50 Years Ago — The Shamrock Empire
The sky was furious.
Black clouds, endless like an army, gathered over the palace. Lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the massive walls every few seconds with stark white flashes.
The wind howled…
Rain battered the tall windows of the hall like a torrent.
Yet within that storm…
Within the grand Shamrock Palace…
The future of an empire was being born.
Behind the heavy golden gates of the birthing chamber, torches flickered with trembling flames. Servants moved anxiously. Guards stood motionless, but their hands shook on the hilts of their swords.
Inside the room, Arisa lay on the bed, breaths ragged and sweat-soaked, fighting between pain and willpower.
The Emperor, clad in half-armor and his royal robe, held her hand firmly.
"It's alright, my love… I'm here."
His voice was calm, but his gaze raged like the storm outside.
He was the ruler of the world's most powerful land…
Yet in that moment, he was just a worried husband.
At the door…
A five-year-old boy with messy hair stood frozen.
Ashlor.
His eyes wide, full of questions.
His tiny fingers clenched into fists.
Every cry from his mother made his heart pound faster.
"Why is it taking so long…?" he whispered.
No one answered.
Hours passed.
A tremendous bolt of lightning split the sky.
And at that very moment—
A thin, fresh cry—oddly deep for a newborn—cut through the room.
Silence.
Even the storm seemed to pause.
The rain softened.
The wind subsided.
Torches stood still, their flames unwavering.
The child's cry continued…
But it was no ordinary cry.
A soft aura of golden light radiated from the newborn's body.
The curtains moved gently.
Magical patterns on the walls ignited.
The Emperor froze. His eyes shone.
"This…"
Arisa, exhausted and tearful, smiled as she held the baby.
The magical glow expanded gradually.
Outside the door, Ashlor's breath caught.
He felt the power too.
A weighty presence… yet magnificent.
Magic that flowed from a newborn…
Enveloping the entire palace.
Servants dropped to their knees.
Guards bowed their heads.
The Emperor whispered softly,
"His power… exceeds all expectations."
His gaze locked on the infant.
"This child… will change the future of the Shamrocks."
Ashlor stood behind the door, light spilling across his face through the cracks.
A strange feeling twisted in his chest.
Something between awe… and a feeling he could not yet name.
And that stormy night—
Amid the lightning and rain—
The destiny of the Shamrock Empire shifted.
Ashlor, sensing the power, felt as though an invisible wave pulled him forward, and he instinctively entered the room.
The Emperor's gaze fell upon him, flames of calm authority and wisdom glimmering in his eyes. Ashlor's heart pounded. His hands were slick with sweat.
But the Emperor smiled gently, confidently.
"Come, my son… come see your brother."
Ashlor stepped forward, trembling, short breaths shaking him. Each step carried a mixture of terror and anticipation, a sense of destiny.
The Emperor lowered the newborn with care, as if holding a sacred gem.
Ashlor's eyes fixated on the innocent face—thumb in mouth, seeing the world for the first time. Time seemed to pause. The sounds of the palace faded, leaving only silence and the newborn's magical aura.
With warmth and certainty, the Emperor asked,
"Do you want to touch him?"
Ashlor reached out his hands with a trembling hesitation.
As his hand neared the infant, the baby's tiny finger latched firmly onto his.
A soft, radiant burst of energy and warmth flowed from the infant into Ashlor's chest and throughout his body.
His heart raced—not from fear, but from wonder and exhilaration.
A profound, serene power filled him.
The newborn's magical energy, like a gentle yet absolute lightning, connected him to his brother.
An invisible, eternal bond formed.
Ashlor drew a deep breath, eyes wide, lips parted.
For a moment, he simply stood, awe filling his entire being.
The heat coursing through his veins told him he was witnessing a future brimming with responsibility, destiny, and power.
For the first time, his heart trembled with respect, amazement, and the profound weight of connection.
Suddenly, an invisible force pulled Ashlor back.
"Didn't I tell you not to come here?!"
His mother's voice, full of fury and authority, cut through the air.
"Let go… Mother! He's my brother!" Ashlor shouted with all his strength.
But her grip, firm and merciless, dragged him away.
The first wife of the Emperor, cold and resolute, yanked her son from the room.
Each step echoed like thunder against the stone floors.
The Emperor's second wife, Arisa, rising slowly from the bed, groaned with pain. She sat up slightly, voice gentle and pained:
"Let him be… he's like a son to me…"
Yet Elizabeth, the Emperor's first wife, stood silently. Lips sealed, eyes full of hatred and bloodlust. She spoke no words, only vanished into the shadows of the room.
The Emperor sighed, face half in shadow. Silence filled the room, heavy and paralyzing.
Ashlor's mother dragged him down the hallway.
Each step radiated power and anger.
Ashlor slumped, breathing heavily, eyes full of rage and tears.
But his mother's voice, firm and unyielding, cut through:
"He is not your brother… understand this!"
Ashlor tried to protest,
"But Mother…"
"I said what I said!" she commanded, lifting her head with a piercing tone:
"From now on, you must strive more and more… to surpass him!"
Ashlor lowered his head, tears pooling in his eyes.
But his mother continued, gently yet decisively:
"Lift your head… your victory, always… must be yours… my son."
Then she took his hand and led him away.
Their footsteps faded into the dark corridor.
Only the sound of heavy breathing and pounding hearts remained.
Their shadows stretched along the stone walls… then vanished from view.