After entering the vortex the chilling emptiness was replaced by instantaneous, overwhelming knowledge. But what had happened infront of him beforing entering vortex is out of the world. Who have thought that a women will come out and then just disappear. And the Reaper of giving him opportunity suddenly attack.
He traveled, his consciousness alone, accelerating at a speed that mocked the limitations of light, tearing through the fabric of existence.
The dizzying rush ended with a dizzying compression.
He was no longer a disembodied consciousness, screaming through the aether.
He was lodged in something warm, cushioned, and wet. It felt like a cage, yet the cage was brimming with comfort.
He was curled up, and though his newly awakened, powerful mind screamed at the restriction, the vessel—the body—responded only to the undeniable sensation of safety.
Womb. He recognized it instantly. He was in the womb of the woman who was soon to be his mother.
The warmth was deep and encompassing, feeling like the first genuine care he had ever encountered after many years.
Hours, or maybe days, passed in the dark, warm suspension. His existence became a countdown, memories of his past defier-self warring with the instinctual needs of the new body.
He remembered the vow—a pledge to dismantle the cosmic hierarchy that had judged him—and the cost: to live a life void of self. Now, that cost was paid, and the game would restart.
Then came the contraction, the crushing pressure, and the blinding transition.
When he emerged, gasping, into the cold, bright shock of the new world, his eyes, still slick with the fluid of birth, focused instantly on the face leaning over him.
She was breathtaking. Her hair was a cascade of black obsidian, a canvas of the universe itself, yet it fell soft against his cheek.
Her eyes were of soft grey, ethereal and deep, holding, somehow, the light of every galaxy he had just traversed. Care, raw and immense, flowed from her like heat.
She said something to him in different language but he didn't understand. Then she kissed his forehead and with feeling of security he sleep.
_________________________________________________
ZEPHYR CONTINENT - AETHERION ESTATE
In scheduled area of continent, a Palace stood with royalty and majestic structure.
The Aetherion Palace stood as a monolith of power and legacy, its soaring spires piercing the cerulean sky of the continent's central plains.
Built from an impossible fusion of obsidian-dark and alabaster-white marble, its walls stretched for leagues, a testament to the family's unparalleled strength and ancient heritage.
Each polished surface gleamed, reflecting the sun and the moon with equal majesty, a silent declaration of the Aetherions' dominion over the scheduled lands.
For generations, they had been the continent's bedrock, their very name synonymous with stability and arcane might.
The Aetherion family was unique, even among powerful houses. Composed entirely of women gifted with extraordinary magical aptitudes, they possessed an ancient, closely guarded technique—the Essence Weave—that allowed them to conceive children without traditional intimacy, through a ritualized manipulation of life energies drawn from the deep Font of the Palace. This lineage produced only daughters, ensuring the continuation of their strict matriarchal rule and the concentration of their specific magical talents.
But today, the customary quiet reverence that usually permeated the palace halls was replaced by a vibrant chorus of hushed excitement.
Maids, usually gliding with practiced grace, now hurried, their steps lighter, their smiles broader.
Kitchen staff bustled with heightened urgency, preparing celebratory feasts even as fresh bread scented the air, an intoxicating blend of yeast and expectation.
Guards, typically stoic sentinels carved from the selfsame marble, stood with an extra alertness in their posture, their gazes sweeping the courtyards with a perceptible eagerness.
Something momentous hung in the air, a joyous anticipation that even the most disciplined servant could not entirely mask.
The epicenter of this subtle frenzy was a chamber deep within the palace's heart – a room sacred and hitherto forbidden, its doors usually guarded by ancient enchantments that permitted entry only to members of the Aetherion bloodline.
In one of the main room, which is forbidden entry for anyone.
Today, however, the heavy oak doors stood ajar, allowing a stream of nurses and midwives, clad in soft greys and whites, to pass in and out, their movements purposeful and reassuring.
Inside the chamber, Silviya Aetherion, younger sister of the Matriarch and a sorceress whose control over the Aether was legendary, lay upon a vast bed draped in fine linens.
Her black hair, damp with exertion, framed a face set in a mask of determination, her soft grey eyes focused on the ceiling.
Around her, a dozen specialized nurses attended.
Some stood ready with cloths and potions, others supported her back, and one, the chief midwife, sat beside Silviya, holding her tightly and offering words of gentle courage.
The sounds of labor, muffled but powerful, echoed softly in the chamber, blending with the rhythmic breathing exercises taught since childhood to control the flow of magical energy during the intense process of the Essence Weave's culmination.
The culmination of months of carefully managed life-force manipulation was near.
The nurse who was performing the final guidance, her hands glowing faintly with protective energies, said in a sharp, clear voice, "Lady, one more push."
Then, the maid sitting beside Silviya, her own face pale with shared effort, squeezed Silviya's hand. "Have courage, My lady. It is almost done."
Silviya gasped, gathering the last vestiges of her formidable internal strength, channeling the pain and effort into a final, colossal surge of energy.
Then child come out, there was instant relief. The strained tension in the room snapped, replaced by the universal sigh of relief that follows safe passage.
But the relief was instantaneously replaced by a renewed, acute tension.
The child had come, but the customary, vigorous wail that signaled acceptance of the world was absent.
The chief nurse caught the infant, wrapping it quickly.
Her eyes, wide and startled, darted to Silviya, then back to the child, a flicker of profound shock crossing her face.
The baby was breathing faintly, a tiny rise and fall of the chest, but it was utterly silent.
Then, the second shock registered among the attendants.
Whispers, quick and dangerous in their implication, began to spread like wildfire among the nurses.
The gender. It was undeniably male. A boy. An Aetherion boy—a thing unheard of, a break in tradition stretching back hundreds of years.
After a few heavy, breathless moments, the circulation specialist confirmed the child was normalizing, his faint breaths deepening, though he still did not cry.
Silviya, coming back to her senses from the breathless state of exertion, lifted her head slightly.
Her voice was weak, laced with urgency with confusion, "How's my child? Give... ?"
The chief nurse approached, hesitation tightening her usually confident posture. "My Lady, Something is unexpected."
Silviya's heart became weighted with profound fear. Every horror story about botched Essences and failed futures rushed into her mind.
She asked in urgency, her voice cracking, "What happened? Is she—is my daughter well?"
The nurse knelt beside her, knowing well the depth of emotion the question masked.
"Everything is fine, My Lady. The child is boy. And he normal ." She spoke with a tone mixed with awe, confusion, and fear for the disruption this represented.
After a moment of gathering her resolve, she gently placed the tiny bundle into Silviya's arms.
As the boy settled in her warm embrace, Silviya's immense power and deep focus narrowed until the entire world existed only within this chamber, and perhaps, only within the distance between her eyes and his face.
Everything around her dissolved into nothing—the palace, the power, the tradition, the nurses, the shock of his gender.
There was nothing and nobody more important than him. She could live with the sole reason of just seeing his face every day.
He was tiny, perfect, and silent. He possessed the same obsidian-black striking hair that marked their lineage, and as he shifted in her arms, he opened his eyes.
They were the same soft grey as her own, liquid pools reflecting her image back at her.
The connection was instantaneous, primal, and absolute.
A soft, fierce warmth erupted in her chest, a feeling far more intense than any arcane power she had ever mastered. This was her anchor.
Silviya swallowed past the lump in her throat, tipping her forehead to his.
The name, unburdened by the traditional Aetherion female nomenclature, came to her easily, whispered like a covenant.
"Elias. You are my only star."