mark glowing brighter as though answering the whispers of prophecy. His path and the kingdom's fate were already beginning to intertwine.
The game had begun.