The grand halls of the Hammer estate shimmered. The warm scent of beeswax from a thousand golden lanterns mixed with the faint, electric hum of starlight woven directly into the curtains. A low murmur of voices and the distant sound of string music drifted through the air, a soft background for the joy that felt thick enough to taste. The celebration for the newest Hammer heir had drawn nobles from every corner of the Crimson Empire, all of them eager for a glimpse of the child.

  At the entrance, Lady Antheros stood radiant, a quiet pride warming her face. Beside her, Lord Valerian Hammer greeted the arriving nobles, his handshakes firm and his smiles genuine. Their son, the Star Child, was not in their arms but safe with his caretaker. Still, Antheros’s mana remained wrapped around him like an invisible blanket, a mother’s warmth that was always sensing, always watching. Her gaze drifted across the crowded hall toward the room where he rested, and a subtle smile touched her lips, hiding the flicker of worry that never truly left her.

  "Is it true, what they say?" a noblewoman whispered to her companion, her fingers tracing the rim of a goblet filled with glittering nectar-wine. She leaned in closer, her eyes scanning the crowd as if afraid of being overheard. "That the World-mayogam herself promised the child a star?"

  Her companion, a man with excitement dancing in his eyes, nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes. It's been a thousand years since this continent has seen a child blessed like this." He lowered his voice, a hint of awe in his tone. "I don't know all the details, but they say that on his thirtieth birthday, the boy will be able to claim all the power stored by that star. He’ll be as powerful as Emperor Orion was."

  "Imagine that," another guest sighed, looking toward Lord Valerian. "A Star Child to one day lead the empire. What a gift."

  A man nearby gave a short, humorless laugh. He patted the hopeful guest on the shoulder. "That's not likely to happen."

  "Why not?" the guest asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  "It's Lord Valerian," a gossipy voice chimed in from the other side. The speaker, a thin man with sharp eyes, took a sip of his wine before continuing. "They say he was offered the crown years ago. He refused it." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle on the small group. "Gave up the throne so his brother could rule, and never spoke of it again."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "He's too good for his good," the first man replied, a mix of admiration and regret in his voice. "Too kind. That's why the people love him so."

  All around them, a sea of velvet and silk surged and swayed. "It's like the entire empire has gathered here tonight," a young woman whispered, her gown threaded with what looked like actual stardust. She stood on her toes, craning her neck to see.

  "How could they not?" her friend exclaimed, his voice hushed with reverence. "A Star Child. The last one—Orion—he rewrote history."

  An older scholar, who had been listening quietly, leaned into their circle. "Orion claimed his star on his thirtieth birthday," he confirmed, his voice a dry rustle. "That's when he awakened his ultimate skill. The man shaped fate to his own liking." The scholar’s eyes seemed to look past them, into history itself. "His bloodline became the dominant race on this continent. Every one of them is born with a unique skill, destined for power. And now..."

  "...another Star Child is born here," the young woman finished, wonder painting her features. "In the Crimson Empire. It must be a sign from the world."

  The crowd shifted, moving toward a wide wall of glass veined with pulsing silver runes. It looked into a quiet, warm-lit chamber where a small crib lay. A soft, collective gasp went through the nobles as they saw the infant. A faint, golden light seemed to pulse from the child, a gentle glow that filled the room.

  "A miracle," the old scholar said, his voice full of awe. "A divine sign for a new age."

  Meanwhile, in the kitchens below, the air was thick with the scent of roasting meats and baking bread. A young servant girl hurried past a stack of trays, her eyes wide with exhaustion and wonder.

  "The gifts just keep coming," she whispered to an older cook who was wiping his hands on his apron. "Enchanted toys, prophecy scrolls, sacred relics... there's a pile taller than me."

  The cook chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Let's hope the boy has a chance to play with them. They say Lord Valerian and Lady Antheros haven't even had a moment to hold him all day." He shook his head, a hint of pity in his eyes. "Passed from one blessed hand to the next. Not an easy start for any child, star or no..."

  Her voice trailed off.

  Suddenly, the cheerful noise from the great hall above—the music, the chatter, the laughter—vanished. It wasn't just quiet; it was a heavy, pin-drop silence that swallowed all sound, a void that felt deeply wrong. In the kitchen, the servants froze. A dropped ladle clattered against the stone floor, the noise unnaturally loud. They stared at each other, their faces pale with a shared, unspoken dread. The silence foretold danger.

  Then, a single, blood-chilling scream tore through the estate. It was Lady Antheros.

  The spell of silence was shattered. Pots were dropped, aprons were ripped off, and the kitchen staff scrambled for the doors, their hearts pounding as they rushed to see what had happened.